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41-50 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter

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  Carter Nick
  
  41-50 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  41-50 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  41. Red rays http://flibusta.is/b/680600/read
  The Red Rays
  42. Beijing and the tulip business http://flibusta.is/b/607256/read
  Peking & The Tulip Affair
  43. Amazon http://flibusta.is/b/250268/read
  The Amazon
  44. Sea trap http://flibusta.is/b/250882/read
  Sea Trap
  45. Berlin http://flibusta.is/b/617192/read
  Berlin
  46. The Human Bomb http://flibusta.is/b/675725/read
  delayed action
  Human Time Bomb
  47 Killing a Cobra http://flibusta.is/b/635287/read
  The Cobra Kill
  48 Living Death http://flibusta.is/b/617191/read
  Living Death
  49. Operation Che Guevara http://flibusta.is/b/617190/read
  Operation Che Guevara
  50. Doomsday formula http://flibusta.is/b/634520/read
  The Doomsday Formula
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Red rays
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his deceased son Anton
  
  
  Original title: The Red Rays
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  I dreamed about the first person I killed. His name was Serge and something else, and it happened in an alley in Istanbul. I killed him with a knife - I didn’t have a stiletto then - and I wasn’t very good with a knife then. It turned into a nightmare.
  
  
  I dream in flowers; a fact from which dr. Dorian Sachs, AH's psychiatrist, thinks I can draw all the conclusions, but to me this means nothing more than that the blood on my hands is redder and stickier.
  
  
  The dream kept coming back, as if I was reading the same book over and over again; and at that moment, that early morning in Beirut, in the air-cooled Phenicia Hotel, I did not want to read this book again. Kezia Neumann, who thought I mistook her for an Israeli agent, was sleeping on her back. Kezia was in her late thirties, still quite attractive, and as I looked at her I wondered how long she had left to live. I don't think it's too long.
  
  
  Kezia worked for the Shin Bet, it's true, but she also worked for the KGB, or maybe for the GRU. It didn't matter anyway. The Academy of Arts knew about her dual role for quite a long time; I think it was Hawk who notified the Shin Bet. The Israelis kept her on a leash and gave her some more time. As I looked at her as she slept peacefully, her huge breasts regularly rising and falling in time with her breathing, I knew I was looking at a woman who was, in fact, already dead. It's a shame because Kezia was a beautiful girl who slept with men because she liked it. Not just for her work. I don't think much - that's a bad quality in my profession - and no one has ever called me an intellectual. But suddenly I felt the urge to wake the girl up and tell her that her cover was blown, to give her a chance to get out. But, of course, I knew in advance that I would not do this. It would be too difficult. She had nowhere to hide. It won't be of any use to the Russians, but Shin Bet will at least get to it. If she had tried to escape, she could have put many other people in danger. Me included.
  
  
  Besides, I had nothing to do with her. David Hawke, my boss, who is sometimes not so lenient, would blush if he knew I was with her now. But what Hawk didn't know couldn't cause him any trouble. And if I go overboard from time to time - and I do sometimes - then at least I know what the consequences are. ..and how to avoid them.
  
  
  I arrived in Syria a few days ago. Dirty, scratched, he went on a mission to Damascus. After checking with Washington, refreshed, and collecting some money, I checked into a room at the Phenicia Hotel. That evening I went to a casino near the city, spent a few Lebanese pounds and met Kezia Neumann. She was very upset - another reason she didn't last long - and we went back to the hotel. After her first orgasm, she told me that she was working as an agent for Israel. God knows why she told me this! Maybe just because she was tired, maybe to impress, or maybe because she didn't care anymore.
  
  
  I traveled under the name of Silas Lapham, a tobacco merchant from New Orleans. I organized this cover myself, and now, looking down on Kezia, I remembered that Hawk had grumbled that some agents had more imagination than they needed.
  
  
  Anyway, Kezia noticed something about Silas Lapham, a tobacconist and sociable drunk, and we spent most of our time in the hotel room, or rather in bed.
  
  
  I was enjoying myself. When I complete the task and find myself still alive, I consider myself entitled to drink and sin carnally. Sometimes I stick to one woman, sometimes I need more, but at least I indulge in all sorts of excesses for about a week. If there is time after this, I will spend a week on a farm in Indiana. There I relax, read and prepare physically and mentally for the next task.
  
  
  There was a half-empty bottle of arrack on the table. I took a sip, lit a cigarette and looked again at the sleeping girl. I thought about it. Sleeping people are damn vulnerable. It was only symbolic that I was considering killing her at that time. Of course, there is something sadistic in me, otherwise I probably would not have chosen this profession. I smoked and drank arak - not one of my favorite drinks, but she clearly liked it - looked at her and felt like I wanted to fuck her good. She woke up, and I was one with her. Alone with her and her destiny.
  
  
  But after this our paths will diverge again, and her death will not be mine either. I think I would have tried to save her at that time if I had been able to. But this was impossible. I couldn't help Kezia Neumann. Nobody could help her.
  
  
  Slipping carefully under the sheets so as not to wake her, I looked at the clock on the dresser to see what time it was. It was a quarter to five.
  
  
  Kezia woke up. “Oh my God,” she said. 'Jesus! What are you doing with me?
  
  
  I replied: “Everything has its time.” Shut up .
  
  
  She didn't even hear me anymore. “Yes,” she said. 'Oh yes. Yeees! She bit me on the shoulder. Tough. "You have to stop now," she complained. “Honestly, I can’t take it anymore! You are a maniac. You are killing me. Stop this. Stop it, I tell you!
  
  
  When I met her at the casino, I noticed that she spoke what might be called pseudo-cultured English. She was born in Brooklyn, in Flatbush near Grand Army Plaza, and did not move to Israel until she was 15 years old. But in bed I noticed an accent.
  
  
  When I didn't stop, she started crying, almost hysterically, as she lay dead, motionless and hard as a board beneath me. Her eyes turned upward. I continued.
  
  
  After that, none of us could move. I threw myself into working with Kezi's luscious tits and began the usual battle with lethargy and regret, that calm feeling of helplessness. A feeling that makes a person weak and makes him wonder if there is anything worth living in this world. I doubt it's the same for women. I could never understand it.
  
  
  Kezia ran her fingers through my hair and said, “Honestly, you are a monster. Monster!'
  
  
  Her accent was now purely Flatbush. She continued, “I've never had anything like you in my entire life! Jesus!'
  
  
  I humbly admitted that I was not bad.
  
  
  Kezia stared at me with narrowed eyes. 'Not bad? God, you're incredible, dude! Honestly, I'm sure you'll have to force them away from you.
  
  
  Gradually I came to my senses. I thought about the Luger and stiletto on the double bottom of the suitcase, and it occurred to me that I had not yet cleaned the Luger. Careless of me. I had to do this immediately, as soon as I freed myself from this pleasant web of flesh in which I had allowed myself to become entangled, but which was now beginning to tire me a little.
  
  
  I was waiting for the phone. Nothing. There's a knock on the door. Not yet. But I still had that feeling. I knew .
  
  
  Finally, when I had mustered enough strength to drag myself out of bed, Kezia grabbed me and kissed me. She squeezed my pride. “You must take good care of him.” I fell in love with him. I wouldn't want anything to happen to him."
  
  
  “Me too,” I replied, heading to the bathroom. While I was washing, there was a knock on the door. Kezia fell asleep again, and I tried not to wake her. In my profession, it is not customary to simply open the door wide to everyone and welcome people with open arms. I whispered, “Who?”
  
  
  "Telegram for Mista Silas Lapham." It was English with a distinct Lebanese accent.
  
  
  I opened the door. 'It's me.'
  
  
  I handed the boy some coins and took the sealed envelope. It had to come from Hawk. He and Della Stokes, the personal secretary, were the only ones who could know where I was and who I really was.
  
  
  The boy did not disappear immediately. He seemed rather cocky to me and looked past me into the room with some kind of half-intelligent grin. They ripened quite early in the Levant, and I suspected that the child was staring at the sleeping Keziah. He will have dirty thoughts and teenage fantasies. I did not want to be guilty of inciting a minor child and, in order to prevent him from going to work independently in one of the basement rooms, I gave him a little push.
  
  
  - Okay, boy, thanks. Goodbye .
  
  
  He stayed for a while and continued to look past me into the room, and now I saw that he was not looking at the bed, but at the TV.
  
  
  — Is your TV out of order too, mista?
  
  
  I must have looked as stunned as I felt when he continued, “All the TVs around the world are screwed, mista. You didn't know?
  
  
  I shrugged and resolutely pushed him away. 'I do not know anything. Aju.
  
  
  He left. I closed the door and took the telegram to the bathroom, wondering along the way what the child was talking about. To hell with all the TVs?
  
  
  My first thought was to give a knighthood to the person who turned off all the televisions. I personally am not a fan of the screen. Hawk too, although he never admitted it openly.
  
  
  Fuck it. I haven't watched TV for several weeks and haven't seen a newspaper for three days. Who would be crazy enough to read or look at this stupid box when Kezia is around?
  
  
  The telegram read: "Model T Wolf-Wolf-First-immediately." The sender is not specified. This was also unnecessary. The sender was Hawk - who else could it be? - and that meant I had another assignment, effective immediately. Over many years of collaboration, Hawk and I developed our own code. Not present in official code books. I never carry a code book with me. This is asking for trouble.
  
  
  I also doubt that any of the other Killmasters - I happen to know that there are three others, and Hawk doesn't know that I know - would have understood the telegram code. I did it without much effort while shaving. The “model” meant nothing, just paper stuff, and to make things a little more difficult for unwanted interested parties. “Wolf”—the second “Wolf” was redundant—referred to the writer Thomas Wolfe. "First" meant his first book.
  
  
  Thomas Wolfe's first book was Come Home, Angel. "Immediately" was clear. This meant haste.
  
  
  Hawk called me to Los Angeles as soon as possible. Kezia was still sleeping like an exhausted baby while I packed my things. I always travel with minimal luggage. I don’t need much to work either: a Luger, a stiletto, sometimes some kind of disguise like a hairstyle, padding and contact lenses. By the way, I mostly use "natural" camouflage, the way I walk and talk, and rarely use rubber or plastic aids. I do not need them. In addition to excellent training in carrying out tasks, I have an innate mimetic talent. This is sometimes useful. Kezia didn't wake up. I left the stack of money on the dresser and tried not to look at it as I left the room. It was over and it was better to forget about it. I'll bet a thousand dollars against one Lebanese pound, which is about thirty-two cents, that I'll never see her alive again. But as I walked to the elevator, I had to admit that a terrible thought occurred to me. It felt like I had just been lying in bed with a beautiful corpse. And necrophilia is definitely not one of my preferences.
  
  
  I saw him while waiting for a taxi to take me to the airport. I have a good memory; not absolute or photographic memory or anything abnormal, but good memory. I developed it. And two or three times a year I spend a week in the archives of the Academy of Arts in Washington.
  
  
  He hung out in the parking lot and chatted with the valet. A large man in one of those ill-fitting suits they always seem to have to wear. His name was Nikolai Tovarets, and he was an unimportant KGB officer. I didn't know their main man in Beirut, but I knew Tovarts. He was a professional killer. Most of the time he worked with his hands, as far as I remembered with a file, and mostly worked with women. In the lobby I stocked up on a stack of newspapers, but did not pay attention to the flashy headlines and began to study the Tovarts. He had big hands. He looked past me without interest. I wore the disguise of Silas Laphampak, horn-rimmed glasses, and walked in a hunched, half-drunk manner. I knew the bars wouldn't be open this early, so I drank some arak in my hotel room to make my breath smell like alcohol. It was only a few minutes past seven, and I already looked half drunk.
  
  
  My taxi arrived and I got in. So Kezia Neumann was being followed. I wondered how long they would keep this up and then drop her from the list. At least I wasn't exposed. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting in a taxi on the way to the airport right now. There was nothing I could do. Absolutely nothing. I realized that I was lucky again, as often happens, and that my timing was right. Hawk's telegram arrived on time. If I had stayed a few more hours, invited Kezia to dinner, I might have gotten into some shit. There's no point in thinking about it.
  
  
  When I arrived at the airport, I had not yet read the Paris edition of the New York Times. I was flying away and I had no more than half a minute left. I tucked the newspapers under my arm and, once on the plane, I saw the snow glisten in the Dar el Bader mountains in the northeast. Gradually the peaks became larger and I realized that we were going to fly over Baalbek. It was a tourist gimmick, a supposedly polite gesture meant to make you forget that the plane took off too late, the air conditioning didn't work, and the steak was tough. As for me, I saw Baalbek. The word Baalbek burst from my throat. The closest I ever came close to death was the attack on the Temple of Jupiter. I pulled out the newspapers.
  
  
  This child was right! Someone - and no one seemed to know exactly who - had pulled a trick on television around the world. The guy said: “All the TVs everywhere are ruined, mista.”
  
  
  Times, this old gray-haired woman, spoke more calmly. They hadn't yet adopted the largest font and the headings were only four columns long, but there was obvious excitement in the message.
  
  
  MASSIVE SABOTAGE OF TELEVISION AROUND THE WORLD ALL PROGRAMS INTERRUPTED BY COMMUNIST PROPAGANDA.
  
  
  THE PRESIDENT CALLS TO CALM DOWN.
  
  
  Scientists suspect the use of lasers; the source is probably in space. Financial losses amount to millions. An alarmed United Nations calls for emergency measures.
  
  
  I understood the main points of the article. Somewhere in the world there was a very powerful transmitter that was erasing all other transmissions and imposing its own transmission. The Chinese were behind this. They admitted it too. But they were not ordinary Chinese. This was a new group of Chinese. They sought to overthrow the old regime in China. The location of the transmitter was secret and they, of course, did not want to reveal anything about it. When the time comes, they will tell. If Mao and his clique are overthrown. They called themselves neo-coms. New communists. They wanted membership in the United Nations and preached brotherhood among nations.
  
  
  The world, they say, will soon see the light. Meanwhile, the secret transmitter would continue to dominate all channels, and you would have no choice but to listen to the propaganda or turn off your TV.
  
  
  The most juicy detail, of course, was that the Chinese used our satellites for their broadcasts. It seemed impossible to find a transmitter on Earth. Basically, he could be anywhere.
  
  
  I weighed my options and smoked cigarette after cigarette. I tried not to look at the flight attendant in a miniskirt. At that moment I didn't need legs and tits, no matter how tempting they were. I returned to work, although I had not yet spoken to Hawk.
  
  
  Los Angeles is the television capital of the United States. I suspected Hawk would meet me there. He would have come up with something. And he expected something from me.
  
  
  At that moment, I didn't see very clearly the roles in this AH, but I didn't worry about it. This was a political issue, and whatever group of Chinese were involved, the matter smacked of blackmail. AX could be included. And, as always, do the dirty work. I left the newspaper and stretched out as far as the plane seat would allow.
  
  
  There were also comedic sides to this sabotage. Ratings among men, for example, turned out to be very high. There was a lot of sex in the programs, not interrupted by advertisements for washing powder!
  
  
  I found myself grinning, and the sullen woman sitting opposite me looked at me suspiciously; Yankees. I showed her my most charming smile and gently beckoned her. She lifted her nose and sniffed. The flight attendant leaned over and asked if I wanted anything, catching a glimpse of the purple bra. I thought about Kezia for a moment and immediately regretted it. I decided to take a nap. Planes always make me sleepy. Before I fell asleep, I wondered if the Mercantile would fuck Kezia before he strangled her. Sometimes executioners have fun like this.
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  From JFK I took a taxi to the rooftop apartment on East 46th Street. I had to go through different clothes and several clean shirts. Silas Lapham no longer existed, and his stupid suit, for all I knew, could have gone to the Salvation Army, although I doubted they would find anyone interested in it.
  
  
  After taking a bath and shaving, I checked my mail. It was mostly advertising junk. There were also a few letters from old girlfriends that I tore in half unread and threw into the fireplace. It's always better to forget an old love.
  
  
  I drank my whiskey and got dressed, then in my office I completed a report on my work in Syria, ending my cover as a tobacco salesman. I always write two reports; one for the official AX and one for Hawk personally. The last one is the only report that matters. On the way to LaGuardia, I made several abrupt direction changes, just to be on the safe side. Over the years, it became almost a natural habit to make sure I wasn't being followed. I didn't notice anything suspicious. At the airport I bought the latest copies of the Times, Daily News and Post - all the newspapers left in this sad city.
  
  
  I've worked from Los Angeles a few times before and the code was simple. I called the phone and a taxi picked me up at the entrance to Pershing Square. I recognized the driver, a gruff guy named Wells, with a thick brown beard and a food-stained shirt. He gave no indication that he had seen me before. When the taxi pulled away, I waited for the “Taxi” light on the roof to go out. Then I said, “Home is never home, what about you?”
  
  
  - Almost never, sir. I nodded.
  
  
  I could have covered the distance in half the time, but the taxi ride was part of the routine. So you do it. I waited while he circled the block a few times, checking his mirror regularly to make sure we weren't being followed. Wells was now driving towards the Bunker Hill area. There we have the entire top floor of the new building. Great location because we are at the highest point in the area so no one can spy on us with binoculars.
  
  
  — You should go to 9C, sir. You must wait there. I'll give you the key with the change.
  
  
  I handed him a five dollar bill. He gave me back the change with the key. I gave him a dollar and looked at the expression on his face. “See you,” I said. He didn't answer.
  
  
  Hawk was already in the room. He sat in the dark and watched TV. I closed the door behind me and began to talk to the dark figure. "We are alone?"
  
  
  You can spot Hawk anywhere, anytime, by the idiotic way he handles his cigar.
  
  
  "I'm still looking," he replied. “We’ll have company in a minute.” Sit down and watch this, boy.
  
  
  When he calls me that, it means he's in a great mood. I put my suitcase in the corner, unbuttoned my tie, took off my jacket, lit a cigarette and poured myself something at the small bar that I remembered from my previous visit. Hawk didn't say anything. I didn't say anything either. And now for the first time I saw what was happening with the TV.
  
  
  The image was clear and sharp. A close-up of the Chinese devil mask, a grotesque and terrifying thing that made an eerie impression on the screen. The voice belonged to a woman. She spoke excellent English. It was a professional, trained voice, but you could clearly hear her reading the text.
  
  
  “Once again we must apologize, people of the world, for interrupting normal broadcasting. We hope this does not cause you too much inconvenience. But it is necessary that we can convey our message in this way. The message of a new China, a China that will emerge as soon as the rotten regime of Mao Tse-tung is wiped off the face of the earth, which will happen very soon.”
  
  
  I sank into a comfortable leather chair and took a sip. "Chang Kai-shek?"
  
  
  “Wrong,” Hawk said. “We thought about this at the very beginning. Now shut up and listen.
  
  
  The devil mask moved, it began to shake and grimace. A slender female hand with a ring and a lit cigarette between the fingers appeared in the picture. I can't help it. “I knew they wouldn't last long, sir.” Here's an advertisement.
  
  
  Hawk didn't think it was funny at all. - ' Shut up ! Listen carefully to this voice - it is important."
  
  
  I kept my mouth shut. You will never joke with this old man.
  
  
  The hand now inserted a burning cigarette into the mouth of the devil mask. I was still waiting for a treatise on the low nicotine content of this particular brand of cigarettes when the voice continued: “Do not be afraid of this devilish mask, dear inhabitants of the world. It's just a mask, and masks are harmless. But behind the masks are ordinary people just like you, loyal and patriotic Chinese determined to sacrifice their lives and property to give China the position it deserves in the world.
  
  
  In the meantime, until Mao is in power and we are accepted into the UN as equals, we are forced to wear masks. We ask for your patience. We strive to show our true colors just as you strive to get to know them better. In the meantime, we will try not to interfere with your regular programs any more than necessary, and if we do appear on your screen, we hope you find our programs interesting and stimulating.
  
  
  We ask for understanding and cooperation. Write about it! Write to your president, your senator, your newspapers. Demand that we, the new communists in exile, be given a seat in the United Nations. Only you can do this. Because it's possible. And this will be necessary if you want to save the world from the suffering of nuclear war. Because make no mistake, nuclear war is what Mao and his pawns want. Write about it. Today!'
  
  
  Now images appeared of a thickly smoking mask that began to lean back and disappear from view. The sound of a gong could be heard in the background. Then another sound, which gradually became clearer, sound, but the image was gone...
  
  
  — Did you wash this blouse in cold water? But, my dear child, you cannot do this at all. This way, you'll never get those poop stains out! I'm telling you it's impossible.
  
  
  - But mom, I will prove it. ..'
  
  
  The advertisement was cut and the announcer's face appeared on the screen again. He looked calm and casual, and his wig fit perfectly. He announced that the President had called Congress into a special session. Hawk turned off the TV. He turned on the light in the room and looked at Nick, moving his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
  
  
  As usual, his expensive suit looked like he'd bought it for cheap at the Salvation Army, and his shirt was wrinkled and worn. His tie was a disaster. But he looked less tired than usual. He looked almost satisfied. I smiled at him, and when I saw him smile back, I was sure he was in a good mood. I knew even more: Hawk already knew much more about this case than I did. He was clearly aware. I didn't understand this. One of the thousand things I didn't understand about this matter.
  
  
  In a few short sentences I made it clear to Hawk that I did not like to wander into mysteries.
  
  
  He smiled, nodded and even rubbed his hands. He took two drinks at the bar and looked at his watch.
  
  
  “Preston More and Bill Phelan will be here in a minute. Sit down and listen, boy. And take that worried look off your face. This question is not at all as unclear as it seems. I will inform you as much as possible. We have a lead, a great lead.
  
  
  “I'm glad there is at least someone who can make sense of this madness. Personally, I don't understand this. I've been scratching my head since I left Beirut, and now I'd like to hear something."
  
  
  Hawk sat down, crossed his skinny legs, and took a drag from his cigar. He hadn't shaved that morning, and I noticed how white his stubble actually was. He didn't tell anyone his age, and I wasn't going to ask, but I suspected he was over seventy. A story circulating in Washington is that the president personally asked Hawk to stay beyond his retirement date. I suspect the rumor is true. The man does not look particularly dangerous, at first glance he looks more like a decrepit old man, but this is only externally. And many enemy agents paid for the idea that Hawk was a fairly harmless weakling. The old man is the best in this most dangerous profession. That says enough.
  
  
  “For starters,” he said, “you might be wondering why we were brought here.”
  
  
  I told Hawk that it was not yet clear to me why, how and where people should be destroyed, for which I was specially trained. For now there is really no need for this. But in the foreseeable future, everything may change. I'll start from the beginning so you can differentiate between the head and the tail. For starters, there is money. Remember the old saying that money can talk?
  
  
  If only I remembered!
  
  
  Hawk smiled wryly. “He’s screaming now. Big capital. TV people, all this complicated stuff, including Wall Street and old ladies who have multiple shares in something. Billions have already been lost, and if we can't put an end to this huge pirate channel soon, this joke will cost the Western economy many more billions. And this is just the beginning."
  
  
  “Okay for a start,” I admitted. The message was clear. Apart from dropping an atomic bomb on Detroit, these transfers were the best way to destroy the economy of the United States and other countries as quickly as possible.
  
  
  “So, turning off this transmitter has absolute priority.”
  
  
  I lit another cigarette. - I understand, sir. But I still do not see that this matter falls under the competence of the AH. Unless you already know who you need to get rid of to stop the broadcasts.
  
  
  “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I have no idea who you’ll have to get rid of, Nick, but I’m sure there will be casualties.” We have a clue as to where the transmitter may be. We could be wrong, but I hope not. Anyway, I'll give you directions, Nick. You'll have to follow that trail and see what happens. If I'm right and the trail really leads to the transmitter, then your task is to turn off the transmitter and get rid of everyone who bothers you.
  
  
  Ice cubes clinked in my glass as I lifted it to drink. Like this. New task. Absolute power of attorney to kill. Destroy the transmitter.
  
  
  I sighed. 'Yes sir. Where is this transmitter?
  
  
  “We think, that is, we know, he is in Peru.”
  
  
  I was hardly surprised. Little else surprises me. Why not in Peru? Why not at the South Pole? Everything was possible.
  
  
  — Any idea where exactly in Peru, sir? '
  
  
  'Not exactly. Somewhere in the Andes. Very high. This also explains that they transmit so powerfully that they erase all other programs. That and the fact that they use laser beams to broadcast their programs. According to experts, we are familiar with the principle of broadcasting using lasers, but have never been able to put it into practice. But they do it. We can't beat them. Solution . .. Must be destroyed!
  
  
  I got up and went to the window. Hollywood was visible in the distance. I suddenly became restless, as I always do when I know I'm about to start something new and want to hurry up. Of course, it would take me hours to get all the facts and details. I turned to Hawk, who was looking at me with narrow, cold eyes, biting his cigar. He barely touched his drink.
  
  
  “When will I go to Peru? Under what cover?
  
  
  “I can’t tell you yet, son.” Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a few days. Maybe never."
  
  
  I looked at him in surprise, but remained silent, although it took some effort. Sometimes he just surprises.
  
  
  Hawk began to speak quietly. “Like I said, Nick, I’ll take you on a reconnaissance mission.” And that trail starts here in Los Angeles. In Hollywood, to be precise.
  
  
  I looked out the window again. The fog cleared a little and I could now see the barren Hollywood Hills.
  
  
  “Can’t you be more precise,” I replied. “Where in Hollywood? When? Could you give me some details. I don't like it when I have to work blindfolded.
  
  
  Hawk didn't answer. He turned on the TV again and sat down in the chair. An image appeared. United Nations at a meeting. There is complete agreement between the Chinese and the Americans that this transmitter should be turned off. I began to believe in miracles.
  
  
  Hawk chuckled and turned the device off again. Apparently he was targeting Chinese programs.
  
  
  I grinned. 'Disappointed? No dirty pictures?
  
  
  Hawk didn't answer. “Indeed, they sometimes show sex films. 'But late at night. They probably don't want to embarrass the kids."
  
  
  Given his mood, I decided not to point out to him that he had forgotten the time difference between the countries. Parents of British, French, German, Russian and Swedish children will be happy with this. I had an idea that these videos weren't wrong. The Chinese have far-reaching fantasies about Westerners' sex lives that have gotten out of hand.
  
  
  Hawk said nothing more. If he was like that, then I knew that I couldn’t get anything from him either. He probably arranged for me to get information from someone else.
  
  
  A few minutes later the sound of a key being inserted into the room's lock was heard. Two men entered.
  
  
  I met one of them, Preston Mohr, before when I needed to repair something in Hungary. He was one of the bigwigs in Hollywood, and at that time I suspected that he worked for AH. So now I knew it for sure.
  
  
  The other, Bill Phelan, I knew only from stories. I've never met him. He belonged to a special department of the Pentagon, a large man with a cropped head. He nodded to me without extending his hand. Preston More recognized me. He shook my hand and muttered a few kind words, and then went to fill his pipe in the corner.
  
  
  Bill Phelan immediately became irritated. After giving me a long, icy look that said he knew everything about me, he turned to Hawk and began to complain. In fact, I could still sympathize with him. He looked exhausted and overtired, and clearly needed sleep. I didn't know exactly what his rank was, but I knew he was high enough to have sleepless nights over that TV story. At first he tried to be polite. He said, “I don't understand, sir. What does Carter have to do with this? I, uh. .. I don't believe this is true. At least not yet.
  
  
  Hawk looked at him impassively. - I don't think so. From now on, Carter must be on this case. I have the President's approval. You can of course check it out if you want.
  
  
  Phelan looked confused. Preston More coughed out a cloud of smoke. Hawk indicated with his eyes that I should stay out of this.
  
  
  Phelan gave me a displeased look, wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief, and ignored me. He opened his briefcase and pulled out papers that looked like blueprints, thin schematic drawings with lots of curved lines. He gave them to Hawk.
  
  
  Without a doubt, sir. These voice prints prove it. The woman speaking the lyrics for these broadcasts is Kona Matthews. She is currently in Los Angeles, or more precisely, in her home near Malibu. So we heard that these were her recordings.
  
  
  Hawk peered at the diagrams. I looked with interest at AH, which is not exactly a technical laboratory, but we use the best products of modern technology. We make sure we don't fall behind. But I couldn't remember ever using voiceprints to identify people with 100 percent certainty.
  
  
  To be honest, I wasn't very good at this particular technique.
  
  
  Now Phelan gave Hawke another case. “This is the complete file on Rona Matthews, sir.” I was ordered to give it to you. The way he said it suggested that he would rather hang himself.
  
  
  Hawk thanked him and looked interested, although he didn't seem completely satisfied yet. -What about this Li-Tzu? This Guru, or Yogi, or whatever you call such a person. What do you know about him?'
  
  
  Phelan looked like he was being tortured and I could understand how Hawke dealt with it. This was typical of his style. He contacted the president and AH receives leadership. He was now the absolute leader and was currently busy pumping out all the information from Phelan that his organization had painstakingly collected.... Phelan replied with a distorted face, as if he was physically suffering: “He calls himself a lama, sir. He is from Tibet. He's with Rhona Matthews now. At her beach house in Malibu. Tonight she is throwing a party to introduce him to a group of people. We thought this would be a good chance to get in there and get things moving. More precisely, we were prepared. ..'
  
  
  Hawk pulled a new cigar out of the cellophane. He made a ball of cellophane, threw it into the trash can and missed.
  
  
  “You need to practice more,” I remarked.
  
  
  He gave me a sour look, but his gaze became even more sour when he turned back to Phelan. - I know about your preparations. Thanks for the info. From here we will proceed further. But there are two things I must be absolutely sure of. Does the girl understand our orders and has the local police been informed? We should not expect police intervention. What's up with this?
  
  
  Now Phelan looked so miserable that my heart almost bled. Almost.
  
  
  - Everything is decided, sir. The girl knows that she is temporarily transferred to the Academy of Arts and must follow orders from you or your subordinates.
  
  
  This word was not chosen by chance. I decided not to let it pass without further ado.
  
  
  “You're taking a big risk,” I remarked to Phelan. “You might as well lose her.” Once she discovers that she is working in a more prestigious organization, she may decide not to return to you.
  
  
  Pretending that he was ready to answer, he opened his mouth, then looked at Hawk and, after thinking, apparently decided that it was better to shut up. “Do me a favor and shut up, Nick,” Hawk said, pointing his cigar at me. However, his tone was not without sympathy. The cigar was now pointed at Phelan. - What about the local police?
  
  
  Everything is fine there too, sir. They promised not to interfere except in cases of murder or rape.”
  
  
  Murder or rape? None of them seemed relevant to me.
  
  
  This was not the case. It was necessary to start with the fact that AH did not consider this a murder. We called it what it was: murder in our line of work. You had to kill before the enemy himself got to you. Rape? I suspect something similar is possible even with the AX people. We have a large number of agents, and this business requires a variety of people to do it. But personally, I have never heard of such a case or even thought about it. Maybe I should have known. After all, you should always read the fine print of any contract you make with the devil.
  
  
  Hawk and Phelan walked together to a corner of the room and whispered. I began a polite conversation with Preston More, who always looked like a mouse in the paws of a cat. I told him that I really liked his last film, and it was true. He noted that I looked great. I doubted that this was true. I could still feel the physical traces of my last assignment in Syria and my antics with Kezia Neumann. I wondered again if the Russian would fuck her before strangling her.
  
  
  To get those thoughts out of my head even more, I said, “Rhona Matthews? This name should mean something to me. But what?'
  
  
  Mort bit his pipe before answering. Hawk and Phelan were still standing next to each other in the corner in the dark, and I wondered if Hawk was trying to hide something from me. In fact, I didn't know anything yet. What did Rona Matthews and a Tibetan lama named Li Zi have to do with this pirate radio station? I didn't have any leads yet. Voiceprints weren't much help either, even if they were reliable.
  
  
  “An old movie star,” More said. “One of the first sex stars. By the way, she seems to still be active in this area if the rumors are true. I haven't seen Rona for many years, except for a few premieres and parties where I saw her by chance. She must be over sixty now. Still looks forty. And he can’t calm down, if you believe the gossip. And believe me, there are gossips about her in Hollywood.
  
  
  Now I remembered her again. Her mouth, wide, red and wet, always looked tempting on screen. I think she had those little schoolgirl tits and her legs were too skinny, but that mouth was her biggest strength.
  
  
  “She hasn’t made a movie in twenty years,” Mohr said. “She didn’t need it, of course.” She's definitely not dying of poverty. She even owns the very first million she earned. Thanks to Dion Hermes.
  
  
  I must have looked as shocked as I felt,” he pointed the pipe at my stomach and laughed. - Dion Hermes, of course, is not his real name. His real name is Theophilus Demeter. He is also not entirely Greek by birth. His father owned a candy store.
  
  
  Now I understood why Hawk was so silent. He decided that Preston More would brief me so that I could get first-hand information. And the fact that More spoke so freely was for me the clearest proof that he really worked for AH.
  
  
  I smiled at him. When I met him before in Hungary, he already seemed like the right guy for me
  
  
  I said, “If you think I think too much, say so, but Dion Hermes? Is this what it looks like?
  
  
  He laughed again in a low voice. “Indeed, Nick. The word Dion must come from Dionysus. Hermes speaks for itself. But he doesn't move his hips. He looks quite normal. Plus, he's one hell of a businessman.
  
  
  I nodded. “I assume he also made sure she didn’t end up in a home for poor and sick actresses?” Across the room, facing us, Hawk and Phelan were still whispering. Phelan looked worried again. “He needs to take better care of his heart,” I thought to myself. I suspected that the old man had given him too many hints that his role in this matter was unfortunately over. “Yes,” said More. He crossed his legs and began filling his pipe again with expensive Dutch tobacco. As a former tobacco merchant, I should know what this mixture was. But, unfortunately, my knowledge did not go that far. My part in this,” More continued, “is almost finished.” I've put together files on Matthews and Dion Hermes, and the Pentagon file doesn't compare to some of the old records on Matthews. I worked closely with Phelan's department at Hawk's direction. He asked me to brief you, Nick. Because, of course, you won't have time to study the files in detail.
  
  
  “Perhaps you are right about that,” I agreed. I have a feeling this matter could move quickly. So enlighten me. What do Rhona Matthews and this Dion Hermes have to do with the programs of this TV channel? Who is Li Tzu if not a Tibetan lama, and what does he have to do with this? What is a woman like Matthews doing with him?
  
  
  More's pipe went out for the hundredth time, and he lit it again with a very long match. This is one of my objections to tubes. You'll never keep them burning for long. And they burn my tongue.
  
  
  He took several puffs until the pipe went out again. He said: “I will try to put this in reasonable order, although it is not easy.” This is a difficult case. Almost Hollywood, I would even say. And I don't think you could sell a script for this story. Reality is usually even more incredible than fantasy.
  
  
  I said I understood him. In the Los Angeles area you'll find more strange faces per square foot than anywhere else in the world.
  
  
  “Dion Hermes,” More began, “has probably been gay since childhood. He left Chicago as an adult and went to Hollywood, probably by invitation, to try to become an actor. The fact that he liked boys would hardly have interfered with his craft, especially if he had been careful enough. And he made some kind of career. Either way, he never became a good actor. He probably had no talent. But somehow he met Rona Matthews and they hit it off immediately.”
  
  
  I interrupted him, saying that I didn't understand. Preston More looked a little disappointed, and although he was too polite to say it, it was clear from his appearance that he considered me ignorant in the land of Sodom.
  
  
  “Of course, I wouldn't expect you to know this, but Rhona Matthews is bisexual. She loves not only men, but also women. At least that's how it was in the past. I don't know what her preferences are now. Either way, they got along well. He became her manager and business consultant, a combination that proved successful. And not only from a business point of view. This is, of course, just gossip, but I suspect that it is not far from the truth. Rhona and Dion also worked together in another field. She seduced boys for him, and he seduced girls for her. He's definitely good looking, so he had no trouble attracting girls to his place.
  
  
  I thought about having another drink, but changed my mind. Hawk knows more than he lets on, and besides, that's enough, and I'm doing a great job with this task.
  
  
  The old man led Phelan to the door, and I realized that now we could safely continue our work.
  
  
  “They've been together for a long time,” Mohr continued. “Dion turned out to be a great writer and he wrote several scripts for Rhone that were successful. In addition, he wrote a wonderful novel, of course, under a pseudonym.
  
  
  I said I understood it. The name of Dion Hermes on the spine of the book would only attract a very select audience. But this hardly guarantees a large circulation.
  
  
  “It’s crazy, really,” said More. “Two people like Dion and Rhona who stay together for so long. And not only in business. There must be something else: some kind of connection that is not easy for the average person to understand. I've often wondered. A gay and bisexual woman who have been living together for twenty years. I wonder why they are not married at all?
  
  
  From these thoughts of his, I could tell that he definitely did not have the title of Killmaster. He was more of a theorist. he joined AH mainly to make plans.
  
  
  I could imagine his interest in this special matter. I already have the impression that his sexual interest is also partly focused on men. To each his own, I can't blame him. He was a great guy to work with and his personal life was his own business.
  
  
  I told Mohr that I found all this very interesting, but what had Li Tzu, that old lama, to do with it? Before he could respond, Hawk sat down with us and said, “Okay, now that the competitor is gone, let’s get to work.”
  
  
  I grinned at Hawk. “Did Phelan kiss you goodbye?” After all, I do step on someone's toes from time to time."
  
  
  “Phelan claims you killed one of his men in Africa last year,” Hawke said. "I don't remember seeing anything like that in your report."
  
  
  I shrugged. - Oh yes, I vaguely remember something like that. I forgot to mention this. But honestly, it was a mistake."
  
  
  Hawk scratched his white stubble. Sometimes he didn't know what to do with my innocent jokes. 'Hm. Yes. Yes. Okay, let's move on. How much did you tell him, Mor?
  
  
  More was cleaning his pipe. 'A little. There is still a lot to be said.
  
  
  - Okay, then go ahead. I'm going to shave and maybe take a nap. What are your thoughts so far, Nick? Do you understand what's going on?
  
  
  I have a habit of expressing myself without further ado in front of Hawk. “Let me put it this way,” I remarked. “I still have a lot to learn.”
  
  
  Hawk laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
  
  
  “We'll work it out, Nick.” All we have to do is put all the puzzle pieces in the right place. Carry on, Preston.
  
  
  Preston More continued his story. I listened and asked stupid questions. I didn't get any stupid answers. We were busy for nine hours. Mor was the first to get tired and needed rest. Hawk and I started calling and will soon receive a huge phone bill to be paid by the taxpayers. Peru was just one of the countries with which we had a long telephone connection.
  
  
  I had to be at Rona Matthews Beach House by 10pm to relieve one of the security guards. Most stars have private security guards that they hire from some organization. It was all well prepared. They were performing at the level you would expect from such a highly skilled organization, and I was going to cover for a man named Gerald Swinger so he could visit his newborn baby in the hospital. That evening my own name would be Bruce Sampler. Where the hell did Hawk get all these names? I had my orders, and so far it all seemed like a chore. My job was primarily to protect the girl from Phelan's department at the Pentagon. A girl who took great risks.
  
  
  Hawk and Preston Mohr drove me to Topanga Beach where I was supposed to get another car. Hawk didn't know what the girl looked like. Phelan didn't have time to get the photo out of the archive. At least that's what he said. They don't like having pictures of their employees lying around. This is an understandable position in our profession.
  
  
  “I heard,” Hawk said as we drove through the Palisades, “she’s young and attractive.”
  
  
  “Sounds good so far,” I replied.
  
  
  Preston More drove the car. Hawk sat down next to him. I took a seat in the back, wearing my green Protective Agency Inc. uniform. , complete with cap and belt containing a .38-caliber police pistol. I had my Luger in a shoulder holster in case I actually needed to fire it, and my Hugo, my stiletto, was, as usual, in the hilt on the inside of my right forearm. I bent my wrist to a barely audible click and felt the cold steel of my stiletto on my palm. I didn't think I'd have to use my weapon, but I like to always be prepared for anything.
  
  
  Hawk turned uneasily in his seat and looked at me suspiciously. He knew I was just playing, but sometimes he just doesn't care about anything. “Let me remind you,” he said dryly, “that this girl, Miss Killbride, was lent to us by the Pentagon.” Phelan told me she was a lady.
  
  
  “How can Phelan know this?”
  
  
  “I just want to say,” Hawk continued. “If you ever dreamed of harassing this girl, Phelan would be more than happy to make a big deal out of it.” I don't want this under any circumstances, Nick. They already have the idea that we in AH are a bunch of murderers and barbarians, and I wouldn't want them to think that we also hire sexual predators.
  
  
  Sometimes the old man could speak harshly.
  
  
  “How,” I said coldly, “can I bother this young lady?” A pretty young girl? Only mentally, sir. Hawk is tired of word games. - Make sure nothing happens. You protect Patricia Killbride, and when she reports you, you will report to me. Phelan insisted that you have as little direct contact with the girl as possible. He wants her to have as little relationship with AX as possible.
  
  
  “I understand that perfectly, sir.” We are a rude, untrustworthy bunch of scum, and are not fit to entertain pretty young ladies of marriageable age.
  
  
  Preston More laughed. For a while he tried to control himself. - I see you have excellent cooperation.
  
  
  There was nothing more I could say about it. I walked out on a dark corner near Topanga Beach. The car was parked in a parking lot several blocks from the house.
  
  
  Hawk still seemed worried. “Try to follow your orders as strictly as possible, at least this time, Nick, and be careful not to get into trouble.” Will you please do it by the book this time, son?
  
  
  I never liked watching an old man beg. When I came out, I raised my hand.
  
  
  “You have my Boy Scout word, sir. I promise to do everything right. I keep my mouth closed and my eyes and ears open. I stay undercover as much as possible. I have no contact with Lady Killbride; she will come into contact with me.
  
  
  'Fine. And remember, this is a masked party. Patricia Killbride is dressed as Peter Pan."
  
  
  I tried to remember what Peter Pan looked like, but I couldn't remember anyone other than Donald Duck. I thought it best not to bother Hawk with this. I'll find out there.
  
  
  I shook hands with Preston More. Hawk and I never shook hands. But in his look I read: “Good luck, boy. And remember, we are in a hurry!
  
  
  They left. I walked to the lot where the Chevrolet was parked. Suddenly I needed to think about something. Imagine if there were two Peter Pans at the party. Or three? Or half a dozen. Imagine, there were three women and three men! So I could continue. Lady Killbride was still difficult to spot in the crowd.
  
  
  She shouldn't have gotten into trouble. This is what I promised Hawk.
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  I was wearing a cap with a gold star and gold epaulets on my shoulders. A security detachment of more than six people is usually commanded by a sergeant and an officer, who sometimes drop in to keep order. I was an officer freshly transferred from San Francisco, so while Gerald Swinger was visiting his child in the hospital, my job was to make sure I was there to oversee everything. I had just been transferred and was not familiar with the people or the area, so I had the perfect excuse to walk around the area without arousing suspicion. The girl from the Pentagon can recognize me by my gold shoulder straps.
  
  
  I hadn't been to Malibu in a while, so I quickly missed the turn onto Arbuckle Road. I had to ask one of the local residents for directions. Finally I found Arbuckle Road and drove to the beach.
  
  
  It was a private beach, and not a small one, surrounded by high barbed wire. As I approached the gate and slowed down, I saw a long, ramshackle beach house ahead. The lights were on behind all the windows. The music, which was probably coming from a stereo system, was somewhat muffled by the soft white fog that rolled in from the sea. Now I heard that the music was composed by Bartok, so it really is an installation.
  
  
  Now I was alone. Hawke and security bosses decided not to inform security officials. They thought a uniform with gold stripes would be enough, and I hoped they were right. In any case, I could afford to ask a lot of questions without arousing much suspicion. After all, I just got transferred.
  
  
  Until now I have kept my hat on my head quite freely; Now I corrected it, I decided to play strictly by the rules. I parked the car in a small paved parking lot and walked to the wooden house near the gate. There were three men there, a sergeant and two guards. They were playing poker and looked at me. Apparently, they were not expecting the authorities, and it was clear that they were not too happy about my arrival. They probably thought I would interrupt their poker game and clearly hated it.
  
  
  Private security guards are not in the habit of saluting. The two guards stopped playing and looked at me as I entered the cottage. The sergeant looked up from the magazine, assuming he was filling it out.
  
  
  I introduced myself. “Bruce,” I added without smiling. They could decide for themselves whether I was a servant or the right guy. I told them some hyped story and told them I was making extra money. “This is much needed these days,” I said.
  
  
  They agreed. I took the sergeant's log and looked at the last entry: 23:00 - round completed - everything is in order. The sergeant clearly didn't like wasting ink. I put the magazine down, relaxed, and tried my best to give the impression that I didn't care what was going on.
  
  
  'What's the situation here? I'm filling in for a guy so I wanted to know a little about it. Who is Rhona Matthews?
  
  
  They were all elderly—many of the guards were retired—and not talkative. One of the poker players, who needed a shave, looked at me grimly.
  
  
  “Trick your old mother. Who doesn't know who Rona Matthews is?
  
  
  I looked straight at him, not smiling, and the sergeant quickly intervened. “The lieutenant doesn’t want to talk about you,” he barked at them. - You keep your mouth shut. I will tell the lieutenant everything."
  
  
  I nodded. - Please, Sergeant. Let's go outside for a while, shall we? Then I can immediately explore the area.”
  
  
  He paused for a moment, then nodded. He looked at his watch and then at the men, who were once again engrossed in their poker game. "You start in fifteen minutes." The guy who didn't shave said, without looking up, "We know, Sergeant." I didn't like his tone.
  
  
  The sergeant took a rifle out of the closet, threw it over his shoulder and looked at me. "I'll check the big house when we leave, sir." He stepped aside to let me go ahead.
  
  
  We entered the fog, which was now thick and smelled of seaweed and salted fish. The sergeant walked ahead of me. We crossed the parking lot and walked along a narrow path that ran right behind a barbed wire fence. We walked away from the beach house in the direction where the music now seemed louder and the light brighter, and we found ourselves on dry land. To our right I could see the headlights of cars driving along the road. There was no sign of the white gazebo where I was to meet Pat Killbride.
  
  
  Now the path widened, and I walked next to the sergeant. He was not a talker. I said, "What does all this mean?" When he hesitated to answer, I said, “Not that I care anymore, I’m not a snitch.” I do my work here, but I don't take it home. And I really don't know who Rhona Matthews is!
  
  
  The sergeant laughed and waved the flashlight beam at us. I didn't care that the fog was getting thicker. It would be a continuous thick fog. It wouldn't bother me too much.
  
  
  “Don't worry about the boys, Lieutenant. Simp tells everyone that he fucked her one night. She came home drunk. It was late, and he was on duty at the gate. He says that she came to the cottage, offered him a drink from her bottle, and that he fucked her on the table. I do not believe in that.
  
  
  I said nothing. After what Preston told me about Matthews, it didn't seem so unlikely to me. But that didn't matter now. I laughed. The fog gave my voice a low, sinister tone.
  
  
  - It seems quite strange to me too. Maybe this Simp made too much of a boredom. But I still don't know who she is. I wanted the sergeant to speak so that he would not notice how busy my eyes were. I never saw the gazebo.
  
  
  I listened with one ear to what the sergeant was telling me about Ron Matthews. His version was about half true, and compared to the information Preston More had given me, the story clearly showed how gossip spreads and spreads.
  
  
  However, one thing struck me. He never mentioned the name Dion Hermes. So he really managed to stay in the shadows. Or maybe the sergeant didn't like talking about gays.
  
  
  We left the dunes and emerged onto a wide gravel path. Then we approached a large old mansion, which slowly emerged from the fog in front of us. I couldn't make out much yet, but what I saw seemed to come from a Gothic fairy tale. The house had three floors and an attic, balconies, turrets, pediments, in a word, everything was fabulous. There were many large verandas with wicker furniture.
  
  
  The sergeant began to climb the wide stairs to one of the porches. “We have six keys here,” he explained. “The first one is here, at the front door.”
  
  
  I watched as he took the key hanging on the chain, inserted it into the watch and turned it twice. The watch made a clicking sound.
  
  
  I decided to make a funny comment. - Are there ghosts here too?
  
  
  The sergeant laughed. 'Why not? Rhona Matthews bought it after she started making films. It seems that this was once a beautiful building. It belonged to a banker who jumped out of a window in 1929. Now it is slowly rotting. We have to check it regularly because of the fire hazard. The pipes are old and there are thousands of rats. Sometimes we catch beach lovers or young couples here.
  
  
  I wondered how they could get over the fence. We were inside and walked through huge rooms with hardwood floors. The sergeant didn't turn on the light. “We turned off the main switches in the basement,” he explained. "It's a little safer." He inserted the key into the lock of the kitchen, which was the size of a ballroom, and we went down a few steps.
  
  
  “Sometimes they cut holes in the fence,” he continued. “Or they use blankets to climb over the barbed wire.” Some come to swim. We once had to kick out an entire colony of hashish smokers from here, believe it or not. Usually these are young couples.
  
  
  It was dark in the basement. I followed the bright beam of the sergeant's flashlight as it checked the boiler and the latrine.
  
  
  “That’s it,” he said, throwing the rifle over his shoulder again. "Let's get out of here. I always feel uncomfortable here."
  
  
  He didn't feel it. I smelled it. The smell of a just extinguished candle. Someone was here just before we arrived. That someone was still there. I felt it. We were still in the toilet. The sergeant might have had a cold or a bad sense of smell, but he noticed my reaction, no matter how subdued it was.
  
  
  'What is this?'
  
  
  I took the flashlight from him. “I thought I heard something.”
  
  
  I didn't hear anything. I was the only one who smelled it. I didn't want to tell him, but I had to look around because I was determined to get back here. I did it quickly, illuminating the room with a beam of light. There was nothing to be seen except a lot of pipes and taps, a few large old barrels and, in the corner, a washing machine from year zero. I let the light shine on him so fast that I could see him, but the sergeant couldn't. An extinguished candle on one of the barrels. The wall behind her was plastered over and seemed to have a different structure. This wall could be moved. There had to be something behind this. I returned the lamp to the sergeant. “It must have been one of those cats you told me about.”
  
  
  Yes, it's possible. But here there are more rats than cats, I swear to you. I wouldn't let a cat in here. She would have been eaten alive. Okay, Lieutenant, let's get out of this haunted house.
  
  
  We left through the side door and walked through the dunes to the beach. The fog remained the same. It was quite cool, but not completely cold. I muttered to the sergeant that I would see him again in the guardhouse at the gate, and began to investigate further on my own. I had to get rid of him anyway and I might as well do it right now.
  
  
  There were no other guards in sight. The sergeant told me that Madame Matthews wanted to see them as little as possible. Like all good servants, they had to be on hand when needed and unnoticed. I followed the music and in a few minutes found myself at a low façade on the landward side, where I could look out the window without being too noticeable. The light inside was dim, but enough that everything could be seen clearly.
  
  
  There were about thirty people in the large living room. They sat on benches and chairs, as well as on the floor. The Japanese servant walked around with a bowl of drinks and food, but food and drink were rarely talked about. Everyone paid attention to the man with the sitar. And a big man with a flute. And a small, petite woman dressed as the Green Goddess.
  
  
  I know very little about the Incas. But enough to realize that Rhona Matthews—I bet it was her—was dressed as Saxahuaman, the Green Goddess of Fertility, one of the Sun Maidens and leader of the Chosen Women.
  
  
  She sat down on a round cushion next to the stereo. She wore a tight green dress, bare feet, and her mask had a hooked nose and large, staring eyes. Her headdress resembled a golden sunbeam. Under the mask I could see part of her chin and throat, which looked as firm and perky as her breasts. She must have spent a fortune on plastic surgery.
  
  
  The big man who played the flute had to be Dion Hermes. Preston More already told me he wasn't a big guy, but I still didn't expect him to be that big or look that good. Dion Hermes, as I understand it, was not a sissy. I had a feeling that he could be a dangerous opponent.
  
  
  Lama Li Tzu played the sitar. It's not a Tibetan instrument, but he was very good at it. He plucked the strings with small brown hands that looked like monkey paws. By the way, Li Tzu looked a little like a monkey with a shaved head. He was wearing a yellow loose robe. I work a lot with associations, and my first impression was that Li Tzu was a mixture of Gandhi, Nehru and Maharishi Yoga. He did not remind me of Marajarati, my old yogi, but he was a yogi, not a lama. I suppose there must be a difference.
  
  
  Li Zi kept his eyes closed while playing the sitar. I saw his lips move, but, of course, I could not understand him.
  
  
  Now I began to pay attention to other guests. Some were in suits, but most were not, although all were wearing masks. Except for Dion Hermes and Li Zi, and the guy who walked among the guests and distributed leaflets or pamphlets. Even if he wore a mask, he couldn't fool me. I've seen too many of these before. Muscles! Stupid muscles. Bodyguard muscles. Dressed smartly in a tuxedo, cut to hide a shoulder holster. With polite gestures and silent steps, he moved among the guests, handing out papers and occasionally chatting. He was well built, lean, neither old nor young. I bet he didn't smoke, drink or do drugs. His blow was probably deadly.
  
  
  I watched him move around the room like a tiger trying to look tame. In any case, he didn't work for the Agency. They don't hire people like him.
  
  
  I haven't seen anyone like Peter Pan. I glanced at the guests again to make sure. I discovered something else. All faces were covered with masks, but arms, throats, legs and arms were visible. And they all told the same story. They were all old people. Sick people. And these were rich people. Rich people.
  
  
  The puzzle started to look like something. The part that was now visible was simple and classic. Nothing more or less than mystical scams. There were sides to it that I didn't yet know, but no matter how you packaged it, it was still garbage.
  
  
  Hawk mentioned that two things, problems, or whatever you want to call it, are running in parallel. It seemed to me that they rather contradict each other. Hawk and I weren't on the same page. Unless he was hiding something from me. Sometimes yes. Sometimes this annoying habit of his almost cost me my life. But the old man will never apologize.
  
  
  Killbride was fast, and she could move silently. Not many people manage to lag behind me as quietly as she does now. I was in the shadows, but there was enough light for her to see my gold shoulder straps. She stood a foot behind me and asked, “Are you Lieutenant Sampler?”
  
  
  I nodded without turning around and continued to look into the room. - Yes, and are you Peter Pan?
  
  
  We weren't playing games, and we both knew it, but I started to like her when I noticed that she had trouble holding back her laughter.
  
  
  - Yes, I'm Peter Pan. You're late, Lieutenant. I've been looking for you everywhere. I haven't looked back yet. I didn't want to miss anything that was happening in the room. She was closer to me now, breathing into my ear. Her breath smelled sweet and she was obviously eating mints.
  
  
  “Something delayed me,” I muttered. 'Why? Did anything shocking happen?
  
  
  "N-no." Now she didn't need to giggle. She was nervous. “I’m starting to get scared,” she said. 'I don't understand. I've never been afraid before and I don't like it.
  
  
  'What are you afraid of?' I just discovered something. When I first counted, there were about thirty people in the room. Now I counted only twenty-two. I could have been wrong by one or two, but that's impossible...
  
  
  Maybe she was scared. Maybe that's why she suddenly appeared so close to me that I felt a soft thigh and two hard breasts opposite me. And it smelled of good, not too expensive perfume.
  
  
  Her lips almost touched my ear as she whispered, “I don’t quite understand why I’m so scared. Just now, it was all too easy. Mr. Phelan invited me here as a guest, as a friend of a friend. Of course I had a map. Otherwise you will never get here. But I wasn't treated like a stranger at all. I was completely accepted as a friend. Too good! Rhona Matthews was chatting with me, Dion Hermes was chatting with me, and I think the old lama, Li Tzu, was about to start talking to me when I slipped away. And I'm the only young woman here! I'm worried about this. I saw some other women and they were all old goats."
  
  
  I hugged her waist. It was soft but firm. “I won’t try to chat with you,” I assured her. “For me, work always comes first.”
  
  
  She must have believed me because she didn't back down. I turned her towards the window so she could look in too. - Tell me who's who, Pete.
  
  
  She laughed again when I called her “Pete,” but it was a nervous laugh.
  
  
  I started talking. “Green Goddess - Rhona Matthews. Flutist - Dion Hermes. Li-Tzu is clear, but who is this glamorous bodyguard in a tuxedo handing out these flyers or what is it?
  
  
  Now he stood motionless, watching what was happening in the room. I could almost see the revolver under his perfectly tailored tuxedo. It could be called a banker's, maybe 38 caliber. Short barrel.
  
  
  She nodded. 'Yes. I'm a little afraid of him too. I don't know his exact name, but his name is Roy.
  
  
  That's all I know, except that he scares me. His eyes are like those of a dead fish.
  
  
  So it was Roy. “People keep disappearing,” I said. - Do you know anything about this? No one comes through the gate, and yet they disappear from sight. Where the hell? Her answer shocked me. “From the beach house, this house has a tunnel that leads to another large house that is not in use. You must go through the panel in the billiard room. Dion Hermes showed it to me.
  
  
  Roy, the bodyguard in disguise, must have had good intuition. He looked across the room at the window we were looking through. I was sure he wouldn't be able to see us, but I didn't like it. When he suddenly began to take quick, cat-like steps across the room towards the window, I took the girl by the hand and we walked away. Next to the gazebo there was a wicker sofa with soft pillows. I lit two cigarettes and we sat on the sofa. I hugged her. “It looks more natural this way,” I explained. - In case someone meets us. The fact that I was an Agency employee and not a guest would be a little harder to explain.
  
  
  Lighting a cigarette, I took a closer look at her face in the light of the lighter. She wasn't as young as she looked, the Pentagon doesn't hire teenagers, but she had one of those Irish faces that stays in the memory for a long time. She had wide, dark blue eyes and a wide, determined mouth. She didn't look crazy in her Peter Pan costume.
  
  
  She also looked at me carefully, but the expression on her face meant nothing to me. She didn't move away when I hugged her. But she said she was afraid. Maybe this was the reason.
  
  
  The tunnel is very interesting,” I said. “That explains where all these people are disappearing to.” But let's start from the very beginning, from the time you got here. For example, who organized it and how. And keep it short, because I wanted her to be back in the room in ten minutes.
  
  
  She was good. She had good eyesight and good memory. She knew how to distinguish major problems from minor ones. Five minutes later she told me what she knew.
  
  
  Phelan prepared everything. He arranged for the girl to come as the girlfriend of a friend of Rhona Matthews. As a former admirer, he introduced her to an old movie star. I had to give Phelan credit. He worked quickly.
  
  
  “It looks like Matthews is in a lesbian mode at the moment,” she told me matter-of-factly. “Phelan told me this and left me the opportunity to refuse the order. It also helped, of course, that Phelan was an old acquaintance of Rhona Matthews. He informed me in great detail and I believe that I have not made a single mistake so far. I did everything right and spoke wisely, and everything went well. To Matthews, I'm just an attractive young woman she can seduce. When the rest is done. My job is to play a woman who is not easy to pick up. So far I’ve been able to do it well.”
  
  
  I didn't know that Phelan was an old acquaintance of Matthews. Maybe she once fell in love with him? Hawk should have known this even if he didn't mention it.
  
  
  “Li Tzu is a good old man,” she continued. “I almost feel like Dion and Rhona are using him for something. Either way, they want him to do something in Peru. It appears to be a place where a small number of select people can retire to meditate. They must pay five thousand dollars as a registration fee. And this is to be able to share your wisdom. But I think there’s something more behind it.”
  
  
  I smiled. Of course there was more to it than that. The only question is what exactly. But Peru had enough. Now the connection is clearer.
  
  
  She came closer to me. It was cold. “This Roy, whom you called a bodyguard, distributed literature and accepted checks. The party, apparently, was created only to select people, to find out who is really interested in going to Peru. I saw one of the checks.
  
  
  I did not like it. They showed everything to the girl. The very first night she was there. They clearly didn't care what she saw or heard. I didn't like it at all.
  
  
  Although I already knew, I asked: “What if they paid that five thousand dollars?”
  
  
  “Then they disappear into the pool room. Dion Hermes leads them through a tunnel to a large house.
  
  
  They have to use candles because there's no electric light there, and then they get there...
  
  
  “In the room behind the laundry room there is another panel that can move. This takes you to a room of sorts, sort of like a cinema hall, where you can show private films. Do you understand what I mean?'
  
  
  'I understand. And Dion Hermes showed you all this?
  
  
  'Yes. It was still early evening. Only one guest arrived at that time. Rhona Matthews was very friendly, but she had some things to discuss with Li Zi and that Roy, and then Hermes more or less showed me around. I already told you that he tried to tease me a little.
  
  
  "This surprises me."
  
  
  Now she almost laughed again. - 'I know. But at first he behaved quite normally. He hugged me a little in the tunnel, but I had a feeling he was relieved when I didn’t respond.”
  
  
  I looked at my special AX watch on the inside of my wrist. time was running out. I'm done with questions.
  
  
  Dion Hermes presented the tunnel to her as an amusing relic of the past. The banker who built the house must have been the same one who jumped out of the window in 1929 - he connected the beach house with the big house for reasons known only to him. Probably to get away from his wife. And the room behind the laundry room was supposed to be a movie theater where he could show his porn films. Things started to become a little clearer. There was still a lot of uncertainty, but the evening had just begun. The goats and sheep were now separated - depending on who paid five thousand dollars - and the masks were probably intended to keep guests anonymous to each other.
  
  
  "Peter Pan" couldn't understand why all the guests were so old. I had an idea. An old idiot is always crazier than a young one.
  
  
  I helped "Peter" to his feet. She leaned against me and I knew she wanted to be kissed. I wanted to kiss her. I found her attractive and I wanted her. I decided that I would get closer later. Now I thought only about my work.
  
  
  “It’s time for you to go back inside,” I said. “I don't think it will be long before important things start happening. I want you there. I'll be around too, so don't worry.
  
  
  She leaned towards me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. It was a wet schoolgirl kiss and it felt good.
  
  
  “Somehow,” she breathed, “I’m not afraid anymore. You make a strange impression on me, Lieutenant Sampler. I'm guessing there are a lot of girls who have said this to you before.
  
  
  - It's not so bad. But it's time for you to work, my child. They miss you and will ask questions, so you better come up with answers. You can use this excuse that you like to walk alone on the beach at night with the wind in your hair and all.
  
  
  I watched her disappear into the fog, heading back to the beach house. She was a damn sweet girl. How the hell could she get a job like that? Suddenly I cursed under my breath. I wanted to ask her something else and forgot. In such a confusing mess as this, it is impossible to think everything through. I wanted to ask her about a possible personal relationship with Bill Phelan. I even followed her just to ask again, partly against my will, because I really wanted to get there as quickly as possible to see what was going on behind the panel.
  
  
  I was right about Roy. He was good. I didn't hear a sound, nothing at all...
  
  
  He must have been waiting in the fog, listening and waiting. He passed the girl to someone else who was undoubtedly waiting for her further. Roy was in tune with me.
  
  
  He stepped forward from behind the dunes with a pistol in his right hand. Roy was the quiet, businesslike type. Economical too. He was trying to save lead. He thought that one shot would be enough. Instinctively, I ducked to the side, making myself a poor target, and the bullet grazed my heart. The golden star that was there was now lying somewhere on the ground. It was close and my heart stopped for a split second. I didn't have time to use my Luger or Stiletto, so I dove low towards him. His second shot knocked my cap to the ground. I noticed that the shots sounded very muffled, probably due to the fog. I grabbed him by the knees and threw him to the ground. He hit me on the head with a revolver. It was a mistake. He should have known that I was stronger. I grabbed his wrist and easily broke it, kneeing him in the stomach. He growled and tried to bite me. I hit him with my head and heard his teeth crunch.
  
  
  I didn't want to kill him. A dead man cannot speak, and I wanted to hear him speak. So I grabbed him by the tuxedo with my left hand, kicked the gun with my left foot, and pulled it up to give him a right kick that would put him to sleep for a short time.
  
  
  That was my fault. With his free hand, he reached under his neck and pulled out a long, razor-sharp knife. He threw it at my eyes and I had no choice but to parry the thrust with my left hand. The blade got stuck somewhere between the elbow and wrist. It was painful.
  
  
  Sometimes I can be as patient as a cat in a mouse hole, but this was not the case. I let the stiletto shoot into my right hand and drove the stiletto into him as hard as I could, right through the spectacular tuxedo, into the area of the heart. I turned the stiletto half a turn before pulling him back to make him bleed out faster. I've had enough of this bastard.
  
  
  I quickly took a few steps back. There was already too much blood on the green uniform, and I wondered if they'd let Hawk pay the dry cleaning bill. Roy knelt down and looked at me with almost dead eyes. Even now, his stern expression had hardly changed.
  
  
  "Damn bastard!"
  
  
  He did not fall, but slowly slid forward until his head lay in the sand. I pushed the knife aside, turned him over and saw that he was dead. His eyes were still as expressive as they were in life.
  
  
  My left hand was bleeding heavily. I didn't like it at all, although it didn't hurt. It was a bloody wound, but not dangerous. I was about to take off my tunic to bandage the wound with a scarf when I heard footsteps behind me.
  
  
  I was ready. I didn't need to apologize. I didn't need an alibi. I had a stiletto in my left hand and a Luger in my right. At the same time, my brain was working feverishly. I tried to appreciate how this bloody story changed the whole situation. Maybe because I knew he was a killer. Dion Hermes stopped and looked at me, then at the dead man. His handsome face expressed surprise and horror. Disgust at so much blood. He found it decidedly vulgar. He took a step closer to me and looked straight into my face. 'Who are you. What the hell is going on here? Roy died? Did you kill him?
  
  
  His hands were unarmed, and that fooled me. And his questions seemed quite normal, although perhaps they seemed a little flat and indifferent given the situation. He asked me if I killed Roy. So he was not one to jump to conclusions.
  
  
  I told him that I really did kill him.
  
  
  “He tried to kill me, sir.” Suddenly he jumped out of the fog at me and started shooting. Look, here is my star! I was still playing the role of the security agency officer, hoping that I could make it believable, although I didn't really count on it. However, it was the only game I could play under the circumstances, so there was no other option.
  
  
  He stared at the dead man. - This is Roy. You said he tried to kill you?
  
  
  He looked at me and shook his head. 'But why. What happened?'
  
  
  I stepped back and looked at his hands. He had long, thin fingers, impeccably clean. As impeccable as his pronunciation. I started to get impatient. I had to find a way to get out of this incident without screwing it up.
  
  
  “Nothing happened at all,” I replied. “He tried to kill me and I had to defend myself. This is all. I think he was out of his mind."
  
  
  He looked at me and slowly shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Roy was completely normal. And I knew Roy. And I don't know you. I think so, I'm pretty sure we should call the police. Immediately.'
  
  
  It seemed ironic. I didn't want to call the police. Hawk didn't want the cops to get involved. Phelan didn't need police, and I doubted Dion Hermes needed police. In addition, the police were informed in advance. They would only intervene in cases of murder or rape. I didn't think the situation was funny. And I haven't decided what to do yet.
  
  
  He had a lot of courage. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’ll have to hand you over to the police. You will come with me to the beach house. We will alert the police and investigate this terrible matter.”
  
  
  Now his hands were no longer empty. At least not his right hand. In it he held a fountain pen. Or at least something similar. By the time it was too late, I knew where he hid it. Behind his ear. He had fairly long hair that curled at the back of his head and carried a tiny weapon behind his ear.
  
  
  He was an expert. He sprayed gas directly into my face, into my nostrils, into my eyes. My muscles were paralyzed almost instantly, and I had no strength left to use a Luger or a stiletto. It was a nerve agent. I kind of knew it, and if I had enough time, I could certainly pinpoint it. It is quite widely used.
  
  
  I didn't have time for this anymore. Everything around me went dark and I became numb. I started falling, and then I didn’t feel anything at all.
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  I lost consciousness briefly. Probably no more than five minutes. However, when I came to my senses, I quickly realized that I was completely paralyzed. I could see and hear. I could understand what I saw and heard, but I could not move a single muscle.
  
  
  I was dragged along the sand by a rope attached under my arms. This must be part of a well-planned attack. It was no coincidence that the rope lay on the sand.
  
  
  The fog was still quite thick, and I felt like the person pulling me along was in a hurry. Luckily my face was up; my back was turned to the man. The rope whipped and it felt like my chest was being torn apart. My feet were dragging in the sand and I lost my shoe due to a stick stuck under the sand. The man who was dragging me must have been sweating. He was breathing heavily, lifting me up the dune. When a sudden gust of wind broke through the fog, smoke wafted into the expensive perfume. Dion Hermes! Who else?
  
  
  Now I knew what he sprayed me with. Sometimes these AX training weeks actually make sense. It was a version of one of those German gases, used in a small dose because I was alive. Sarin or Tabun. A combination is possible, in a new form... Sometimes the human brain works strangely, almost absurdly. While I was being dragged like a living corpse into the old house, I remembered the old professor who told us about organophosphorus compounds.
  
  
  “The passage of an electrical impulse along a nerve is accompanied by a chemical action of a substance called acetylcholine. After such an impulse, this substance must be neutralized before a new impulse can be carried through the nerve. This is done by an enzyme called cholinesterase. Nerve gases disable this enzyme. In this case, the nerve is not cleared for the next impulse. The victim is dazed and weak, or even paralyzed. Death may occur. It all depends on the quantity used. ..'
  
  
  I could even remember the professor's name! Irwin. Dr. Irwin.
  
  
  Dion Hermes stopped to catch his breath. We were already halfway up the stairs leading to the back entrance of the house. He dragged me to the kitchen.
  
  
  I noticed that I could still think clearly. This gave me some hope. Would Hermes know exactly how gas works? Would he have made it himself? I doubted it. Someone would give it to him and tell him how to use it. A small dose of G.A. or GB stops working after a few hours.
  
  
  Dion Hermes sighed and began to pull the rope again to pull me up the last steps to the huge kitchen. The kitchen was pitch dark. Perhaps blind people live in such darkness, I thought. He lit a candle and now I could see his face. He was covered in sweat. His hair was tousled, and now I could see that he was wearing a wig. He had taken off his tuxedo and his bow tie was hanging loosely. I still couldn't move a single muscle.
  
  
  Now he was leaning over me, peering through the orange-yellow candlelight at my face. I looked at the flames without blinking. Even my eye muscles were paralyzed. Dion Hermes said: “I know that you can see and hear. I am fully aware of how gas works.
  
  
  I hoped he wasn't looking too closely. I continued to look directly at the candlelight without blinking. But I felt that I could move my eyelids again. So the gas gradually began to lose its effect. But how long will this last?
  
  
  He straightened up and patted himself on the back. “You’re incredibly heavy, you know that?” It took no effort to get rid of Roy. And the girl, Pat Killbride, is as light as a feather. Sweet little thing. It's a shame she got involved in this terrible thing.
  
  
  He had Peter Pan! Pat Killbride.
  
  
  He held the candle away from my eyes for a moment and I took the opportunity to blink. I tried to move my right little finger. Impossible. Nothing. The little spark of hope I had was instantly extinguished. It will be hours before I can move normally again. And I didn't think I would have so much time.
  
  
  Dion Hermes raised the rope again. “I hope you don’t mind me chatting while I do my job.” His laugh was unpleasant and I thought about all those rats in the house. He didn't look like a rat at all.
  
  
  “Now I have to drag you up three flights of stairs,” he said. “Believe me, I’m really looking forward to this. Rotten work. But, we can't always have it if we want in this evil world. This unpleasant task just happened to me. Nothing to do.'
  
  
  He pushed the door open and began to drag me up the stairs. It was pretty hard and usually I would have been in a lot of pain. However, I felt almost nothing. I was still struggling to move my left little finger. It didn't work out.
  
  
  From time to time he stopped to rest. Meanwhile he continued to talk...
  
  
  He would place the candle a few steps higher on the stairs, then drag me up, and then lift the candle higher again. I noticed that there were heavy curtains on the windows. No one would be able to see the candlelight from outside.
  
  
  Suddenly he almost tripped. At least that's what I thought. In fact, it was me who nearly tripped, at least figuratively. I realized in time that watching my reaction by candlelight was a deception. I managed not to blink. All my other muscles were still paralyzed. He was apparently pleased and concluded that the gas was still working. He grinned. “I almost slipped there. I almost swore. How rude of me. While he was dragging me up the last steps, I managed to move my little finger. When we got to the top I was able to stretch him out and relax him. But that was all. Otherwise the arm was completely dead.
  
  
  He stood over me and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “I wonder who you are. It's a pity that you can't talk, but I'm afraid we won't get that either. In any case, I - we - have other plans. But it’s still a pity to get rid of such a handsome man like you. He rubbed his chin, where fat had already begun to accumulate. He was over fifty. Younger than Rhona Matthews.
  
  
  Now I could move my right thumb. He began to address me again, although I got the impression that he was also addressing himself. He tried to encourage himself in this way.
  
  
  A candle was burning in a small room. A heavy curtain hung over the only window in the room. "Peter Pan" lay on his back in the center of the room. She was breathing weakly. Her eyes were closed and she lay there like an amateur doll. One of her legs moved, and I realized that she had not been gassed, but something else. Dion Hermes dragged me to the girl and untied the rope. I landed on the floor in such a way that I could see the girl.
  
  
  “I won’t leave the rope here,” said Hermes. “There’s no evidence, in case it doesn’t burn down.
  
  
  You must take all these circumstances into account. My God, I didn't think these things were so complicated.
  
  
  Now he was actually talking to himself to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. I noticed that I could now move my right index finger slightly. My breathing also became easier. Until now I was stuffy, very stuffy. He probably almost gave me too much gas, almost killed me. I was wondering why they didn't do this. Why all this with me and Pat Killbride? Why didn't they just kill us and throw our bodies into the Pacific Ocean? But bodies have a nasty habit of floating out. And the tide can sometimes wash them ashore. Bullets and knives leave wounds. People will have an idea and an investigation will begin.
  
  
  It was all clear. But still, Roy tried to kill me with his knife. And it didn't match at all. Or was he acting against his orders? It seemed that Dion Hermes read my thoughts.
  
  
  “This Roy,” said Hermes, “was a barbarian.” Sadistic barbarian. He acted against orders and put us all in danger. And with that, the whole operation. I'm very grateful that you killed him. It was a real pleasure to be able to hide it somewhere where it would not be found for a long time. I always hated that Roy.
  
  
  I could well imagine that Roy, whatever type he was, always hated Dion Hermes.
  
  
  The girl's eyelids moved. She apparently began to recover a little. I fervently hoped that this would not happen. If my sweat glands were working, I would sweat like an ox. I felt and knew that this was going to be a very unpleasant event. Even someone like Dion Hermes, who I already recognized as a serious psychopath, obviously had to put a lot of effort into doing certain things. He hesitated. Now I could move my right leg.
  
  
  He muttered to himself. - Hmm, let's see. Do I have a star? Yes. And this cut of a uniform jacket certainly won’t stand out. But could they have found gunpowder residue on the jacket? Hmmm, I just don't know enough about these things! Now it began to become eerily accurate. He played a concerned perfectionist.
  
  
  “I’d better not take any chances,” he said. He tore off my jacket and took it to the closet. When he opened the door, I saw that there was still a candle inside. On a chest in the middle of a pile of rags and newspapers, under a long row of clothes, on a metal rail. The clothes had probably been hanging there for years. They probably wouldn't risk hanging them at the last minute. Someone recently thoroughly examined this house and came up with a foolproof plan.
  
  
  I tried to move the fingers of my left hand. It almost worked, not quite yet. Now it’s much easier for me to breathe, so I’ll die faster. They arranged this before. I was given just enough gas so that my lungs were not completely paralyzed. I should have died from the deadly fumes, just like the girl. In a fire, people usually die not from burns, but from the toxic gases that accompany the fire. So they knew it too. Firefighters and police would know. And Hawk probably too. I wondered if the old man would care. I didn't think so. He will avenge me. Sooner or later.
  
  
  The girl opened her eyes and looked at me. She didn't recognize me. She was still heavily sedated. Her eyes were like glass marbles and she was completely stunned. Her long legs began to move again. I lay in such a position that I could look her straight in the eyes. And for a moment I thought I saw a flash of recognition in her. She couldn't help but find out. She closed her eyes.
  
  
  Dion Hermes still hesitated. He was still having trouble starting his planned work. I saw him looking at his watch. “Great gods! There's just no more time. We really need to start now.
  
  
  I learned about the closet device as an old trick with some refinements. There was no metal. The candle was a special brand that burned very slowly. She stood on a wooden box. The box will light up. The candle, or at least what is left of it, will continue to burn in the flame. Even if there was something left of her, you would have to search hard to find it. You have to specifically look for it. And they counted on the fact that specialists would not look for it. Why?
  
  
  Now I saw that the candle had been inserted through a hole in the wooden box. Next to the candle, in a round hole, there was an ordinary powder fuse, which would lead the fire to a pile of rags and papers under the clothes. I began to feel it, my sense of smell was somewhat restored, but I did not smell anything similar to the smell of gasoline or kerosene. There was no canister. No suspicious odors except the smell of woolen clothes. I began to realize more and more that this had been thought out in every detail long before this.
  
  
  These clothes were old. They would burn slowly and produce a decent amount of smoke. They expected us to die from suffocation. They would be right if I couldn't do something. Dion Hermes made the final preparations for the fire.
  
  
  He took something out of his pocket and sprinkled some powder into the closet. Just enough to set rags and paper on fire. Then the clothes will burn. And this old house was dry. The sergeant had already told me that he was known to be very flammable.
  
  
  He came out of the alcove, still talking to himself, and stared at me. I hadn't noticed the color of his eyes yet, but in the dim light they appeared pale brown. He smiled at me. "I know you can hear me, Carter, and you understand what will happen to you and the girl."
  
  
  Carter! So he knew my name.
  
  
  For a moment he looked unhappy, as if he had made a mistake. Then he shrugged. - It doesn't matter now. Nobody will ever know. You have to believe me,” he continued, “when I tell you that I find this extremely annoying and tasteless.” Extremely tasteless! He shrugged again. - But it needs to be done. It's all part of the plan. And this must be done to the letter."
  
  
  Now he was silent and pulled a long knife from his belt. It looked a lot like the knife Roy used against me. It glittered in the candlelight. “I don’t like it at all,” he muttered. "I've always hated this type of violence."
  
  
  He was lying. He enjoyed it. He staged it, playing a role for me. Show for one viewer. That's when I started to hate him. Hatred is a taboo in my profession. It undermines your cool objectivity, your considered judgment. I tried to force my body to stand up and kill it. I used all my willpower, but I could not move. I couldn't get a single major muscle to move. I was almost dead. Just like the girl. I knew it, had to admit it.
  
  
  He worked quickly. He clearly wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. “There must be blood,” he said. - In the right places, on both of you, in case you are found before your bodies burn in the fire. And of course you have to be in a certain position. .. compromising relationships are discovered. A great plan, but a terrible one. This is against my opinion. But it has to happen.
  
  
  Now he completely forgot about me and talked only to himself. He stepped over me and placed the knife on the floor next to the girl’s feet. I looked without blinking, and was amazed that the unbridled anger raging within me immobilized my body and did not give me the strength to kill him.
  
  
  He grabbed her suit and took off her pants. She muttered something. Pat Killbride was wearing tight panties. He lowered her so that her lower body was completely exposed. Now he tore the jacket of her suit. He reached for her bra and ripped it off her. Two full milky white breasts became visible in the soft yellow light of the candles.
  
  
  “We have to make it look like rape,” Dion Hermes said. “You brutally raped her, and when she fought back, you went completely crazy.” I felt nauseous and couldn't vomit. My whole body rebelled against this display. I wanted to scream, swear, jump up. Not everything was impossible. I could now feel the muscles in my shoulders, but I still couldn't move. All I could do was watch.
  
  
  Dion Hermes grabbed her legs and spread them wide. He dropped them and turned to me. He pulled me over it.
  
  
  "You should be found on it," he murmured in my ear. I smelled his perfume and felt his breath. “She must bleed to death.” In the right places. He parted my lips and made me swallow something.
  
  
  “Here,” he said. “This will cause the right chemical reactions.” If you are found, all your cells will tremble with sexual desire. He grinned. “Normally you wouldn’t need these drugs.”
  
  
  I couldn't see exactly what he was doing now. My face was hidden in the gap between her breasts. I heard that she was choking. However, she was not yet conscious. She will die, like me, in the poisonous gases. I allegedly raped her so brutally that I would not have even noticed the overturned candle and the start of the fire. We suffocated before we could do anything.
  
  
  With careful investigation they may be able to discover the true facts. But will they investigate it that thoroughly? I was afraid not. I'd rather put it under the table. My name, and with it the name of AH, would be sullied forever. I am a professional killer who has finally become an idiot and committed the stupidest of all crimes. Forever branded as a murderous sexual maniac. Hawk wouldn't believe it. But Hawk must remain silent for a long time. The Pentagon will never forgive him.
  
  
  I heard him strike a match and light the candle in the closet. All according to plan. - he muttered to himself. “Hmm, this should burn for two hours before the wick lights up. Enough time to get to the airport. Everything should look as normal as possible. And so it will be. The plane takes off at four o'clock. Absolutely right. The fire will break out as soon as we fly away. Pat Killbride moved underneath me. There was a slight movement, then she immediately lost consciousness. I knew I couldn't expect any help from her. She was given an almost lethal dose of some drug. I was wondering what kind of drug it was. This would be something that would be difficult to discover in retrospect if anyone even bothered to look for it. At least they considered this possibility. Just like the nerve agent and pill Hermes gave me. It won't leave any marks.
  
  
  I lay on the girl and felt the flame of hatred flare up in me. I almost hated myself. I was responsible for this. I failed, failed miserably. I allowed myself to be caught, like a newbie who had just come from training and was still wet with sweat behind his ears.
  
  
  He stood above us. I lifted my left eyelid slightly and saw his shiny black shoes, the shiny stripe on his tuxedo pants. The shoes were decorated with small bows.
  
  
  And suddenly he disappeared. I heard his footsteps as he walked down the stairs. I heard the door downstairs open and close. Silence. The candle in the closet burned slowly. The flame barely flickered.
  
  
  I tried looking at my AX watch. It didn't work out. I still couldn't turn my head, let alone lift it. Pat Killbride lay motionless beneath me. She was breathing regularly. I started trying to move. My fingers started tingling and now I could even move my toes. It wasn't enough. Not enough. I continued to wait. Finally I was able to raise my head two centimeters. Two centimeters. It's already two.
  
  
  Two floors below, I heard a door slam. Security! I tried to call. He opened his mouth to scream. Nothing! I still couldn't make a sound. My heart sank.
  
  
  I listened to footsteps heading into the kitchen. It wasn't the sergeant. They were moving too slowly for that. It was more like another test. Maybe one of the older men.
  
  
  I heard another door open and close again. The man went downstairs to check the basement. He must then go upstairs to use the final key, at the end of the front hallway; the sixth key in the house. Near the stairs leading to the attic!
  
  
  He should have seen the candle. He will find us and we will be saved. Of course, our mission failed, and Hawk would have to start all over again, but nothing could be changed.
  
  
  We could nab Dion Hermes and his group at the airport and at least charge him with attempted murder. Maybe he'll tell you about a TV channel in Peru. Maybe not, but at least Pat Killbride and I will be alive. And I will have another chance.
  
  
  The kitchen door leading to the basement slammed shut. The footsteps returned to the wide staircase leading up. He must use the last key, the key that will save us. Dion Hermes did not close the door; perhaps he would like it to be so. The candle light should be a faint reflection on the old parquet floor. The guard should have seen this! My brain was already anticipating the events. They would handle this matter very carefully; AH avoids any publicity as much as possible. The Pentagon wouldn't be happy either, especially now that one of their agents was wounded and they screwed up the deal. If my muscles were able to do this, I would probably grin. Hawk will once again strive to keep the Pentagon happy. After all, we've done enough dirty deeds for them.
  
  
  The front door slammed shut... Silence. I could not believe it. He didn't come. He decided to skip the last key. He was already old. His legs hurt and, of course, he had difficulty breathing. Then why would he needlessly climb two more flights of stairs?
  
  
  I tried to curse and noticed that my throat muscles relaxed a little. Now I could make a sound reminiscent of the death cry of a strangled monkey. I was alone again. The candle burned out slowly.
  
  
  The girl opened her eyes. She looked at me, but there was nothing in her eyes. A few seconds later she lost consciousness again. I felt like I was going to lose consciousness too. Then I remembered something else that the professor told us: you should not be exposed to any stress under the influence of G.A. or GB. I remember it now. Just before I felt myself slipping away.
  
  
  When I regained consciousness, I saw that the candle flame was near the ignition. I only had a few minutes, no more. Then a fire would break out. I would hold my breath as long as possible until I inhaled the toxic fumes and died. The girl who was lying under me and, fortunately for her, was still unconscious, would also die. The fire that was supposed to break out at the top of the house would soon be noticed, as predicted. They'll be here early enough to find our partially burned bodies in the position we're in now. Thus, this story will be confirmed. This will be hidden as best as possible to save the reputation of the secret services involved. People will never know the truth.
  
  
  While I was in a coma, my muscles must have partially recovered. I exerted all the strength I had and managed to roll off the girl. I rolled to the door. I didn’t dare roll over to the closet to turn off the fuse. I couldn't use my arms or legs yet. I couldn't get up yet. I could only roll along my own axis. I could never put out the wick of a burning candle. All I would do is knock over the box and set the rags on fire even faster. But . .. I could try to hit the wooden box to knock down the candle. And then hope that it goes out before it hits the ground. Hope. ..
  
  
  I spent a few seconds thinking about it. Finally I decided to roll towards the door. It was a thick, strong candle, and the chances of it not going out were too great. I could turn my head far enough to look at the candle. It won't be long before the flame ignites the box. I managed to roll over again. I was already halfway to the door. I continued to roll.
  
  
  I figured that at this time the guard was making another round. Unless he was already here and checked the third floor again. I hoped that the girl would still have a chance, even if the fire had already broken out. She was a few feet from the closet, and maybe the clothes wouldn't burn as much at first. And the smoke will rise from the very beginning. She was lying on the floor and was unconscious. So that she does not start to choke from fear and therefore does not use more oxygen. There was still a chance if I could get down in time! As I rolled on, I tried to scream. It no longer sounded like the sound of someone choking, but it wasn't that weak. Yes. .. guh... uggghhaaa. ..
  
  
  I was now in the corridor. I rolled to the stairs and jumped down. I felt a little pain and was glad about it. This meant that the poison began to fizzle out. Although it took some time before I regained control of all my muscles. I landed on the first pad with a thud. I rolled onto the next staircase. I spent a precious second trying in vain to prop myself up on my hands.
  
  
  I allowed myself to fall back. Blood was flowing from my mouth. I landed on the next landing with a thud. I let myself roll up the last flight of stairs. However, the final flight of stairs leading to the front door was smoother than I had imagined, and I tumbled down with such incredible speed that for a moment I feared I would break my neck.
  
  
  At that moment I smelled burning. It started. And I heard her scream. Only time. It wasn't really a loud scream. It was loud enough to hear a faint, frantic scream. Obviously, she regained consciousness to such an extent that she understood what was happening to her. I landed head first on the floor and lost consciousness for about a minute.
  
  
  Someone knelt next to me. I said, "Mei... burn... boooooo... bbbb... oooooh." .. veins!
  
  
  I could see his face in the dim light. It was old man Simp who claimed to have fucked Rona Matthews. He looked at me, shone the bright light of a flashlight in my face, and I realized that it didn’t reach him. And I still couldn't speak properly.
  
  
  I made a slight movement with my hand. Tried to point up. 'Meeeee...uh...maiszzzzh...buoooo-...boowen...woo...brrrrr. .. branddd.
  
  
  He was old and probably not very brave. Now he understood my message and began to walk up the stairs with a handkerchief on his lips. Halfway there he started coughing violently. I rolled further towards the open door. I noticed that I could crawl on all fours, so I crawled off the porch and down the stairs. I crawled up to the fence on the side of Rona Matthews' land. Now I remembered the lights I saw on the highway. If I could climb over the fence and get to the highway, I would still have a chance to get out of this mess without discrediting AX and Hawk. And if I succeeded, I would also have something to arrange in Peru.
  
  
  I don’t remember how, but I did it. With bloody hands and knees, I made it to a pay phone on the highway. Thank God I found the coin in my pocket and after three attempts I managed to get it into the slot. I dialed the emergency number. It was immediately recorded. It was a girl.
  
  
  Still having trouble speaking, I slowly conveyed my message with my mouth close to the receiver. 'N3...N3. .. to the Black Bird. Serious escape. Plan Gamma.
  
  
  She wrote it down very quickly. I counted. Exactly ten seconds later I contacted Hawk. I told him in a few words. He listened, gave me an order and hung up. He was on his way.
  
  
  There were times when I hated and cursed Hawk, called him a short-tempered old curmudgeon and did worse things. But I had to admit that if you needed him, he was always there. He immediately had a plan for all possible situations. And this plan worked. Always.
  
  
  An hour after the phone call, we were already on a plane bound for Mexico City. It wasn't until I had my seatbelt on that he told me Pat Killbride was dead.
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  Waiting for Hawk can sometimes be as frustrating as waiting for Godot.
  
  
  This was one of those moments. I was sitting in the bar of the Hotel Bolivia, the best hotel in Lima. And the most expensive one. If the task is of the highest level, this is also possible for AX agents. I drank my ninth glass of whiskey, and, of course, the bartender could not know that I tolerated alcohol well. He was already starting to look at me with a look that was going to say, “This is the last one you’ll get.”
  
  
  It's been almost twenty-four hours since Dion Hermes knocked me out with a nerve agent. I'm not kidding when I say that it was the strangest twenty-four hours of my life.
  
  
  I knew what I was doing. Why did I drink a lot and not get drunk? I tried not to think about how Dion Hermes killed Peter Pan. Pat Killbride was dead. And her ending was not pleasant. I tried not to think about the fleeting kiss she gave me before she died. I tried not to blame myself. The bartender didn't pour me my tenth glass of whiskey. I looked straight at him and he changed his mind. At that moment Hawk entered, dressed in a light coat, very suitable for the autumn cold in the foggy country. But outside, on Avenida Abancay, it was about fifty degrees. Hawk looked good. Almost excited. I looked like a wreck. I had double bags under my eyes and I didn't care. All I could think about was finding Dion Hermes and killing him.
  
  
  Hawk sat down on the chair next to me and started blowing on his hands. “Looks like it’s January here, not June!”
  
  
  I looked at him ironically. Sometimes an old man can be very tiresome. Especially when he scrunches up his usually sour face and pretends to see things differently. I said nothing. He looked at my glass. "How much did you drink?"
  
  
  “This is the tenth. And what? I can drink ten more and it doesn't bother me. We both know it, so why waste words on it?
  
  
  He tried to smile, trying to make me fight the black melancholy. Finally he gave in, and the smile disappeared from his face, as if someone had pulled the plug from the socket. I knew what was bothering him. He knew I was worried about Pat Killbride's death and he didn't like it. He didn't like that for once I acted like a normal person, with real emotions, and not like Killmaster. The pawn doesn't have to worry about being moved around the board.
  
  
  He said, “It doesn’t matter, boy. I don't care how much you drink. I know you can handle it.
  
  
  He tapped his briefcase. “The real reason you should stop is here. I just received the documents. You're now a member of the Peace Corps, a development aid representative, and you're leaving for Cusco in the morning. There is an agricultural cooperative there, and this is the area that interests us.”
  
  
  Hawk spoke in a whisper. Although there was no one around us for miles. I just hoped there weren't any listening devices hidden in the whiskey glasses. “They provide you with a jeep,” he continued. - You must behave yourself. That's the custom there. You are a newbie and making your first inspection tour. Do you understand about raising rabbits and chickens?
  
  
  I made a smart face. Hawk grinned and stood up. 'Come on, man. Talbot and Bennett should have arrived by now. They are constantly here and will work with you until a certain point.
  
  
  I didn't say anything until we were in the elevator. There was no elevator boy. There we could talk. “Everything suits me,” I said, “as far as the station is concerned.” But Dion Hermes is only for me. I don't want any confusion about this.
  
  
  He didn't look cheerful anymore. His face was all wrinkled and his eyes were narrowed. He simply said, "We'll talk about this before you leave."
  
  
  I had never met Talbot and Bennett before. They looked like typical AX employees, not as well-mannered as at the Pentagon, but physically stronger and more resilient. Part of Hawk's success is his ability to attract the right people.
  
  
  Hawke's room overlooked Plaza San Martin. I walked to the window and looked at the neon lights of the commercial bank and the offices of BOAC. Hawk spoke to Bennett and Talbot, and I heard the rustling of documents.
  
  
  “This cooperative is not far from Machu Picchu,” Hawk said. “Nick will go there first, get comfortable. He then returns southeast to Kalka. One. Maintain your cover and follow him. The three of you will have to agree on the details among yourselves. Nick is in command, and you must strictly follow his orders. Got it?'
  
  
  The two men nodded and Hawk turned on the TV. The broadcast from the Chinese was excellent, clear and precise. This may be correct. If Hawk was right, the transmitter was approximately 400 miles from Lima. The Peruvian government did nothing at this point. They stopped patrolling and kept a low profile until they were called for help. Washington seemed to apply quite a lot of pressure and they seemed to leave the matter entirely to us. We meant Hawk and me. Which basically meant: Nick Carter.
  
  
  The Chinese Devil Mask spoke again. It was the same voice of a woman identified by a voice print as Rona Matthews. Flawlessly, with the right intonation, he read the well-written script everywhere. Each word was carefully chosen and fit perfectly into the context. That's when I got an idea. I guess I was already playing with it subconsciously. “Great” is not a word I use or think about every day.
  
  
  Preston More said that Dion Hermes was a good writer. Now I understand it. I was sure that it was he who wrote the text. He was a great person. Great gay, great killer. So why not an outstanding writer?
  
  
  Rhona Matthews' voice filled the room as the mask was removed from ever-changing angles. “And now we are going to show you a film, a documentary, showing how the Great Wall was built. ..'
  
  
  Hawk stood up and turned off the TV. - That was enough for now. Let's get to work and get these guys out of their jobs as quickly as possible."
  
  
  Suddenly I felt better. Finally there was action again. My melancholy mood began to fade. I couldn't save Pat anyway. No one could do it, given the circumstances. I lit one of my expensive filter cigarettes and grinned knowingly at Hawk. - “You're right, sir. Let's start.'
  
  
  Hawk spread out several maps on the table and pointed out the road I should follow to reach the high Andes. — It will be about seven hundred kilometers. The roads are very bad until Ayacucho. After Ayacucho they are just terrible.”
  
  
  “For the last hundred miles you can follow the tracks of the llamas,” Talbot noted. - If you run into them. You will come across many punas, small meadows where llamas graze. It's best to avoid shepherds as much as possible. Sometimes they can be very dangerous to strangers. Most of them are Indians who still revere the cult of the boa constrictor. You can't afford to be unsuspecting travelers because sometimes bad things happen in this area.
  
  
  I looked at Hawk and asked a question that had been bothering me for a long time. There was another question I also wanted to ask, why Hawk broke all the normal rules of the game and ended up near the scene of the incident rather than sitting at his desk in Washington. Why was everything so special this time? However, I couldn't ask this question. Not with Talbot and Bennett.
  
  
  “Why should I go there in a jeep? Why can't you give me a plane ride? At night, for example. Hawk nodded. "Good question. And I have a good answer: because you belong to the Peace Corps - that's your cover - and these people are not in the habit of flying airplanes. They remain on the ground, next to ordinary people. They are working. And remember, every Peace Corps member is an ambassador of sorts for the United States!
  
  
  Even Bennett looked surprised. Talbot smiled. Hawk looked at me friendly with his old man smile and asked, “Are you satisfied?”
  
  
  It was unusual. Now I was sure that he was lying. Hawk always gave me detailed and comprehensive information. He didn't do it now. Of course, it was quite possible to fly to Cuzco, and Hawk knew this as well as I did. So he hesitated or waited for something. And he wouldn't talk about it in front of two other agents. Maybe that's why.
  
  
  Hawk pulled out a new cigar and pointed it at Talbot. “You still have to tell Nick about these partisans.” That's what we'll call them. He laughed sourly. “According to the Peruvian army, they have no guerrillas in the mountains. These are smugglers!
  
  
  Talbot and Bennett laughed. - This is the official version, as always, sir. They have partisans. Talbot said it, and it sounded like he was blaming someone for lice. “They are few in number,” he continued, “and they have been fairly quiet since Guevara was killed in Bolivia. We are sure there is a connection. Havana definitely had a hand in this, but the Andean group is mostly made up of local revolutionaries, mestizos and maybe a few Cuban officers. However, the leader is the Spanish woman. She is a descendant of one of the oldest families - one of her uncles owns half of Lima - and her name is El Rubio. Blonde.
  
  
  I looked at Hawk. 'Really?'
  
  
  Bennett chuckled. “You probably won’t run into her, Nick.” It would be good for you if this happened. Judging by the stories, this is another thing. But of course she is completely crazy to leave her family and all this wealth to live with these bandits.
  
  
  “Partisans,” Talbot corrected. - Let's respect them, Wayne. They steal food only for their own business. This is true. ..'
  
  
  Hawk bit his cigar in half. — Smugglers, that’s what we’ll call them. We'll leave them alone if they do the same to us. I want to make this absolutely clear. We need this transmitter and nothing else. Leave the guerrillas of the Peruvian army. Okay, Bennett. Equipment, vehicles, terrain, cover plan, everything in your department. Get started.'
  
  
  Bennett may not have been overly smart, but at least he was meticulous. Everything was perfectly arranged. We were able to pack our things in a garage in one of the city's suburbs, not far from Limatambo airport. Rifles and machine guns were hidden in the jeep. There were all kinds of grenades: gas, smoke and fragmentation. Explosives and detonators, spare ammunition, provisions, first aid kits, snow goggles and everything you need to climb the mountains.
  
  
  Bennett pulled out a pen and scanned the list. Long underpants and llama coats, masks, sweaters. I have a pair of these new off-road boots that were used in Vietnam. I just hope the boots fit him."
  
  
  I said I hoped so too and looked questioningly at Hawk. "Looks like I'll have to do a lot of climbing?" - I asked somewhat surprised.
  
  
  I still don't quite understand. If Rona Matthews, Dion Hermes and that old Li-Tzu made it this far without any difficulty, why were we equipped to climb the Matterhorn?
  
  
  Talbot said, “It's just in case, Nick, but you'll probably need it.”
  
  
  I've never been to this area myself, but I have flown over it and believe me, it is difficult. The last Incas managed to keep the Spaniards in these mountains for thirty-five years, and the Spaniards did everything they could. This should give you an idea of the unavailability.
  
  
  Bennett nodded in agreement. “Some of these passes are five thousand meters high. Kalka itself is at an altitude of about seven thousand meters, and some of these granite canyons are one and a half thousand meters deep. When we begin to complete this task, we will certainly feel it with our feet!”
  
  
  After a twenty-minute discussion, Hawk released the men. I wanted to drink, but then I decided to quit. We were supposed to leave at dawn. Hawk himself drove me to the garage in Limatambo.
  
  
  Hawk went into the bathroom and I picked up the phone. It was one of those coincidences that Hawk could never have foreseen. I said, “Hello.” After some hesitation, a hoarse voice said, “This is the Dome. May I speak to the Slaver? I have a good memory for voices, and I definitely recognized them. It was the great boss of the Pentagon secret service.
  
  
  I asked him to wait a little. I knocked on the bathroom door and asked the old man if Slaver was one of his nicknames. He growled and went to the phone.
  
  
  Hawk picked up the phone and stared at me. This was one of the rare occasions when I saw him indecisive.
  
  
  I chuckled and asked, “Would you rather I disappeared?”
  
  
  He really surprised me. - Yes, boy, I think it will be better this way. Just go to your room and try to sleep for a few hours. I'll meet you an hour before we go to the garage... And try not to drink anymore, eh, my boy?
  
  
  I raised my right hand in a Boy Scout salute. "No more drinking, Akela." I walked away and heard him lock the room before starting the conversation.
  
  
  He had his own secret! Only he and the big Boss of the Pentagon knew about this. I had no idea what it was going to be and I wasn't going to worry about it. If Hawk thinks it necessary for me to know, he will tell me, but not before.
  
  
  I went to my room, locked it, carefully checked for listening devices and found nothing. I took off my clothes except my panties and stretched out on the bed. It was hard for me not to think about Pat Killbride. Forget that wet school kiss. I had to fight the thought and try to focus on what Hawk had told me on our flight from Mexico City to Lima. Rhona Matthews, Dion Hermes, Li Zi and a dozen “clients” flew into Lima a few hours before us. So now they were all on some mountain peak in the Vilcabamba Cordillera. The peak itself, like most in the Andes, was low, less than two thousand meters, and stood in the Valley of the Happy Dead. They called him the Vulture. So now wingless vultures have appeared. On the rock stood an ancient temple and the remains of an ancient palace. Old man Li Zi spent a lot of money renovating the building, installing central heating and modern plumbing. In addition, there was a landing pad for a helicopter. Very useful and very necessary. At first glance, I figured that Li Tzu was several centuries old. Rhone was getting younger, and Dion Hermes was also in good shape for his age, although I had yet to see him climb a mountain.
  
  
  But all their clients, the twelve men and women who willingly paid to sit on the rock ledge at Li Tzu's feet to receive Wisdom or whatever else he was selling, were old men. Either they were sick or old. In any case, none of them were suitable for mountaineering. So, they flew from the airport to Cusco, and from there they flew by helicopter to Vulture Rock. Simple and convenient. Perhaps quite expensive, but they could all easily afford it.
  
  
  I knew I wouldn't sleep. I tried to suppress the image of Pat's young, healthy Irish face and focus on our conversation on the plane from Mexico City. ..
  
  
  My left hand, which held Roy's knife, hurt. Hawk insisted that I take the medications I received from the doctor in San Diego. I took the prescribed pills and listened to what Hawk told me about Li Tzu. We had seats in the back of the plane. The flight attendant was in the front seat in the cockpit. There was no one in the seats in front of us, and only a mother and child sat on the other side of the aisle. So Hawk didn't whisper, but spoke so quietly that only I could hear him.
  
  
  “There’s nothing to say about this lama,” he began. “We have nothing on him. He travels a lot, but never gives anyone any trouble. He was in London this time last year. A year ago in Paris. And a year before that in Bombay.
  
  
  “Did you learn all this from Phelan?”
  
  
  He looked cunning. 'Not all. Enough to get started, then I called Mohr. He is very good at this job.
  
  
  I've been thinking about this for a while. “Speaking of work, what kind of work does Li Zi actually do? I still don't know and I'm getting curious. I find this very interesting.
  
  
  “That's for sure,” Hawk said. And what is even more interesting is how he managed to avoid trouble. Why haven't they caught him for fraud yet? Either he is the happiest lama in the world, or he is truly capable of "doing what he claims he can do."
  
  
  - And that’s exactly it?
  
  
  Hawk likes to tell a story slowly. Sometimes I suspect that he is a writer at heart.
  
  
  “Li Zi is into sexual rejuvenation, Nick. He claims to have invented a miracle cure. We think he got it from the Chinese and that's exactly what it is. We haven't had time to investigate further yet, but it appears that he did give his "clients" some kind of drug.
  
  
  My arm hurt, my head was pounding, and I could see the image of Pat Kilbride dying; however, I couldn't keep the cynical comment to myself:
  
  
  “So you sit at his feet, take a pill and regain your youth. Is that all, sir?
  
  
  He acted as if he didn't hear me. “We were able to contact the eyewitness. Or rather, with Phelan. Either way, it appears that the Los Angeles District Attorney is very interested in Li Zi and what's going on at Rhona Matthews' Malibu home. It seems that if you want to become a faithful follower of the lama, you must give him all your wealth.”
  
  
  “Ah,” I said. "Everything is starting to become clearer."
  
  
  “It appears that several interested relatives who could be deceived in this way protested. In particular, the cousin of an old lady named Beth Mueller. Rich girls. She was dissuaded and filed a complaint with the prosecutor's office. This Li Tzu appears to be a breeding stallion. Specialist in sexual stimulants. This older woman, Beth Mueller, watched as he spent an hour with several women. And he is very old! Beth Mueller said she was very horny even though she was in her eighties. "She said in a statement that she felt like a young woman."
  
  
  I already knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “Where did she see this demonstration? In that secret room in the house in Malibu?
  
  
  - Naturally. It was part of the advertisement. Of course, it was just a movie, but the woman swears that the movie was made recently and that she positively recognized Li Zi. They showed close-ups of Li Tzu as well as recent newspaper articles to prove their story. This movie was not fake. This old lama, Li Tzu, seems to really be able to do this!
  
  
  Hawk took a deep breath. I thought something I too often forget: the old man is only human. “So now we know about this side of the matter,” I commented. “Maybe this Li Tzu really has a secret. And he tries to make old and sick people believe that he can pass on this secret, that he can make them young again through sex. In exchange for a lot of money.'
  
  
  Hawk nodded carefully. “You're right to a certain extent. We have inquired about 12 people who have now flown with him to Peru, and together they are worth two hundred million dollars.”
  
  
  It's amazing how much detailed information Hawk is able to gather in such a short period of time. Then I thought it wasn't so strange. At the time, he was the chief executive and therefore had complete control over all security forces.
  
  
  I didn't understand why he was so careful. “It all seems pretty obvious to me, sir.” The money goes to these Chinese and their TV channel through Dion Hermes and Rona Matthews. This is how they pay for their channel. So Li Tzu was able to completely renovate this old Inca palace. I have a feeling that Li Tzu is just a cover. He may not even know it exactly what it is used for and what Hermes and Matthews are using it for. And in turn they are used by the Chinese. "Everything is very well organized, and with all the money that Peru receives in this way, it is unlikely that the Peruvian government will intervene on its own initiative."
  
  
  Hawk agreed. “We know this too well, Nick. And of course, many people were bribed with huge sums of money to get to where they are now. But there is nothing strange about this in itself. This is ordinary corruption. But now that they've actually started broadcasting, it's clear that things are serious. People don't get bribed anymore. Moreover, Peruvian government members can no longer ignore it. Now they will have to cooperate. It doesn't bother me too much.
  
  
  He meant it. I've known him long enough... -What's bothering you, sir? I know you're worried about something.
  
  
  He looked out the window. We were somewhere over Colombia and approaching Bogota, where we had to stop. We then had to land in Quito before arriving in Lima. He put the cigar into his thin mouth. The cellophane was still on her and he started chewing on it without noticing. Finally he said: “I don’t understand something, boy.” There is no clue linking Matthews and Hermes to these Chinese. Absolutely nothing! They were never members or sympathizers of any communist organization. It seems impossible, and yet it is so. I don't understand at all. How could these two agents hide for so long?
  
  
  At least I assume they are agents. Our intelligence services are not that bad. I wish I knew the answer.
  
  
  I let my mind wander and suddenly it was back where the image of Pat Killbride was, letting out her last screams. “Booze is the only answer to all our problems,” I told Hawk, rushing to the stewardess to order a double whiskey. Hawk thanked me. After taking a sip, I looked at the old man. “Can’t they be agents? Someone specially trained for this job. He didn't look at me and didn't answer.
  
  
  He continued to look out the window at the northern tip of South America. I knew he was on the same page as me. I could not know that he was already almost sure who trained them, and that he was playing a cunning game to get credit for this business at the expense of other organizations. I wouldn't care if I knew. I play this game the same way as Hawk, minus treason. And if the President of the United States trusts Hawke one hundred percent, I figure I can trust him too. We just see things differently sometimes. ...
  
  
  Now, in my room at the Gran Bolivar, I couldn't sleep, and the damned Killbride thing flashed through my head again. I could bear the thought of it now. I had to. I had to submit to him one last time and then forget about it forever so that I could begin my mission unencumbered.
  
  
  This was also one of the ways in which I differed from Hawk. His main goal was to destroy the transmitter. My main goal was still revenge. Revenge on Dion Hermes.
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  This was the old Inca road. At that time they did not have wheeled vehicles. This gives an idea of the quality of the road. And the last brigade of road workers left here about four hundred years ago. I followed the road through the valley of Ku Zo, across the great plain of Anta. I passed through a tropical zone teeming with flowers and approximately five million green parrots. Gradually I reached a height of five thousand meters. This was just the beginning. It was cold. Not bitter cold, just cold. I felt comfortable in long johns. The wind played with me from time to time, and it rained from time to time. The clouds hung low, were black and carried the threat of a storm. They surrounded the peaks in the approaching valley. The valley had a name in Quechua, which roughly translates to "Valley of the Happy Dead."
  
  
  Vulture Rock, the giant monolith on which the temple and palace complex were built, was twenty miles down the valley. I was still twenty kilometers from the narrow passage leading into the valley. A distance of fifty kilometers still separated me from Dion Hermes, Rhona Matthews and Li Zi and his clients. Over the past 24 hours, I saw a helicopter three times that brought a group from Cusco to the rock.
  
  
  Some parts of the western slopes of the Andes are as deserted as Outer Mongolia. So far I have met only four Indians, all equally gloomy. Moreover, they spoke Aymara, which I do not understand. They watched the llamas grazing on the punas. I followed Talbot's advice and did not interfere with them. When I slept, I slept only briefly and was often startled by the cry of a mountain lion. And one day I saw a herd of vicuñas, related to llamas, but more wild.
  
  
  Toyota has worked wonders so far. Bennett had a good understanding of cars. The big Jeep with front and rear drivetrain was far better than any Land Rover I've ever driven. The Toyota had a regular car radio, and Hawk could send me coded messages through Lima. Every day they broadcast two new programs in English. It seemed unreasonable to me to take transmitting and receiving equipment with me for the partisans. If I am caught with him, I will become an employee of one of the American intelligence services or an officer in the Peruvian army. In any case, I would have been shot. But as a slightly demented Peace Corps member who liked to climb mountains alone, I would have had a chance to survive. The probability is about fifty percent. However, so far I have not noticed any partisans. Which didn't mean they weren't there. I wasn't too worried about it though.
  
  
  I had a portable TV from a famous brand. Only the antenna is a little different. It was a direction finder. When I turned on the device, the image from a known channel appeared clearly and direction was not an issue. The signals undoubtedly came from Vulture Rock.
  
  
  Talbot was right. When the old Inca road ended, I came across the llama trail. The path twisted like a maddened snake and climbed along the edge of a sheer cliff covered with huge stones. The path was rough, strewn with small and large pebbles. The trail had a slope of about forty-five degrees, and I knew that I would not be able to use the Toyota for long. I almost crashed with her several times before I finally decided to continue on foot. If the jeep had rushed into the abyss through a large rock under the left wheel, I could have saved myself by emerging and clinging to this huge rock, but I would have lost all my equipment. Weapons, explosives, food and everything else. And I didn't really want to go on a trip to the Andes with only my Luger and stiletto in my pocket.
  
  
  I parked the jeep next to a flat rock the size of a house and took the things I thought I would need from the jeep. I knew that access to the pass I would need to cross was blocked by a high stone wall, which French climbers call a gendarme, and would be difficult to overcome. And then I will have to take Vulture Rock with its overhanging point, and it will be even more dangerous. Besides, I would probably have to climb it at night.
  
  
  I was wondering whether I should wait for Talbot and Bennett to catch up with me, or go to the top of the pass and wait for them there. They drove about three hours after me, and their cover was that they were local Peace Corps members accompanying me on my inspection tour. Their jeep broke down, and I, the impatient type, drove on on my own. Until now, this deliberate story seemed like a waste of time. The Indians who saw me along the road did not ask for my documents.
  
  
  I decided to move forward. The rain started to rain even harder and it got colder. At the pass I would have a better chance of finding shelter, maybe a cave, and in this weather I could light a fire there without being noticed.
  
  
  I slung my gear over my shoulder—more than ninety pounds—and took the Mannlicher-Schönauer in my right hand. This is a beautiful .458 rifle. Costs at least a thousand dollars. That old Poindexter, head of the AKC weapons department, got a discount on them.
  
  
  I heard shots behind me. Four shots from a rifle, then a volley from a machine gun. It sounded like an old Sten rifle or AK, but the sound was distorted by fog and rain. Then two more shots. Then there was deep silence. So Bennett and Talbot were three hours behind me. Moreover, they had difficulties. I had to decide quickly. Will I continue? I had everything I needed to blow up the transmitter and get back to where I left the Toyota. I didn't need Talbot and Bennett. I was even against them going with me. But sometimes Hawk has a habit of getting his way, and this time he got it. He decided I needed cover.
  
  
  But gunshots meant trouble, and I wanted to find out what exactly happened. Talbot and Bennett may need me. I walked back along the winding llama trail, trying my best not to slip on the loose rocks. At times I had to grab onto a rock to keep from falling, and I struggled to see through the rain and thick fog. They couldn't be more than half an hour behind me. How they could have caught up with me so quickly I will never know, and it didn't matter. When I reached the end of the pass, I left the llama trail and continued along the old Inca road. I followed it for a mile until it passed through a narrow ravine and made a sharp turn to the south. I have already noticed this place as a very suitable place for an ambush.
  
  
  I didn't notice any movement in front of me. The wind blew in my direction, but I didn’t feel or hear anything. Visibility was no more than fifty meters. I didn't like it at all.
  
  
  I turned off the road and took cover between the rocks. Wild corn grew and puna grass grew tall enough to cover a man lying on his stomach. I could barely breathe for fifteen minutes. I listened. In the clouds above me I heard the cry of an eagle. This is all.
  
  
  It took me almost an hour to crawl on my stomach to the western side of the ravine. I can be very patient if necessary. When I was almost on the edge, I heard someone moan. Human. It sounded like Bennett's voice, but it was garbled with fear that I wasn't sure. He repeated the same words without interruption.
  
  
  - Help me... help me... for God's sake, help me... help me...
  
  
  It was Bennett. I could look over the edge of the ravine and saw a jeep. He was completely flipped and hit sideways on some large boulders on the side of the road. It's a miracle it didn't catch fire. Bennett was lying face down next to the jeep on the road. His legs trembled for a moment, and a large pool of blood formed near his stomach. He continued to moan, "Help me... Jesus, help me... please help me."
  
  
  Talbot was driving the Toyota. He held the steering wheel with one hand. His other hand hung over the door from the outside. Half of his head was shot off. I didn't move. I remained on my stomach again, head down, and listened. I heard nothing but the wind, the rain on the back of the jeep, and Bennett's groans. In the ravine visibility was a little better. Everything was visible for at least a hundred meters. But I still didn't like it. It smelled too much like an ambush to me.
  
  
  However, I should have been sure of this before leaving Bennett in such excruciating pain. I knew very well that this task was put first. I could have left Bennett there and sneaked off to do my job. No one would ever blame me. Nobody would even know. Except me.
  
  
  I decided to take a risk. Maybe I could do something for Bennett. I slid down the slope and began to quickly zigzag towards the jeep. However, this made me an easy target, and if anyone was going to shoot me, now was the time. I got goosebumps down my spine and a sick feeling in my stomach... I sometimes suffer from this when I am not at high altitude in the mountains for a long time.
  
  
  Bennett must have died the moment I knelt next to him. His large body trembled in a final convulsion, and he tried to raise his head. He knew someone was there. He became careless, and his end was far from painless. Talbot was luckier. If your head is separated from your body, you will not feel pain for long.
  
  
  I've seen enough. There were still countless unanswered questions, but I didn't have time for that now. I turned around and was about to run away as fast as I could when I heard a voice behind me.
  
  
  “Alto! Stop! Put your hands up and don't move. Drop the gun.
  
  
  It was a woman's voice, and it came from somewhere on the eastern side of the gorge. I had a strong feeling that I was about to meet El Rubio, and I remembered Bennett's jokes about "Blonde." He met her and will never joke about her again.
  
  
  I dropped the Mannlicher and raised my hands. They grabbed me. I took a chance and had no luck. And they were patient, very patient.
  
  
  Another voice, the voice of a man from the south, said, “Okay, okay. Just freeze, boy, and don't try anything. White mercenary. In the Andes you encounter a wide variety of types.
  
  
  I stood as still as a statue, my brain working at lightning speed as the attackers emerged from their hiding place. The man was the same height as me. He had a flat face and large square teeth. His head was shaved, he was wearing a chullo, local clothing, and brand new Bennett combat boots.
  
  
  He was angry. Everything about him was dirty and mean. He was half drunk, and when he came closer and spat on the floor, I saw him chewing coca, a drug. He stopped four meters from me and held me at gunpoint with a machine gun. I was wrong about the weapon: it was an old Thompson Chicago type with a drum magazine.
  
  
  “I'll keep him at gunpoint, Jorge.” You will take from the jeep what we need. Hurry up. We don't have time to linger here.
  
  
  She blurted out the words to him in rapid Spanish. High style, Castilian Spanish. It was clear from her tone who was in charge. Not that I doubt it. It was El Rubio - the Blonde.
  
  
  Jorge slung the machine gun over his shoulder. Reluctantly I think. He walked up to the jeep and started taking things out of it, constantly watching me and the girl.
  
  
  She made sure to keep a fair distance and had me at gunpoint with a Colt 45, an old model 1911, a heavy weapon for a girl. However, I did not allow myself to take risks. I knew she could handle it. Bennett and Talbot told me enough about El Rubio. She was not a woman who wastes many words. With her small hand she held a heavy revolver to my stomach and asked me: “Your name, please?” Her English was excellent. It was clear that she had a good education, maybe even a higher education. I told her my name was Richard Winston. This name was on my papers. I told her the history of the Peace Corps. She smiled like the Mona Lisa, and I saw her tighten her grip on the curved butt of the big Colt.
  
  
  “Let’s not immediately spoil our acquaintance with lies, Mr. Carter.” We know that you are Nick Carter and you hold the title of Master Assassin in the AX organization. We will talk about it later; now we have to get out of here as quickly as possible. The Peruvian Air Force sometimes has a habit of conducting air patrols in the area. We don't want to be attacked on an open plain.
  
  
  I asked. - “In this weather? Garua, the fog, became thicker and thicker as the rain fell.
  
  
  “The fog will clear soon. Jorge says so, and Jorge is never wrong about the weather.
  
  
  Jorge returned loaded with things he took from the jeep. Weapons, ammunition, food, binoculars and maps. He looked like a pack donkey. He pointed the machine gun at me and said, “You better search him, Inez. Even a man like him cannot stand for hours with his hands raised.
  
  
  She did it quickly and efficiently. She pulled the Luger from my shoulder holster and the Hugo, my stiletto, from its leather grip. She dropped it, picking up the stiletto and smiling faintly. "A wonderful weapon for a member of the Peace Corps, Mr. Winston."
  
  
  She was very close to me now. I could almost smell her. Raising the stiletto, she whispered to me: “Be very careful. Don't try to make Jorge angry. He's heavily under the influence of beer and coke and wants to kill you!
  
  
  Why did she warn me? How did she know I was Carter? How much did she know about AH in general? And what was her relationship with Jorge?
  
  
  I didn't have much time to think about it. Jorge left a bottle of chicha, a homemade beer, and came up and pointed the machine gun at me. 'Go. To where you came from. You can keep your hands down, but don't try to joke.
  
  
  El Rubio looked at me. - “Shall we burn the jeep?”
  
  
  - No, we'll leave it here. March now!
  
  
  I started heading back in the direction I came from. They followed me, not too far, but close enough. They spoke excitedly in Spanish. It happened so quickly that I didn't have time to keep track of everything. But what I could figure out was not very encouraging. Jorge wanted to get rid of me, El Rubio wanted to wait a little longer.
  
  
  I was important. I could still be used. They can always kill me later. Then I realized that the relationship between Jorge and El Rubio was very important to me. A matter of life or even death!
  
  
  I began to understand more and more. Here's an ambush, for example. They let me through and waited for Talbot and Bennett. They expected me to hear the shots and return to find out what happened. So they wanted to catch me. They were cunning and inventive. As befits real partisans. And their cunning and ingenuity paid off. They grabbed me.
  
  
  We got to my Toyota and now I was the pack mule. They knew where to look. They found all the hiding places in the car. Jorge had a fit of laughter when he found the explosives and detonators.
  
  
  “You have really strange baggage.” I didn't know they worked with explosives in the Peace Corps! What are you up to? Blow up the co-op? Or maybe a rabbit hole?
  
  
  El Rubio looked at the portable TV and showed off her Mona Lisa smile again. - How strange, Mr. Carter. No television programs can be received here at all. What do you do with such a thing?
  
  
  Jorge looked at me as he took a sip of chicha. “Why don’t you stop telling us these crazy stories, man. You're looking for that transmitter at Vulture Rock, just like us. I'm sure. It's also the only reason you're still alive. Maybe you can help us blow this thing up. Then I can kill you later. He hit the machine gun with a hand that was the size of a coal shovel.
  
  
  El Rubio looked at him with furrowed brows. Although she seemed a little nervous, her voice was surprisingly controlled as she said, “You talk too much, Jorge. Too much. And this is not a place for small talk. Let's go to.' It was an order. Jorge knew and he didn't like it. He spat out the coca juice. He drank beer and chewed coca at the same time. He looked at her with some kind of hatred in his eyes. She was a woman. I felt there was also sexual tension between them. And I saw it in the way he looked at her. Now I knew El Rubio had a problem. At least they had an affair. I was wondering who Jorge was. He didn’t seem like a partisan to me at all. But there was something suspicious about him.
  
  
  There was nothing sinister about El Rubio. I could tell she had a great figure despite the loose army clothes she wore. Her hands and nails were clean. She had silver-brown hair, cut very short, probably to protect herself from lice. And easier to clean, of course. It looked clean, and when she came to me to whisper a warning about Jorge, it smelled clean, too.
  
  
  Her face had a fragile but genuine beauty. She had a small, strong chin and large light gray eyes. Her breasts were large, judging by the bulges that were clearly visible even under her baggy jacket. I had already noticed that Jorge was looking at her breasts a lot. If he didn't drink, didn't spit, and didn't swear to himself. She knew it. And she knew that I knew it.
  
  
  After arguing about what order we should go in, we left. She wanted Jorge to walk in front and me to be in the middle. This would give her the opportunity to talk to me alone. I wondered if that was her intention. Jorge would have thought about that too. He became increasingly grumpy under the influence of beer combined with coca.
  
  
  I walked ahead, carrying the heaviest equipment. Jorge happily hung this thing around my neck. Finally, the girl had to stop him from going too far.
  
  
  “It’s no use letting a mule break your neck, Jorge,” she barked at him. 'It's enough. I'll carry the TV.
  
  
  I was sweating a lot. If I hadn't been in great shape, despite the drinking and women like Kezia Neumann, I might not have made it the last few miles to the pass. I was carrying almost a hundred kilograms, a super heavy load at that height, and I could feel dizzy. I threw up a little and my head started pounding like a bongo. I felt miserable. Then I thought about Bennett and Talbot and I felt a little better. At least I had another chance. I felt like something was about to happen between Jorge and El Rubio. I decided to take advantage of this. This was the only chance I had.
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  It gets dark early in the Andes in winter. And it's getting cold! We had a decent fire in the cave and my front was pretty hot. But my back is frozen. And the fact that I was tied hand and foot certainly did not stimulate my blood circulation. Jorge knew how to tie knots. And if I hadn't had the razor in my almost frozen right fist—my hands were tied behind my back—I wouldn't have given myself a chance.
  
  
  But I had a razor. A regular everyday razor with one sharp blade. My biggest fear was that I would lose control of the muscles of my almost frozen hand and drop it. I didn't dare use the razor yet because I assumed that Jorge would check that the knots were tight before going to bed. If he ever falls asleep. He was currently drinking chicha and chewing coca, looking more and more aggressive by the minute. The tension between Jorge and the woman was growing noticeably and seemed to be ready to explode at any moment. I was not as happy about this as I might have been under other circumstances. I was in the middle. One of them will die soon, and that will probably mean the end of me, unless I get lucky and choose the right moment.
  
  
  I was on El Rubio's side. At least for now. She placed the razor nearby as she pretended to check Jorge's buttons. I didn't know why she was doing this and didn't even think about it. Now my first concern was to stay alive. I've learned a lot since they ambushed me at the wrecked jeep. Some fit into my schedule. However, I couldn't determine many other things.
  
  
  I nodded at the corpse under the tarp at the low entrance to the cave. “Why don’t you take it away? Bury him. Or cover it with stones. Make him a beautiful grave.
  
  
  Jorge gave me a dirty look. He sat on a stone and balanced the machine gun on his knee so that he held both me and the woman at gunpoint. His fingers seemed the size of bananas as they constantly moved near the trigger.
  
  
  “What the hell can you do, bird?” Does he bother you? Or can't you?
  
  
  I admit he doesn't look too handsome. And if you want to bury Dario with your bare hands, maybe I can arrange that for you. Is this what you want, Mr. Carter? You can go ahead. I'll even cheer you up a little. He pointed at me with the barrel of his machine gun.
  
  
  I didn't want this. If Jorge examines me, he'll find a razor. I was sure that he would kill us both immediately. A moment later it looked like he was going to untie me, but he hesitated. Something made him give up. I thought I knew the reason, but it was just a guess. Meanwhile, the tension in the cave was palpable. I thought it best not to make any more provocative remarks. The eruption wasn't going to happen until I was ready.
  
  
  I shrugged. - 'Forget it. I don't want to dig either. Will you give me a sip of this chicha?
  
  
  He picked up the can and grinned. "No chance, bird."
  
  
  Inez Graunt, her real name, trimmed her nails. Before doing this, she combed her silver-blond hair. She was cool. She was well aware that she was in danger, but she pretended to receive guests in the living room of her family villa in Lima. “Don’t you think, Mr. Carter, that our comrade in arms was wounded by an unusual weapon?” Maybe it's a laser gun?
  
  
  It really was similar. I once saw a demonstration of a prototype. They tried it on a goat. The result was about the same. Little remains but skeleton and flesh. They have one drawback. They don't have a long range and you can only fire them once. Recharging them takes a long time.
  
  
  Jorge looked at the woman. “Do you remember how long it took for Dario to die, Ines?”
  
  
  - I remember, Jorge. You were great. Only you could do this. But it's over, Jorge. We failed and lost all our people. Now we'll have to try again. Then we must succeed. We must destroy this transmitter.
  
  
  She looked at me dispassionately and ran her finger over her small straight nose. “With the help of the infamous Nick Carter, Jorge, we'll get through this next time. This time AH's plan is in accordance with ours. We can work together.
  
  
  - So, can we? How do you think?' Jorge looked at her with a strange expression on his flat, ugly face.
  
  
  He seemed to momentarily forget about my presence. The light in the cave was very dim, so I couldn't see his facial expression, but I could hear everything in his voice: anger, doubt, suspicion and fear. And one more thing. Something I've felt for a long time. excitation. Even more. The desire to humiliate and destroy this beautiful excited body. I decided not to wait any longer and began to cut the rope around my wrists with a razor.
  
  
  El Rubio desperately tried to contain the attack. She knew I couldn't help her right now. Besides, she had no way of knowing whether I would be willing to help her. But she was a first-class actress. She acted so coldly, as if she had not heard Jorge’s last words at all. The die was cast, but she simply looked the other way. She tried her best not to reach for the Colt .45 she still carried on her belt. Now she was fighting for every minute. Maybe every second. I worked with the razor as quickly as I could. It wasn't that fast.
  
  
  Now Jorge was faced with a dilemma familiar to many men. He wanted to get rid of her. And at the same time, he preferred not to do this. He wanted to trust her, but he knew he couldn't. His instincts told him to pull the trigger and destroy her with a burst from his machine gun. Currently! He didn't need any more convincing. I watched them for hours and realized that El Rubio was now no more than one breath away from death.
  
  
  I loosened one of the ropes around my wrists. Jorge, with his gun at the ready, took a sip of chicha and wiped his mouth with his hand. El Rubio froze like ice and walked towards the entrance of the cave.
  
  
  -Where are you going, honey? Jorge now played a new role. He began to swallow and fuss.
  
  
  She continued to pretend that she knew nothing of his intentions. She looked at him in surprise and then smiled. 'Where am I going? Jorge, do me a favor! ¿Que le pasa a usted? I need to relieve myself, if that's what you want to know. So if you don't mind...
  
  
  Jorge smiled too. His big white teeth gleamed in the dark. - I object, Ines. I even have many objections. You're not going anywhere at all. You know perfectly well why not. You would get lost in the dark and never come back here. You may decide to go to Vulture Rock to see your friends, as you did last night when all our comrades were killed except you and me. No honey. Stay here.'
  
  
  So now she couldn't avoid it. He broke free from her influence. I sawed wildly with the razor, trying not to let Jorge see my movements. One thing was in my favor. Jorge was so angry and so absorbed in El Rubio that he seemed to completely forget about my presence.
  
  
  The woman looked at him coolly, and then raised both hands to the sky in a gesture of despair. -You're crazy, Jorge. This is the only explanation I can find for this. I can even understand it. We both lived under a lot of stress. Terrible. A scary journey from Bolivia. Then that terrible ambush in which we lost all our people. It's surprising that one of us didn't die sooner. But you have to control yourself, Jorge, you have to! I am sure that Havana and Russia will understand. ..'
  
  
  Jorge moved like a cat. With the same motion, he hit her in the face and pulled the Colt from her holster. He plunged the barrel of the machine gun into her stomach. “Havana will definitely understand. They will understand what I tell them. Because you won't tell them anything else.
  
  
  He glanced at the transmitter in the corner of the cave. It was an old American model, the SC 12. It fell into disrepair because the batteries ran out during the journey from Bolivia. He looked at her again and grinned. He knew he had the situation under control now and was glad the cat and mouse game was over. “What a fool I was,” said Jorge. 'What an idiot. But it's over now, Inez. That night at Vulture Rock was the deciding factor. El Colmo! You disappear. You are nowhere to be seen for an hour. When you returned, your breath smelled of tobacco. I have a good sense of smell. Then, at the top of the cliff, we were ambushed. Everyone is killed. All are destroyed by laser cannons. Everyone except you, Ines. And me, because I was so close to you. You knew then that I suspected you, didn't you? You looked at me, and I looked at you. What a complex plot.
  
  
  “Basta,” she answered him. She moved her head towards me. “Carter hears every word you say. He's the enemy, Jorge, not me. You are mixing everything up. There's a lot you don't understand.
  
  
  He didn't look at me. Now his voice sounded bitter. - I got it all wrong. I admit. You were in command. I was there to carry out your orders. You had secret instructions from Havana. We didn't know why we were sent to Peru. Only you knew. Then something happened to the radio batteries. They suddenly went bad. Never happened before. And now suddenly... you have burns on your fingers.
  
  
  She was as cold as a block of ice. She extended two fingers of her right hand and looked at him. - You know, I got burned. Now she looked at me and smiled faintly. Say what you will about her, she had courage. She won't give up anytime soon. - I couldn't help it. I wanted to light a cigarette. And then the matchbox caught fire.
  
  
  “Luis saw you,” Jorge said. “Poor Louis, now he rots on Vulture Rock. You didn't see him, but he saw you. We both know he was estupido, but even he wondered why you deliberately burned your fingers. But one burn covers another, right? You burned your fingers with acid. The acid you used to destroy batteries. You couldn't explain it, that's why you came up with that matchbox trick.
  
  
  She stopped and looked at him with contempt. I continued to cut with the razor blade. Time was running out. Jorge, who was drunk on chicha and chewing coca all this time, began to be impressed with his own voice. He began to portray it beautifully. But at any moment he could get tired of it. This will be the end for the girl. But I still had a chance. Not a fifty percent chance, just a chance.
  
  
  Jorge took a sip and threw the empty can in my direction. He lit one of my cigarettes and blew smoke into her face. - These are all little things, Inez. Not very important. It was just a small thing that your breath smelled like tobacco. That you burned your fingers to hide the acid wounds. Because you destroyed the batteries and I was unable to contact Havana to verify your orders. Now he turned to me, and his smile was metallic. “Do you know what those secret orders were, Carter?” You'll be flattered, bird! It was about you. You were heading here, and we were ordered to intercept you. Capture you alive. What do you think about it?'
  
  
  I nodded. - 'Great. Capture alive! Why don't you listen to your boss and follow your orders exactly. You better not argue with the Bearded Man in Havana. He spat out a dark stream of coca. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Do you know when she told me about these secret orders? Last night. Just last night! When she realized that I didn't trust her anymore. So she tells me a story to pretend that she trusts me with a secret. Because she knew you'd come, and because she thinks she'll make a good impression if you're captured alive. That's why she told us all this nonsense about secret orders. What she's really going to do is kill me. But I made sure I never turned my back on her. And I never sleep because I know she can't be trusted. She is waiting. I am waiting too. We're playing cat and mouse!
  
  
  Meanwhile, he drained another can and threw it at her head. She avoided his gaze, tilting her head slightly to the side, showing him her white teeth with disdain.
  
  
  'Idiot! Silly! You got it all wrong. You are crazy!
  
  
  Jorge, still holding the machine gun on his stomach, pulled out another can of beer.
  
  
  “But it’s not surprising that I don’t know where these secret orders came from.” I also know that you only received them two nights ago, at Vulture Rock. When you supposedly “disappeared” for an hour. When did you smoke that cigarette? Who gave you this cigarette, Ines? The same one who gave you orders about Carter?
  
  
  Dion Hermes. It couldn't be any other way. In the old house in Malibu he called me Carter. He left me there. Hermes then complained about the dirty work he had to do. What he didn’t like about following orders. He pretended that he was just an insignificant link. But was he the main one? For that money, he could very well be the brains of this entire channel. He was smart and a good organizer. He asked Rona Matthews to record the tapes. He had Li Tzu to extort money from the old rich and give the settlement at Vulture Rock an acceptable cover. It may well be correct. Dion Hermes may be much more important than I initially suspected. Either he was very highly advanced in the movement, or he was a shrewd businessman selling efficiency. For a huge price. And the station had money. How much do they pay Dion Hermes for his organizing work?
  
  
  However, I was not entirely happy with this statement. Something was wrong. It's not a fact that they knew I was alive when Dion Hermes thought I was dead. He could have easily found out, perhaps with the help of the person who was watching the fire to see if my body was being carried outside. No, it was something else, and I still didn’t quite understand what it was.
  
  
  Jorge drank the half-empty can in one gulp. I wondered how he managed to hold on. When he looked at the woman again, his expression was sad. Even though I was prepared for almost anything, I was still surprised to hear him sob. Now I had my hands free.
  
  
  Jorge began to scold the girl again. Moreover, there was something in his voice that I could not immediately identify. It was only when I thought about it for a while that I realized it. He didn't seem as drunk as he did ten minutes ago. He seemed sober! This meant that I would have to act quickly. At least I had my hands free. My legs were still tied.
  
  
  “I’m as bad as you,” he continued to the woman. “Maybe even worse. Because I think you are betraying Cuba and not trying to see it. I didn't want to see this because I was in love with you. And you, dirty whore, knew this and took advantage of it.
  
  
  Suddenly he brought his large right hand to his face and scratched his nails at the skin. Immediately the blood turned his face dark red.
  
  
  "In love?" - he exclaimed. 'Nonsense. I was a damn idiot who wanted to fuck a pretty bitch so I could forget about everything for a while. You were smart, Ines, too smart! You knew everything perfectly well. As long as you let me do this, there was no danger of me asking too many questions.
  
  
  I noticed before that she plays well. Now she turned pale. She jumped up and looked at him with a withering gaze.
  
  
  “Embustero! Liar! You never laid a single finger on me. It would be better if I died! I . ..'
  
  
  Jorge wiped a large tear from his face. He looked ridiculous, as ridiculous as a drunk idiot with a loaded machine gun can look.
  
  
  “I’m not lying, Inez, and you know it.” It doesn't matter anymore. Do you know how many times you crawled into my bed to calm me down so I wouldn't think too much. And you will soon die. But not before you're lying beneath me again on the floor of this cave in front of Carter. I want him to see how I humiliate you. I would even like to keep him alive so he could tell this to others. Unfortunately, I'll have to kill it after using it. Because Carter and I are going to blow up that transmitter, can you hear me? I'll get him to help me. Now he is in my power. And we're going to do something you've always wanted to avoid!
  
  
  The woman sat down again and looked at him arrogantly. “You really have become an idiot, Jorge.” What does this last remark mean?
  
  
  Jorge shook his head slowly. “You won’t survive anymore, darling.” You won't glue me to your body anymore. I will kill you after I do what I want. So far I have only told you the little things. But they did not sentence you to death. I know everything about your secret missions, dear. They already told me in Havana so I could check if you are doing them. You made the same mistake as all salon communists. You think: if a person cannot speak politely and if he has not gone to school, he cannot think. And you're not even a communist!
  
  
  I think your bosses know this too, and that's why they give you these dangerous assignments. If you don't survive, they won't care. Everyone in Havana has known about you for a long time, dear. you're from the KGB. And that's why you don't want this transmitter to be destroyed.
  
  
  Now she was almost defeated. She looked at the ground and I saw her hands shaking. In her defeat, she looked even more beautiful than before.
  
  
  Jorge quickly sobered up. Some men can do this, and he apparently was one of them. I moved my legs a little and felt a cramping pain. But my hands were free, and I could feel my fingers again. My Mannlicher leaned against the wall of the cave near the entrance. El Rubio covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Maybe she really was crying. In any case, she looked at me intently through her fingers.
  
  
  “I’m not that stupid,” Jorge said. “Of course, you think that I am an ordinary guerrilla lieutenant, but in fact I am a Cuban intelligence officer. I have the rank of major.
  
  
  If she had continued to behave like this, I would have had a chance. Otherwise no. Without her help, he could have mowed me down with a burst from a machine gun, and I wouldn’t even have had time to touch the weapon. But if I could get to the gun without being seen, I'd have a chance. Jorge approached her. She sat motionless, burying her face in her hands and looking at the ground. Fine. Now he was closer to her. “I just had an idea,” Jorge said. “Something really nice. Do you know what I'll make you do, darling?
  
  
  She knew, and now the hatred and disgust that was read on her face did not play out. She bit him. She must have bitten right through him too, because he let out an uncontrollable cry of pain and anger and slammed his left hand violently at her head. But he didn't fire. I pushed off with my legs tied and dived for the gun. I crawled madly on all fours towards Mannlicher. I grabbed the weapon, turned over with lightning speed and started shooting. I'm sweating. The light in the cave was very bad and I had little time.
  
  
  El Rubio managed to escape. She jumped up and grabbed the barrel of the machine gun. She threw herself at him with all her weight, denying Jorge the opportunity to shoot. But she was in the way. I had to aim for his head in such poor light, and I only had a tenth of a second.
  
  
  The first shot struck Jorge on the tip of his nose and blew off the back of his head. The second time the bullet hit him in the chin and chest. Only then did he throw the machine gun. As blood gushed from his mouth, he began to crawl towards the girl. She dove for the machine gun. Screaming hysterically, she began firing it at Jorge's now dead body. He moved, shook and trembled like life as she emptied the magazine of the machine gun. Or almost empty. I paid special attention to this.
  
  
  I estimated that there were about ten rounds left in the magazine. When she started to turn, I said, “Don't stop! Shoot him!
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment. I saw how the muscles of her legs and buttocks tensed. Maybe she cursed herself. If she had not taken insane revenge on this body, she could have killed me.
  
  
  I didn't want to shoot her. I could still use it if I climbed Vulture Rock at night. And that's what I wanted to do. That same night.
  
  
  “Do it,” I challenged her. “Unfortunately, otherwise I’ll have to shoot you in the back.” It would be a shame. This is a very attractive back.
  
  
  I did this very consciously. I already knew what she was thinking and how she would try to play it, and I wanted her to believe that she had a chance. They always try. Sex trick. If you play along with them in the beginning, they will be much easier to deal with.
  
  
  She dropped the machine gun. He fell into a large pool of blood. Now she has started playing again.
  
  
  She made a furious movement of her head, threw back her blonde hair and looked straight ahead. Now her voice was normal again, confident and elevated.
  
  
  “You are a great shot, Mr. Carter.” Really very good. Thank you for saving my life. Can I turn around now?
  
  
  Her tone meant that she wanted to see me as an equal. She was a lady and I was immediately recognized as a member of the best family. We may have different political views, but you, as civilized people, should not make an issue out of it. That time she left him now. And I immediately realized that Jorge was right. She was a typical salon communist. She probably had a complex about her family's money.
  
  
  “You can’t turn around,” I told her. “Come to that wall, to that big stone. You will sit on it facing the wall. And keep your hands above your head, Inez. Don't try anything. I'm not going to kill you.
  
  
  She laughed mockingly. “It doesn't look like I've changed much, Mr. Carter.”
  
  
  “It depends on how you look at it. Now do what I say and keep your mouth shut.
  
  
  She sighed and spat on Jorge's body. 'As you wish. But I'm very disappointed in you, Mr. Carter. I thought you were a real gentleman.
  
  
  “I’m sure Jorge does too,” I said. “And look what happened to him.”
  
  
  I removed the knife from Jorge's belt and began cutting the rope around my ankles. I felt painful pricks as the blood rushed back to my legs.
  
  
  Now she was sitting on a stone, raising her hands up, as I told her. 'I'm very tired. Can I give up?
  
  
  'Not yet.'
  
  
  She started to sulk. I was an ungrateful dog. - I gave you the razor, remember! Without her, you would already be dead.
  
  
  'Error. You would be dead. Jorge was going to use me, remember? You gave me the razor because you were afraid of him. You were afraid that you couldn't handle it alone and that an accident would happen. This turned out to be true. So you better thank me.
  
  
  I did it quickly. I took all the weapons I found in the cave and threw them into a deep dark hole in the corner of the cave. I could count to six before I heard the gun I threw drop. So it was quite deep. I also dumped all ammo. I knew I could never trust her and I wanted to make sure I had the only weapon. Luger. I held it along with the stiletto against my right forearm. If I had to fight with laser guns, I still wouldn't use machine guns.
  
  
  I gave the transmitting installation a quick inspection. Maybe I could use the device using my portable TV's batteries, maybe not. This problem could wait.
  
  
  When she heard me destroying the weapon, she half turned around. 'Please. I can not do it anymore. May I . ..'
  
  
  “Of course,” I said. - Come here to the fire. And undress completely'
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn't protest. She walked over to the fire and began to undress. Her mouth curled into a cat-like smile. She truly believed that I would take the sexual bait.
  
  
  I sat a few yards away on a rock, watching her, holding her in the sights of my Luger. “Don’t make sudden movements,” I warned her. “I need to be able to see your hands.” Move your fingers slowly. Let me enjoy this.
  
  
  She looked at me with narrowed eyes. "I believe you will like it!"
  
  
  “Deep down, I'm nothing more than a dirty old man. Hurry up. Drop your pants. But slowly!
  
  
  My first impression of her body turned out to be quite correct. She had a beautiful slender body. Slender legs, firm flat stomach and full round breasts. Just below her crotch, holstered around her right thigh, I saw the shiny hilt of a tiny Webley. Lilliputian. But very deadly at close range.
  
  
  'Hm. How elegant! And so convenient! Raise your hands again.
  
  
  I walked over to her, unclasped the small holster and let it slide off her leg. She shuddered when my fingers touched the inside of her thigh. Her eyes were closed. I threw the small pistol into the deep hole and counted to six. There was a sound.
  
  
  Our eyes met. “This is a very deep hole,” I announced. "Think about it."
  
  
  She closed her eyes again, and as she began to speak, I heard a new tone in her voice. Words were difficult, and her large, full breasts rose and fell violently as she spoke to me. She arched her back and turned away slightly.
  
  
  “I’m so damn excited,” she said. Her tongue interfered with her and she could barely pronounce words. "Blood... kill." .. this always gets me so excited. Honestly. I . .. I'm not kidding, Nick.
  
  
  I looked at her. I believed it.
  
  
  She grabbed her chest with both hands. 'Well? You're not going to do anything about it?
  
  
  “Yes,” I said. - I'll do something about it. Next time.'
  
  
  I ran my eyes over her body. She no longer had a hidden weapon.
  
  
  “Get dressed,” I barked at her. “And make something edible from those jars over there.” Make some coffee.'
  
  
  Her nipples became hard from the cold. She had goosebumps. She licked her lips and stared at me as if she had experienced a miracle. I almost started to believe it too. I became her support. But my brain kept me in check. I was working on an assignment. And she was dangerous. Damn beautiful, but also damn dangerous.
  
  
  I did not look at her kindly and made a speaking gesture with the Luger. “Don't fall asleep. Hurry up! And make no mistake, Inez. I’ll shoot you just as easily as Jorge.”
  
  
  She took a deep breath and ran her fingertips over her body. She gave me another piercing look. I barked and made a threatening gesture towards Wilhelmina. She gave in and started getting dressed.
  
  
  I knew she hated me now. Now I was more than just a political enemy. Now there was personal hatred. This may make her even more naughty. Of course, I had an answer to that question too, although I hoped I wouldn't have to give it.
  
  
  She was pale and silent, preparing something to eat. Apparently Bennett wasn't too worried about food. Everything was just canned food. There was some powdered coffee and a carton of cigarettes. Peace Corps people seem to have a habit of eating just like the people in the area where they work. While she was busy, I dragged Jorge to the corner. I would have preferred to take it outside, but I couldn't leave her alone in the cave. I didn't know how long they had been using the cave. It is possible that she had a weapon hidden somewhere.
  
  
  During lunch I started asking her questions. Hawk says I'm pretty good at this. And he should know because he is the best. Anyway, during the first cup of coffee she started lying. I said nothing. I released the stiletto from the handle and brought the tip to the fire. She looked at me with wide eyes and her mouth twisted in fear.
  
  
  “You’re lying,” I said simply. - 'Do not do that. You can't win because you don't know how much I already know. You risk me catching you every time you lie. I turned the stiletto on fire. “And if you lie again, I’ll tie you up and use it against your bare feet.” If you think I'm just trying to scare you, give it a try.
  
  
  She realized that I was not joking. I thought threatening her was enough. This is often much more effective than torture itself. Jorge would probably say I could go to hell. I don't think she'll have that much courage. And I was right.
  
  
  She spoke. Jorge was right. She was a KGB agent. She was planted in Cuba so that the Kremlin could learn about Beard’s plans first-hand. She didn't work for a long time, she had several different passports, and when she wasn't working, she taught at a school in Argentina. For years, she tried to stay away from her powerful aristocratic family. If they ever got their hands on her, they would definitely institutionalize her.
  
  
  The rest was easy enough. The Cuban Secret Service had known about the Vulture Rock transmitter for some time, but did not fully understand what it was or what it was intended for. Their men in Peru were poorly equipped and there was little support from the peasantry. Most of the time they were hunted and hungry. Castro pinned his hopes on the Bolivian guerrilla movement in the north. Peru can wait. When Che Guevara was killed and the Bolivian guerrillas fled, Havana sent El Rubio in his place, with Jorge looking after her. She was ordered to go south. When the broadcasts began, Cuba ordered the destruction of the transmitter at Vulture Rock. Castro was a supporter of Mao Zedong. The station wanted Mao's head. So that was pretty clear.
  
  
  But Ines, El Rubio, was a KGB agent. And the Kremlin wanted to protect and encourage neo-communists. At least in the beginning. Until they saw in which direction the transmitter was moving. Perhaps they would try to manipulate them.
  
  
  In any case, Inez had orders to guard the installation. I took the stiletto out of the fire and placed the tip against the wooden box in which the supplies were kept. The wood crackled and began to smoke.
  
  
  “You were in the middle of the mountains, Inez.” How did you receive orders from the KGB?
  
  
  “We have an agent in Caracas. I contacted him the night before I destroyed the batteries. These are the little things you should pay attention to during interrogation. 'How was this possible? Jorge said you have nothing to do with radio. How were you able to get to him?
  
  
  'Easily. Jorge and the others went to get supplies. Louis was the only one left in the camp, and he wasn't the smartest. He didn't know Morse code. I then used the radio and received my orders. Then I let Luis hug me to silence him. Louis was a complete idiot. He believed that I only loved him and that others should not know what we do together when we are alone.”
  
  
  Luis may have been stupid, but not stupid enough to tell Jorge about those broadcasts. This seemed too unlikely to me.
  
  
  I said, “So two nights ago you attacked the Rock? Jorge suspected you, but he slept with you and hasn't done anything against you yet. You must have been worried then, right? How did you do it? How could they all be killed except you and Jorge?
  
  
  She looked at the smoking tip of the stiletto and took a deep breath. - 'Then everything was in order. I have a rep at Vulture. Caracas gave me instructions on this matter. And I was really desperate. That's why I got lost that night. We rose just before sunset. There is an easy way to the top if you know it. I ran away from others. I found my contact and warned him. He set an ambush for the others. But because Jorge didn't trust me, he pretty much clung to me. That's why he was also able to avoid those laser beams.
  
  
  I told her the rest. “This contact gave you one or two cigarettes. You smoked them and didn't think about it. Then you came back and kissed Jorge.
  
  
  She looked at me pitifully, like a schoolgirl. 'Yes. It was a stupid mistake. But we hadn't smoked for several days, and I just wanted a cigarette. I never thought so. ..'
  
  
  It's always the small, stupid mistakes that kill any agent. I wondered when this would happen to me and what mistake I would make. Hawk always says it has something to do with drinking and women. Personally, I doubt it.
  
  
  I said, “This KGB agent in Caracas, what’s his name and cover?”
  
  
  She didn't expect this question. She was expecting another question, a very important one. She wondered if she would lie and risk torture. I threw her off balance with this less important question. She gave me the name of her contact in Caracas, and I remembered the details.
  
  
  Then I asked her a question. “Your contact at Vulture Rock is Dion Hermes, isn’t it?” He arrived from Cusco by helicopter four days ago. Before that he was in Los Angeles. He is also a KGB agent. He's also the CEO of a KGB company on the west coast, and he helped the Chinese build this transmitter because that's what the Russians wanted. He is associated with Rhona Matthews and Old Lama Li Tzu. He writes the texts, and she reads them on tape. He transported Chinese engineers to Peru. He milks these idiots who come and sits at Li Zi's feet and transfers the money to the new organization. These sex pills are the invention of a Chinese scientist. Am I still right?
  
  
  She looked at me with her mouth half open. She was impressed. And stunned. Sometimes our enemies have a habit of underestimating AH. We encourage this as much as possible.
  
  
  Ines threw her cigarette into the fire. She threw her head back and shrugged. - You are damn well informed! Why did you even bother asking me?
  
  
  “I want to know everything about Dion Hermes. All! I went a long way to kill him. I continued, “Dion Hermes tried to frame me for murder in Malibu. He failed and I think he knows it. I think he was talking to you about me. I also think that he gave you certain orders. Maybe it's this: you should stay here in the valley and contact me as soon as I get here. You'll probably try to trick me with this little story that we could work together... You could try to convince me even more by sleeping with me. Then you will take me that easy route you just mentioned, to the Vulture, where I will be ambushed. Isn't that right, Ines?
  
  
  It seemed to me that I read admiration in her eyes. And it was a surprise for her. I thought I understood why she was surprised. I knew much more about this story than she did. I was the main person in my organization. She was undoubtedly nothing more than a pawn, good enough to follow orders. They probably didn't tell her everything.
  
  
  “You must be related to the devil,” she finally said. She crossed herself, and this surprised me. It seemed strange to me for such a woman. Then I forgot about it. That was my fault. We talked a little more. As far as I could tell, she told me the truth because she was afraid of torture. It all came down to the fact that Dion Hermes had to kill me, as this was welcomed in Russia. This meant a face-to-face confrontation. And this was not undesirable for me.
  
  
  I heard another thing that actually surprised me a little, but really not that much. The order to Dion Hermes to kill me came a long time ago. Our involvement in the Malibu problem was purely coincidental.
  
  
  “They have to be very careful,” admitted Inez Graunt. “They want it to look like an accident. Because now that there is a reasonable understanding between Russia and the US, they do not want to create new tension by killing the main agent of AH.
  
  
  That's why they have to make it look like an accident.
  
  
  It sounded plausible. I knew something was wrong, but it sounded plausible. And I didn't know what happened. I had never heard of Dion Hermes before this assignment. So does Hawk. It just didn't make sense that an agent as important as Hermes undoubtedly was could remain undercover for so long.
  
  
  I decided to put her to the test. I took the stiletto and let it scrape menacingly against the wooden box. I walked around the fire, and she cowered.
  
  
  “You’re lying,” I said. “You’re only telling me half the truth.” You're missing something, and I want to know what it is. How do you know Dion Hermes's plans so well?
  
  
  She looked at the tip of the stiletto and her lips trembled. - I'm not lying, Nick. I swear. Hermes himself told me about all this. When I met him at Vulture that night.
  
  
  I looked at her menacingly and remained silent.
  
  
  - I'm not lying, Nick. Honestly. I can prove it. She looked at the stiletto with concern and licked her lips. She was afraid of this cold steel.
  
  
  “Five seconds,” I said. "I'll give you five seconds to prove it."
  
  
  The words came quickly from her lips.
  
  
  “You were in Beirut a few days ago. You slept with a woman, Kezia Neumann. She's a double agent; she works for the KGB and the Shin Bet. The Russians no longer trust her and have decided to clean her out."
  
  
  I guess I looked a little surprised. Not that my mouth opened right away, but my surprise must have been noticeable. I noticed from Inez's reaction that she felt relieved. She continued talking. “They planned to kill you in that hotel. I think it was called Phenicia.
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Everything was worked out in detail. Both you and the girl will be poisoned with a bottle of arrack and a note will be left saying that the two of you committed suicide together. Out of love and because you were tired of the dirty work you were doing.
  
  
  -Who should have written this note?
  
  
  “This woman, Kezia Neumann. She already wrote it. She would put it down. But, of course, she didn't know she was going to die. She said she gave in at the last minute and vomited poison. The police won't keep her long and she'll get a big reward. She didn't suspect anything at all.
  
  
  I walked around the fire and sat down. So it wasn't a big deal. I just hoped Hawk would never find out about it.
  
  
  “You left an hour early,” Ines continued. — One of the Russians saw you leaving. It was in a parking lot across the street from the hotel.
  
  
  Nikolai Tovarets. A man with big hands. I thought he was after Kezia. So that's how it was. But I forgot about myself. He didn't show anything when he saw me leaving the hotel. And yet there was something else I didn't understand.
  
  
  “Why would Hermes tell you all this?” An agent he had never seen before. It is not true.' She looked upset. -What else do I need to tell you? I don't know why he told me either. But he told me! And he made sure that I listened carefully. He seemed to think it was important that I not forget anything he told me.”
  
  
  Now it became clear to me. Hermes would like me to know. This meant that he knew me well. He knew that I would accept the challenge, that I would not mock his bait. How could Dion Hermes, a complete stranger to me, know me so well? I lit two cigarettes and gave one to the girl. I looked at my watch. It was midnight.
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “We go to the rock just before sunrise. Then we will have a good overview, but it will be difficult for them to detect us.
  
  
  She was scared again. - I don't want to go there. Why should I go? Can't you just set me free? I'll disappear into the mountains and won't bother you anymore. I no longer have weapons and . ..'
  
  
  "Will you come with me".
  
  
  - But it's a trap. They will be waiting for you. There will be a fight and I... I. ..'
  
  
  “Yes,” I smiled at her. - They can kill you too. It's possible. And they could kill me. This is another possibility. But we will not fall into their trap. We will not take this easy path. We will go the hard way: we will climb a steep slope, along the eastern slope.
  
  
  I carefully studied the maps of Vulture Rock. It was possible. I knew it. They did not know and therefore were not prepared for an attack from this direction. If we had had half an hour, which was possible in principle, we could have been under cover before sunrise.
  
  
  She was stunned. “I am a very good climber. I grew up in Switzerland before I broke away from this bourgeois nonsense. I've climbed some of the toughest peaks in the world.
  
  
  And I tell you that this is impossible.
  
  
  “And I’m telling you, we’re going to do it.”
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  The weather, considering the circumstances, was not bad. It was clear and cold. A cold wind constantly blew from the south, howling in the cracks. It sounded like they were tuning a fake organ. We dressed very warmly, but I would have to take off my gloves to climb the steep ridge. It would be my fingers and toes wrestling with the rock. One mistake and I'm lost. The bad thing was that we were tied with rope and I had to let her through first. I couldn't trust her to look after me. Once we were in the correct starting position, I waited until the very last moment. At the first sign of dawn, when I saw my hands at arm's length, I gave the go-ahead. She was scared. I was tense to the limit. To begin with, we climbed a small glacier full of cracks. It entered a chasm-like passage lined with jagged granite stones. From time to time we heard rocks falling somewhere nearby. It wasn't exactly reassuring.
  
  
  She was good. Very good indeed. At the last minute I decided not to take her with me. I could tie her up and leave her in the cave. But then I had to think about all those knots that I had mastered myself over time, and I gave up. I wouldn't risk it. This was my only chance.
  
  
  To get to the edge of the cliff, we had to cross a smooth, solid piece of rock covered in ice. We wore denim boots and carried pickaxes. That's why I didn't want her behind me. I also had all the other essentials like rope, staples and hammers. I carried explosives and detonators in plastic wrap on my belt, as well as several special batteries. The top piece of rock that we had to climb hung forward and was wide at the top and narrow at the bottom. I doubted that there would be sentries on this side of the rock, since from this side the rock seemed impregnable. Having climbed to the top, we took refuge among the rocks and waited for it to get dark. I will then strike to destroy the installation and kill Dion Hermes.
  
  
  We climbed over a jagged rock mass, and then found ourselves again in a crevice from which small stones continued to fall like a waterfall. In Switzerland it is called bergschrund.
  
  
  Ines continued to grumble that we were crazy. The dark gray sky turned milky white and I could see four meters ahead. To our right was a large ledge of snow and above us was a ledge of rock. I know that stone is a dead material, but I got the impression that this stone was looking at me mockingly.
  
  
  We stopped. She was lying on her stomach and breathing heavily. I lay on my back and studied the canopy. The first thing I saw made me happy. There was a ledge about five meters below the edge. The last five meters will require the most effort because this section is tilted forward at least twenty degrees. I would start this last part first. She must wait at the ledge. There was no other option. I had to choose between two evils. If I let her go first and she makes it, I can expect a spiked boot or a pickaxe to the skull as I climb over the edge. I would go first, keeping in mind that she would never be able to go down alone. She had enough experience not to try something like that, and I bet she wasn't brave enough to do it anyway. It was a risk I had to take. I wake up. - 'Let's go to.'
  
  
  She started whining. 'I can not do it. I will never be able to do this. This is impossible.' Now she regretted telling me that she was an experienced climber.
  
  
  I showed her the stiletto. “You have to look at it this way,” I told her patiently. - I have a job. I'm too far gone to give up now. If you rise up, you still have a chance to survive this; if you argue, you have no chance. Then I'll have to kill you. I'm so sorry.
  
  
  She must have known from the sound of my voice that I meant it, because she said nothing more and prepared to climb. I pointed out to her something else I had discovered. A barely noticeable fold in the rock, rising from right to left and ending about six feet below the ledge.
  
  
  “Try it,” I ordered. "You'll have to take your gloves off or you won't be able to."
  
  
  “But my hands will freeze.” Indeed, the higher we rose, the colder the wind became.
  
  
  “Not if you do it quickly,” I replied. “They'll be a little numb, but they won't freeze. And we have to do it quickly. Because if we are seen on this slope in broad daylight, we will be a defenseless target for those laser cannons. So hurry up and don't talk so much.
  
  
  I watched her carefully, noticing how effectively she used every ledge to propel herself forward. Now that she started it, I was sure that she would succeed. She was really good. When she was only ten feet from the ledge, she suddenly stopped.
  
  
  “There’s a piece of rock in the way,” she shouted down. “It’s not very big, but I can’t get around it.” What should I do?'
  
  
  She sounded calm. I didn't get the impression that she wanted to do anything. I shouted, “Are you sure?”
  
  
  'I'm sure. There is ice on this rock. It is mirror smooth. This is impossible.'
  
  
  But this must be overcome. “Stay where you are,” I shouted. - Hammer the staple and wait there. I'm going up.'
  
  
  I have to help her. The crevice in the rock turned out to be a little deeper than I imagined. I could get enough support. Approaching her, I saw that she was right. It was a difficult case. This stone, shaped like a watermelon, was simply in the wrong place. It protruded from the rock, interrupting the fold that allowed us to climb up. You couldn't get over it.
  
  
  Inez hit the rock with the staple and allowed herself to be hung from the rope. An abyss of at least thirty meters gaped beneath her. I studied her face and asked, “Do you have anything to hold onto with your feet?”
  
  
  - I'm almost on tiptoe. But if I don't move. ..'
  
  
  - Then don't move. I have to climb over you to get the damn thing. Then I will help you deal with this. Then we can climb up to this ledge.
  
  
  -Can't you untie me? If you fall, we'll both be there.
  
  
  I took a chance. There was no way she could leave: I couldn’t imagine how she could come down again if something happened to me. I thought about it for a while and then decided that it was hardly a risk.
  
  
  “I’ll untie you,” I said. “Try not to overuse it.”
  
  
  “What the hell could I do?” - she barked at me. 'I'm getting pretty cold here. I don't think I'll last much longer. Please hurry!'
  
  
  I could barely cope. I had to carefully look for the right places to hammer the staples. I had to climb up decimeter by decimeter. I started with a triangle, two leg braces and one above my head to grab onto. I could do this because the rock here was vertical and not overhanging.
  
  
  I had now risen above the obstacle and therefore had to descend again to find a crease on the other side where I could stay on my feet. It's only now that I actually ran into a problem. I had a hard time driving staples into a stone wall. I hammered the last staple into the wall and threaded the rope through it.
  
  
  I would have to trust this bracket because I would have to hang on it with all my weight. I would have to climb down the rope and hope that my feet would find a crease on the other side of the obstacle. To do this, I would have to hold on to it with my hundred kilos. It was difficult for me to look down and I had to look for a crease in the rock. I had a hard time figuring out how hard or weak the stone was where I stuck the staple into it. You can't always feel it. I remembered seeing her crossing the road. “If you can still pray,” I told her, “now is the time.”
  
  
  I let go and now hung with all my weight on the rope and on this bracket. The bracket crunched and moved, but held. At least until now. I waved my legs in the air, trying to find a crease in the rock with my toes. I couldn't find it. My feet scratched the rock, but all I felt was smooth stone. The bracket began to creak more and more terribly. I knew I was gripping the rope tightly, but my fingers were so numb from the cold that they could barely feel the fabric of the rope.
  
  
  I still couldn't find the crease. I had the idea that I was starting to weigh more and more. My shoulders began to hurt, it seemed that the tendons were stretched several meters. I was suffocating from the thin cold air. Do you see anything?
  
  
  Where are my legs now?
  
  
  She was scared. She didn't think I would survive. - I don't see anything here. I don't dare stretch out far enough!
  
  
  “You better do it. Otherwise I'm done.
  
  
  It didn't sound like my own voice. I heard her movements. And mooing. I wondered if she was really praying.
  
  
  She said: You're too low! Pull up your legs, right leg! Over there. Now left, no, no, now right. A little lower, a little more. ..'
  
  
  I groped. I pushed my boot into the hole as far as I could and breathed a sigh of relief. Now I was safe again. The rest was child's play. The fold widened. Ines threw me a rope and I secured it with several staples. Now she too could cross the stone safely.
  
  
  As we stood on a ledge five meters below the rock ledge, I saw that the hardest part was behind us. The last section looked much more dangerous than the one below. We were able to climb further without interruption using the staples. When we finally reached our goal, I knew it was time. Dawn turned into bright daylight. Eagles circled above us. I looked around at the small flat place where we were now and decided that we would spend the day here. It was wonderful. It was an area of about five square meters with rubble and boulders, and here and there dry ichu grass. The beauty was that the area was concave and bordered by large boulders so that it formed a natural fortress. We were high above the lower plateau where the Inca palace and temple complex stood. Nobody saw us here except the eagles.
  
  
  I found a suitable place among the huge boulders, protected from the biting wind, and untied the rope that tied us. She was shivering from the cold, and we rubbed our hands together to regain our senses. After a few minutes, she smiled at me and winked. I answered her with a look as cold as the stones on which we sat. She wrapped herself in a llama coat and asked, “What now?”
  
  
  - We'll wait here. I will have to prepare everything exactly. I still need a lot of information from you and I hope you won't try to lie to me anymore. I can still kill you. And I will do it if you force me.
  
  
  “You don’t dare shoot now.”
  
  
  - You're right. I put the stiletto in my hand and showed her the weapon. “Don't make me use it, Ines.”
  
  
  - I will not do it. I know when I'm defeated. All I want is to get out of here alive. Besides, I think you owe me something...
  
  
  “I don’t owe you anything at all.” But if you don't work against me, I'll see what I can do for you with my boss. That's all I can promise you.
  
  
  Maybe Hawk could use her. A double agent is always useful. Although in her case it would be a triple agent. After all, she was already a double agent. We've made it easy for ourselves. I had with me several cigarettes and a bar of chocolate. I found a good opening between the rocks and began to examine the plateau below. I focused my binoculars on the scattered granite buildings half a kilometer away. Vulture Rock. The place where the last Incas once ruled and where they died. Conquered by the Spanish. Four hundred years ago.
  
  
  The terrain wasn't too bad. Of course we will have to cross it at night. From the base of the mountain top we were on, the plateau stretched for about two hundred meters and was bordered by a wall of white granite stones. It was a dry wall held together by tension and friction, and the Incas worked only with stone and bronze tools. The wall stretched across the entire plain, from one edge of the rock to the other. The wall was about two meters high and had no loopholes. The Incas did not expect an attack from this direction.
  
  
  Behind the wall, a dry ditch led to the first granite building. There I also found a helicopter pad. Now there was no helicopter, and there was no place in any of the buildings to hide it. So they didn't wait here. We flew in from Cusco, did our business and flew away again. This helicopter worried me a little. If he flies directly over our hideout, there is a chance that we will be discovered. I didn't think about it for long. Inez patted my hand and said, “Look, that first building over there, that must be the transmitter.”
  
  
  The building was low and square, with a flat roof. The object shone in the first rays of the sun from a dark square hole in the roof. It was a stainless steel needle with a convex top that moved slowly upward.
  
  
  “Antenna,” I muttered. - Not a transmitter. It is in or under a building. Great. It's close enough.
  
  
  The antenna slowly rose. It resembled a flagpole, except for the convex top. At the base, the antenna was about a foot thick. It was more than forty meters.
  
  
  Her cold mouth touched my ear. - Do you think they're broadcasting now?
  
  
  - How the hell am I supposed to know this? Probably. I don't think they brought this thing up for fun."
  
  
  They will broadcast something. They will direct a laser beam at one of our satellites and jam all programs. They will overwhelm the whole world with their propaganda. I was wondering if Hawk would be in Lima watching this right now. At least now I knew where the transmitter was.
  
  
  I have never seen Dion Hermes before. Neither does anyone else. Nothing moved between the buildings. The plateau seemed completely deserted. I didn't see any smoke either. The buildings were heated by electric generators, which had long been installed.
  
  
  Then I saw movement. I pointed my binoculars at him. A thin line of men and women emerged from the gates of the old palace. She moved towards the wall. They disappeared into the depths of a dry ditch, appeared again and walked towards the wall.
  
  
  “This is a funeral procession,” said the woman next to me. - According to the old tradition. Oh my God! They're going to feed the corpse to the vultures.
  
  
  Now I could see the man leading the procession. It was Li Tzu, well bundled up against the cold. He led the procession, eyes downcast, plucking the strings of a small sitar with his bony fingers. The wind was far away from us, so we couldn't hear the music. I wasn't particularly interested in music either. Dion Hermes walked behind Li Zi. He played the flute, just like in the Malibu house. He was wearing a fur hat with ear flaps and a heavy alpaca coat. I looked at him closely, noticing the bulge under his coat. It was a shoulder holster. Hermes did not take risks. Not even at a funeral.
  
  
  Inez Graunt watched me. In a curious tone, she told me, “You scare me when you laugh like that. Then you look like a wolf.
  
  
  - It's just to growl at you. Shut up and don't distract me. I carefully removed all the loose stones so she wouldn't hit me on the head from behind.
  
  
  The body was naked. It was an elderly woman. She was lying on an ordinary stretcher. As I studied the discolored face - she had apparently had teeth removed from her mouth - I realized that I had seen this face before, and I also knew where. To Malibu. I didn't know her name, but I recognized her as one of the lama's followers. I suddenly remembered what Hawke said about wills. This old woman will be buried. Now Li Zi and Dion Hermes will receive their reward.
  
  
  The procession turned left, then stopped at a high stone altar that stood on the edge of a cliff. I didn't notice this before. They didn't waste much time on the poor guy. Two of them lifted the stretcher and allowed the corpse to slide onto the altar. I got the impression that it had been used before because I saw bones and some remains. My stomach is pretty strong, but for a moment I thought I was going to throw up. Everyone stood with their faces turned down when Li Zi spoke. Only Hermes did not look at the ground. He continued to look around nervously. I guessed that he was waiting for the helicopter. For a moment he looked straight in the direction where we were. I saw that he had a dissatisfied and worried expression on his face. Why? As far as he knew, he had everything under control.
  
  
  Maybe not everything? I could imagine myself in his place and imagine his confusion. I didn't die in the fire, and his cover in the United States was blown. He suspected that I was stalking him, but he wasn't sure. If he didn't kill me and couldn't prove it to the Kremlin, he had nowhere to turn. He also lost Inesa Graunt. He couldn't know it yet, but he would soon find out.
  
  
  The old lama finished his speech. The naked woman lay on the altar, and I averted my eyes from her. She was very old, and there was something obscene about her wrinkled flesh. She was once a pretty girl, I thought, and I never thought of such a death.
  
  
  “The Incas brought people here to die,” Ines said. “The sick and the old. Only important people. Rich families. In the last days they were drugged and given whatever they wanted. Sexual relaxation, everything. I think they were killed painlessly in the end, the Incan version of euthanasia.”
  
  
  Naturally. Euthanasia. This was what Li Zi had to sell. Huge wings rustled above us. Raising my head, I saw them. These were vultures, corpse eaters. One of them flew right above us. His mouth was cruel and angular. For some time he looked at us with a cold, inquisitive gaze. He wasn't interested. We are not dead yet. I watched as the vultures tore the old woman's body apart with their sharp beaks. Soon twelve vultures crowded around the altar.
  
  
  I was glad that the arriving helicopter did not notice us. It was flying low from the east, and neither the pilot nor the passenger could see us. The plane briefly hovered over the platform and then landed in a large cloud of dust. The passenger got out and the pilot handed him a suitcase and briefcase. The pilot then joined him and they walked towards the nearest building. I pointed the binoculars at the passenger. There was something familiar about that figure, that fat bottom. He was disguised, had a beard and looked unusual. Even on distance. He was wearing sunglasses. They had almost reached the building when something funny happened. A sudden gust of wind blew his hat off. The pilot laughed and picked it up. When I looked at the passenger, I suddenly saw him. A fringe of red hair around the bald crown. When he half turned to take his hat, I was sure I recognized him.
  
  
  The last time I saw him with Hawk was when we first started the mission: Bill Phelan!
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  I waited until it was dark before descending onto the plateau. We were both hungry, but there was little we could do about it. Inez Graunt slept a lot. I could have slept a little too, but I didn’t have time. I've been thinking about Bill Phelan a lot. So the Pentagon intervened. Hawk was the absolute leader in this story, and I couldn't imagine him letting the Pentagon come in and ruin everything. Then I remembered how weird Hawk was and I wasn't so sure anymore. For example, there was that mysterious phone call from the head of Pentagon intelligence when I accidentally picked up the phone, and much more. But I was missing some pieces of the puzzle, and it got me thinking. All was not well yet.
  
  
  While we were descending the long rope, the weather began to deteriorate. The wind turned to the west, began to grow stronger, and more rain began to fall. I went down first and then waited for Inez. I wasn't worried about her. It would be difficult for her to escape. When we descended onto the dark, windswept plateau, I cut off a piece of the rope we were descending on and tied her hands behind her back with one of my special knots that only I could untie. Now she was completely calm and stopped complaining. I thought it was strange but didn't say anything about it. She ran her lips over my cheek while I tied her up.
  
  
  “I feel like a dog. I don't even have a chance to escape if something goes wrong. Let's say we stumbled upon a patrol. Then we will be burned by the beam of these laser guns.
  
  
  “If I do everything right, nothing will go wrong. We might actually run into a laser patrol, but at least it won't be an ambush. You did not have the opportunity to talk to Dion Hermes about organizing such an event. If we run into a patrol, it will be by accident. Then they will have the same chance as we do.
  
  
  I gagged her and checked again that her hands were bound correctly. That's all I could do. She will have to go. She might try to make noise by kicking rocks, but I doubted it. She felt very upset and defeated and all she wanted was to survive.
  
  
  There was no moon, only a few stars that looked large and bright in the sky, not yet hidden behind the clouds. We approached the wall and headed towards the gate through which the funeral procession had passed this morning. I went first, dragging her along with me. I tied the end of the rope to my belt. I had a Luger in my right hand and a stiletto in my left. We now walked through the old ditch and past the helipad to our left. The helicopter took off about an hour after Phelan arrived and has not returned since.
  
  
  So far everything has been going smoothly. Behind the building where the transmitter was supposed to be located, I saw that there were a lot of lights on in the restored Incan palace. I heard music. The same music as at the beach house in Malibu. I walked up to the small building, carefully turned the corner, and took a moment to look at the larger buildings a few hundred yards to the south. Yesterday afternoon I spent hours studying them through binoculars.
  
  
  The illuminated windows seemed like soft, gilded holes in the night. Dark figures walked back and forth, from one room to another. I assumed it was all very comfortably furnished. Li Zi spent a lot of money to earn even more for the station.
  
  
  I heard someone coming around the corner from the other side of the small building. I quickly pushed the woman against the wall and stood in front of her. I whispered: “Silence!” It was a test. All she had to do to alert the guard was shuffle her feet. She didn't. He turned the corner and ran straight into my stiletto. I should have killed him. I must kill anyone who gets in my way. I had no time for pity, and prisoners would be a burden. I drove the stiletto deep into his heart and caught the man as he began to fall to the ground. I muffled his cries of agony, laid him down and pulled the stiletto from his heart. I wiped the blood on his uniform jacket.
  
  
  The girl behind me didn’t make a sound, but I stood next to her and felt how she was trembling and about to lose her nerve.
  
  
  I looked at the victim in the light of a flashlight that was the size of a fountain pen. He was still young, about twenty years old, and one hundred percent Chinese, but from his hairstyle and clothes one could assume that he was from India. But the Mongolian features were present, albeit barely noticeable to the casual viewer. Apparently they disguised their people.
  
  
  I picked up the small laser pistol he had dropped and felt it with my fingers in the dark. It was a rod with a ribbed handle. The shaft was over six inches thick and felt smooth. At the end the rod had a cone shape. Below, instead of a magazine, there was a battery.
  
  
  I knew enough about lasers to know that I didn't really know anything about them. Of course, during my training I studied both lasers and masers, but at that time very little was known about their practical applications. There seem to be many different types of lasers, and they all work differently.
  
  
  I smashed the laser barrel with the butt of my Luger. Judging by the sound, the barrel was made of glass or plastic.
  
  
  I walked to the corner and pulled the girl along with me. Then to the next corner, where I could see the entrance to the building. A dim lamp illuminated the entrance. I saw a hall and stairs down. Several thick cables, secured to the wall with clamps, led out along the stairs, where they lay loose on the floor. They were no doubt taking place in a studio in the main complex where the footage of Rhona Matthews' voice was filmed and the cameras were focused on the Chinese Devil Mask. Only now I realized that I didn't see Rona Matthews in the funeral procession.
  
  
  I made the girl lie on her stomach. It's damn hard to get up with your hands tied behind your back. I unzipped my llama jacket to make it easier to get to the explosives and detonators. From time to time I heard voices over the steady hum of the generators, voices that must have come from below, but no one came up the stairs. I worked quickly.
  
  
  I had enough explosives to waste some of it. I stuck the piece to the wall, put the detonator in it, which was clearly visible, then ran back to the center of the wall, where I used a stiletto to dig a hole under one of the lower bricks. That's where I put what it really needed to work. I had a transmitter with me that activated the ignition. One press of a button was enough.
  
  
  The Incas built their houses, temples and palaces without mortar. Each wall was built around a central capstone. When he lost his balance, the entire building would collapse. I had enough explosives under one wall to destroy the capstone of the other walls, causing the entire building to collapse on top of the transmitter. Tons and tons of granite! I returned to the girl.
  
  
  It was on time. Like all people, I sometimes make mistakes, and I made a beautiful mistake. She rolled towards the illuminated entrance. Just like I rolled down the stairs in Malibu. She was only six feet from the entrance and I could hear her muffled sounds through the gag in my mouth. I ran up to her, grabbed her legs and pulled her back into the shadows. I quickly looked at the stairs, but no one had come up. '
  
  
  I lifted her so that her back was against the wall and gently lifted her chin with my left fist. She looked at me with hostility.
  
  
  I asked. - "What's down there?" I kept my tone friendly. “Maybe I should know better who’s down there.” I already told you that I will have to kill you if you are going to deceive me.
  
  
  She stared at me and shook her head. I punched her. 'Who's down there? Dion Hermes? Is he there?
  
  
  She nodded. I didn't believe her. Suddenly I thought there was something fishy about all this; it was wrong. One guard. Just one guard? And those voices that came from below. In my subconscious I had already been working on this, and now I suddenly knew it for sure. These voices kept coming back, repeating the same thing over and over again. It was a tape recording that had been rewound and then played back. The sound of laughter and friendly curses and jokes. The sound of a group of unsuspecting men. Security guard. A sound that should have lured me down. Now I began to understand.
  
  
  I lifted her chin again. - It's a trap, isn't it? They want me to blow up the transmitter. They even sacrificed a security guard to make it look convincing. And you just tried to lure me there.
  
  
  She looked at me blankly.
  
  
  “You and Hermes were so intrigued by this,” I continued. “You thought Jorge would die in the ambush along with everyone else.” They would have left you alone. You will meet me and seduce me with your sex. Even if it doesn't work, you can still lure me here by telling me that little story about how we could work together. But Jorge was suspicious and stayed close to you, avoiding death. And after that he was too smart to be killed. You became desperate and used me to kill him for you so that everything would go according to plan. There would be an ambush. This is not an easy path. This may make me careless, which will make things easier for you. And if I came down the stairs here to blow up the transmitter, because I wanted to be sure and not just assume that the falling rocks would be enough to destroy this thing, Hermes would be there waiting for me. Isn't that right, Ines?
  
  
  She nodded. I took the gag out of her mouth. Now I didn't care if she screamed. If Hermes was below, then he was below. And I would go down those stairs to deal with him. She knew this and now gave up all her acting. Now I know the real Ines.
  
  
  And she was not at all afraid of dying.
  
  
  “That’s right,” she barked at me. “Hermes is waiting for you downstairs with a laser gun. You can only go down the stairs. And if you don't dare, he will wait for the light and then chase you. There are several other people subordinate to him.
  
  
  I pushed the hairpin through her coat until the point pierced her chest. “Why do you want me to destroy this transmitter?” You and Hermes? I thought the Russians just wanted to protect him?
  
  
  She smiled an unpleasant smile, barely noticeable in the dim light burning above the entrance. I wasn't worried about Hermes showing up. He will stay downstairs and wait for me. I was wondering what Bill Phelan's role was. I still don't understand what he could have to do with this. I didn't care either, as long as he didn't interfere, and as long as he left Hermes to me.
  
  
  “Plans have changed,” Ines said animatedly. “News is always slow to come out of China, but sometimes we hear it before you do. Of course, our organization is better. The Chinese general whose support the new group was counting on was exposed by Mao and executed. The entire group in China fled. Her supporters here are retreating inland. Everything is over.'
  
  
  I could picture it exactly. The Kremlin gains little from their loss. They didn't want to support the group anymore. The ship was sinking and the rats were leaving it.
  
  
  She looked at me dismissively. “Anyway, you’re as good as dead.” Who will know who really destroyed the transmitter? Maybe we can take out a loan and get an incentive from China for a change. Maybe I can use this in Havana to dispel the suspicions they have against me. All options are still completely open.
  
  
  “As far as I’m concerned, you can take all the credit,” I said.
  
  
  “But when I die, you will die too. That's what I promise.'
  
  
  We were silent. She leaned against the wall and looked at me. The wind howled along the ancient stone walls.
  
  
  So Dion Hermes was down there. What else could I expect? I hit her with my right fist on the bottom of her chin. She fell on top of me and I threw her over my shoulder so her legs dangled behind me. It wouldn't be worth much as a laser shield, but it was all I had.
  
  
  I wrapped my left arm around her knees so that most of her torso hung in front of me. I had a transmitter in my hand that controlled the fuses of the explosives. My finger stopped on the button. If I died from a laser beam, my reflex would be enough to bring down a building. The Luger rested in my right hand. I walked through the doorway, crossed the hall, and started down the stairs. There were twenty steps. The staircase had just been laid, and the steps were almost vertical. A second dim lamp was burning below. Cables ran along the wall next to me. Below they continued to walk along the ground, into the darkness. I followed the cables. The hum of the generators became louder. It was getting darker and lighter, and I approached a new concrete ledge in the corridor. The corridor behind him turned sharply.
  
  
  Ines stirred a little and sighed. With every step I took, her head hit my knees. I carefully crept up to the turn, making sure that her body was in front of mine. The corridor actually made a ninety-degree turn and led into the brightly lit broadcast room. There were roaring generators along one wall, and transmitter control panels on the other wall. In the center of the room was a large table with chairs around it, and further back, near the generators, there was a work desk on which a tape recorder was making the whirring noise I thought about. I looked at it for a moment when the sound stopped and saw that the tape had automatically rewound. It's stupid that I let it fool me. Dion Hermes did not show up. We had to lure him out of hiding. This would give him first shot advantage. Ten seconds later I saw where he was hiding. The corridor continued past the broadcast room and seemed to end at a flat concrete wall. It seemed like the end. But there was another room there. It was built so cunningly that at first glance it seemed that there was one wall, although in fact there were two, and there was space between them. He had to be behind that screen. Behind it there will be another exit, probably into a tunnel leading to the palace. The screen was made of concrete, so it had to show itself before firing. I walked into the broadcast room and looked straight at the screen. - So, Hermes, let's not beat around the bush anymore. I know where you are.'
  
  
  The cone-shaped end of the laser appeared. I thought I saw him tremble slightly, and I wondered if he really was that nervous. He had enough courage in Malibu.
  
  
  His voice gave him away. He was really afraid of me. But his correct pronunciation has not yet changed. “Do you really believe, Mr. Carter, that you can save yourself by using Mrs. Graunt as a shield?” How stupid of you. I will not shy away from killing her if the need arises.
  
  
  “It will be necessary,” I replied. I laughed, mainly to get on his nerves, and pushed the barrel of the Luger forward threateningly. Now stop this unnecessary chatter and come out from behind this concrete screen. Then we can both shoot. He sounded more excited than scared now. “You are truly amazing, Mr. Carter.” You truly are a special being. I'm really sorry that I have to kill you. Almost sacrilege. I am sure there is no copy of you anywhere in the world.”
  
  
  I felt him talking to distract me. It wouldn't last long.
  
  
  - But it’s right now, you know. You are so exceptional, so extremely dangerous, that you simply need to be taken out of the way. I . ..'
  
  
  The trick was interrupted. He jumped out from behind the screen and pointed a laser cannon at me. I beat him by a tenth of a second. I abandoned the girl and ran down the corridor between the table and the generators. Three steps. Then I stopped. I didn't shoot. He fired. The laser beam hit me in the middle of my chest.
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  And I won. Most lasers only destroy what falls within their focus area. I knew so much about it. If Hermes knew too, he would at least for a moment forget about it.
  
  
  My body withstood the beam without any side effects. I dived, fell to the ground and jumped up again with the Luger in my hands. He continued to shoot. He looked very upset and lowered the barrel slightly. One of the beams hit Inez Graunt. Three steps further than I was just now. Right in the laser focusing area.
  
  
  Her body immediately caught fire. Her hair crackled for a moment, charred, and then disappeared. Where a man once lay, I now saw only a naked, smoldering skeleton. I shot at Hermes and missed. I never miss at this distance. Now I missed. I saw concrete shards flying when my bullet hit the wall. It was a head shot and I should have hit it.
  
  
  The laser cannon was discharged. So is Dion Hermes. He dropped his weapon and ran. I followed him. Walking around the screen, I could still smell the burnt flesh of Inez Graunt.
  
  
  As I expected, the corridor behind the screen turned into a ramp leading into a tunnel. Hermes came into the bend fifty yards away from me. He left before I could shoot him. I had to make sure I didn't lose sight of him. When I made the next turn in the tunnel, I saw that I had gained ten meters from him.
  
  
  The light in the tunnel went out. Behind me, from the direction of the broadcast room, I heard a buzzing sound, and then a door slamming. So now the exit was closed. For a minute I stood motionless in the darkness and thought. A pattern began to form within me that may well correspond to the facts. In the dark, I attached a slab of soft explosive to the bottom of the tunnel wall and inserted the detonator. I started to feel more and more like I was on the right track. I walked through the tunnel by feel. I suspected that I would soon see the light. The tunnel began to rise upward, and I realized that I was approaching the Incan palace and temples. At the end of the tunnel a lamp was burning. I felt like he was inviting me. Come see what's here!
  
  
  I did what was expected of me and moved closer to the light. Somewhere in the complex of ancient temples and palaces there was a switchboard and someone was sitting behind it. He watched my actions on the screen. Radar! I was a dot moving through the tunnels. Turning the lights on and off probably should have made me nervous.
  
  
  Another door closed behind me. The light ahead greeted me. I was carefully guided. As the inevitable confrontation grew, I caught up with Dion Hermes. I still intended to kill him, but now more and more pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Dion Hermes tried to kill me twice, and failed twice. I didn't think he would have a third chance. But he'll have to pay for what he did to Pat Killbride.
  
  
  As I approached the light, I stopped. The light came from a square hole in the tunnel wall. The opening was fenced with a steel grill. Voices were heard behind them and the smell of incense emanated. I crept up to the railing and looked inside.
  
  
  All this should have confused me. Or maybe not? I wasn't sure. I had a feeling that the guy behind the control panel was a little hesitant. He needed time before making a final, irrevocable decision. I couldn't understand it, but I had a feeling that this was not an ordinary calculation. Not spectacular shooting. There was a different smell about this: strange, confusing and at the same time very human.
  
  
  “In the beginning there was the Way. The path is unchanged, always has been and always will remain. We will find Him suffering. But suffering alone is not enough, for how can you suffer if you do not know the joys that suffering deprives you of? And doesn’t joy make it easier for us to face death without fear?”
  
  
  The words sounded calm and clear through the sounds of the sitar. Through the bars, I saw Li Zi sitting on the low stage. He played a big sitar, which I had already seen in Malibu. As he spoke, he plucked the strings with his monkey fingers. Dion Hermes was not there. There was no flute music. Only a large tape recorder that took care of the sound of the music. I counted nine listeners out of twelve who came here.
  
  
  The nine did not look at Li Zi. They sat or lay on podiums placed around the lama, some higher, some lower. All nine were in yellow dresses and pressed yellow scarves to their faces, as if breathing something from them. Something that was in scarves. Hawk already told me about this. He got the information from one of his experts, and it looks like he was right.
  
  
  On a high podium I saw a stretcher. Lying on them was Rhona Matthews, dressed as the Green Goddess of Fertility. The same robe she wore in Malibu. A mask with a hooked nose and bulging eyes lay on the pillow next to her. Her eyes were closed and her arms crossed over her chest.
  
  
  I was under the impression that she died of natural causes. Either way, this scene proved to me what I already suspected. Li Zi and his followers did not quite understand what was happening. Perhaps Li Tzu knew something about this, although he certainly was not fully aware, but others seemed to me completely ignorant. They were old and sick and wanted one last luxury before they died. Before they are fed to the vultures. They could afford it, and Li Tzu showed them the way. Maybe it wasn't such a bad purchase after all.
  
  
  This libido stimulant was in yellow scarves. It will be a combination with a strong hallucinogen. The libido stimulant consisted mainly of infusions of animal glands. He wouldn't have told the old ladies about this when he gave them scarves.
  
  
  The light in the room had now dimmed. I almost expected this. He showed me this scene while he was thinking about it. Now he had made his decision and the game could continue.
  
  
  To my left, further down the tunnel, another light beckoned. Before I got to him, I rolled up some plastic explosives and put a detonator in the ball and dropped the whole thing behind me. EU
  
  
  The light fixture hung from the massive stone door frame. Ancient carved stone, probably from one of the Inca temples. In the light of the lamp I saw images of the sun, erased by time.
  
  
  Then the light was also on. An electric candle on a large block of black granite. Altar. Dion Hermes lay on the altar. His eyes were open, looking at a light he could no longer see. There was a long black pointed object sticking out of his chest.
  
  
  I entered a spacious hall that resembled a grave. I held the Luger in my right hand and the transmitter that controlled the detonators in my left. My finger stopped on the button. I held the device up so he could see it clearly.
  
  
  - See, Phelan? You know what this is, don't you? I won't die until I press this button. And if I do this, everything will go up in smoke.
  
  
  He didn't answer. He thought. He thought a lot in these last hours. As a result, he put himself at a disadvantage. There was a small altar near one of the walls. It was low and square, and he sat behind it with his rifle pointed at me. I approached the altar where the body of Hermes lay. The object in his chest was a curved ritual sword. Phelan would definitely love to play the High Priest.
  
  
  “Stay there,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you yet.” And it won't help you run for cover. I can just wait for you to show up. Or I can exit this room through the hatch with the ladder behind me and close this exit. Then you will have to stay here until you die. Or I can call for help. I have a few more people on duty and I can order them to remove you. So, as you can see, I still have a few options. I nodded. I could see a rifle behind the altar, as well as a shadowy figure behind it. I didn't want to risk getting shot from the Luger. It was a difficult target, in terribly bad light, and if I missed it was going to kill me. And I had a feeling that he had not yet decided on this. “So Ines has been fooling me all this time,” I said. - Not bad, I must admit. She played well. But she always told me the truth; only she confused your name with the name of Dion Hermes; I helped her with this because I was so damn stupid and all I could think about was Hermes.
  
  
  He didn't say anything. The barrel of the rifle scraped the granite as he moved it.
  
  
  I pointed to the body of Dion Hermes. - Why did you kill him? I do not like this. I wanted to kill him myself.
  
  
  He's tired. Deadly tired. 'What does it change? He was a good agent, but he failed this task. I still couldn't take him with me to Russia. They don't like people like him there.
  
  
  I wasn't going to try anything. This was not justified in the circumstances. I tried to remember the places where I had planted the explosives, and tried to figure out where the first impacts would land when I activated the detonators. I assumed that I should do this soon. All that remained was to choose the right moment. I had to give him a chance...
  
  
  So I tried. “Why don’t you drop that rifle, Phelan, and come forward with your hands in the air.” I personally have nothing against you and will not harm you. I promise you, Phelan, and I have never broken my promises.
  
  
  I aimed the Luger at his body on the altar. “I would, of course, kill him, with pleasure.” I want to take you to the United States to give you a fair trial. What do you say to this?
  
  
  This was the simplest and most obvious way. If I knew Hawk well—and I did—he would already be in Cuzco waiting for me to contact him. He could get here in an hour by helicopter.
  
  
  Phelan laughed angrily. It was a strange, disappointed laugh. -You shouldn't be so stupid, Carter! Or didn't Hawk tell you? They don't want to see me in the United States at all. This is the last thing they would want. The Pentagon wants to get me out of the way in a place like this. My body will never be found. And then there will be no scandal in the newspapers. The Pentagon has an image to protect, man. Imagine the scandal if they had to admit that one of their senior officials had been working for the other side undetected for ten years! If they can get rid of me here silently, they will never have to admit it.
  
  
  I looked at Hermes' body. Now a lot has become clear to me. I had my suspicions, but now I was absolutely sure.
  
  
  Phelan stopped smiling. “Hawk discovered it.” The Pentagon never had any suspicions. It must have been a bomb when Hawk notified everyone and started applying pressure.
  
  
  I could imagine. Hawk, no doubt, prepared all this very well. I knew that he always kept a close eye on other services. He always paid special attention to what he could use to benefit his organization. Some say it smells like blackmail. But that's not true. It had nothing to do with Hawke's old-fashioned, proud devotion to his organization.
  
  
  Now I understand how he managed to ensure AH a leading position in this whole story. The Pentagon backed down and made a deal with Hawke. He would make sure Phelan died quietly, somewhere far away. He appointed me as executioner.
  
  
  Phelan began to get nervous. Me too, by the way. So we got no further. Someone has to make a move. I tried again. - So they want to remove you from here? Then why don't you trick them. I will personally bring you back and promise that nothing will happen to you along the way. You will get a fair trial in Washington and make a mockery of the Pentagon."
  
  
  And Hawk, for that matter, I thought. He would never forgive me for this. He made a promise, and a promise that involved me without my knowledge, and he would have to bite the bullet if I didn't behave the way he expected me to.
  
  
  “Well, what do you say,” I said. “Drop your weapons and we can leave.” I'm already looking forward to seeing my boss's face when I bring you back alive.
  
  
  It took him a long time to answer. He laughed, and it sounded more normal than before. But also sadder. “No, Carter. I can't stand trial any more than Hawke and the Pentagon. I feel too tired and exhausted. I've been thinking about committing suicide for a long time, but I keep putting it off. I also had to experience this from my own experience: it’s not so easy to say goodbye to life forever.”
  
  
  I could tell him that too. He moved the rifle again. I wondered if he could handle it. Until now, like Hawk, he had only been a desk worker. I'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, my eyes searched for a safe room. I was trying to find a place where I could find better shelter when the ceiling and walls collapsed.
  
  
  Phelan sighed. It was a deep, choking sound. “It’s crazy,” he said. "I've been trying to kill you for three years, and this is only the second time I've encountered you in person." He laughed shrilly. - “When I was supposed to meet you and Hawk in Los Angeles that day, I didn’t know what to expect from you... You have devilish luck. But in Beirut I almost missed you.
  
  
  - So it was you. .. in Tangier? The taxi that almost killed me?
  
  
  'Yes. And a sniper in London. Stabbing in Paris. All failures.
  
  
  “It’s a great honor for me,” I said. - All this interest! They must think a lot about me in Moscow.
  
  
  - They're obsessed with you, Carter! Absolute obsession. That's why I have to kill you now and take the evidence to Moscow. They will greet me as a hero. I'll get a job and a state pension. Despite the fact that I have failed all other tasks lately.
  
  
  “Then shoot me,” I challenged him. I picked up the transmitter. "Shoot Phelan and you'll see what your chance is."
  
  
  He shook his head slowly. 'I . .. Don't know. I don’t know if I’ll like it in Russia. And I'm tired. Very tired...'
  
  
  He was severely depressed. I knew this, and I also knew that he would never kill himself. He spoke out. He was a talker, not a doer. I knew I only had a few seconds left. He will come out of his depressed mood and soon his manic self will emerge. Soon everything will look rosy again in his eyes. I noticed this by the slight change in the intonation of his voice. And I couldn't see his fingers squeezing the trigger, I felt it.
  
  
  “One more thing,” he said. "You have to believe it, Carter. I had nothing to do with how that girl was killed. It was Hermes' idea. He was a perverted bastard, you know. He was only ordered to kill you and burn your bodies in that old house.
  
  
  I pressed the button on the transmitter. I leapt towards the shelter of the great altar. Phelan fired once. I didn't hear the shot, but I felt the bullet graze my neck. All I heard was the sky falling. The gates of hell opened and a furious, howling wind fell upon the earth. I grabbed the body of Dion Hermes and covered myself with it as I rushed towards the altar column. It did little to protect me from this amazing Niagara of falling rocks, but it still saved my life. A granite block the size of a shell smashed his head instead of mine. A waterfall of large and small stones fell on the altar and on me. The altar began to swing back and forth and threatened to fall. I ran down to the smaller altar where Phelan sat. The bottom cracked and creaked everywhere, but still held on. The ceiling began to fall, brick by brick. Everything was dust and sand, and I felt engulfed in a continuous whirlpool of black clouds and pieces of rock. I saw no sign of Phelan. Then I saw a hatch in the floor. And the stairs he mentioned. By some miracle the light was still on below.
  
  
  Directly above my head, the ceiling began to completely collapse. Now all the cornerstones have given in. I ran down the stairs and saw that the hatch above me was blocked with thousands of pounds of stone. I fell ten feet and hurt my ankle. I didn't have time to feel pain. I was in a large room, in one corner the generator was still running, and next to it was the control panel. So from here Phelan was watching me on the radar screen.
  
  
  Above me I could hear the avalanche continuing to fall. The walls were crumbling more and more. I didn't give Li Zi and his sick minions a chance. I ran to the door at the other end of the room. This was the only way out, and therefore the path Bill Phelan took.
  
  
  This is where I got stuck. I wasn't even halfway down the corridor when the walls in front of me and behind me collapsed. Nearby I heard a man scream. The lights went out and darkness fell as the generator was destroyed. I pulled out my small flashlight. The light in the musty, dusty room was dim. I had the Luger ready. The sound of falling rocks diminished a little and I thought the worst was over. I was still alive. But how to get out of here is another question.
  
  
  I heard him groan and carefully moved towards him. He was less fortunate. He lay on his back, and only his face and upper chest were not covered with stones and sand. He moaned and groaned incessantly. I saw blood flowing from his mouth. He was in terrible pain, but his eyes were trying to say something, and I understood him.
  
  
  'Help me!' his eyes pleaded. "Finish it off. I can't stand it!"
  
  
  I wanted someone else to do it for me. I put a bullet in his head.
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  It took them two days to get out of the rubble. Much longer than Hawk and I flew back to Washington. I spent a day in the hospital, where they made some minor “repairs” and injected me with vitamins.
  
  
  I was the only survivor of Vulture Rock. I hoped that Li Tzu and his worshipers had finally found the eternal peace for which they so passionately yearned. The neo-communists could do little without their worldwide television programs.
  
  
  We were in Hawk's office. I listened and was silent. I was a little angry and he knew it. He should have told me about Phelan from the beginning.
  
  
  “I couldn’t,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you, kid, because that first day in Los Angeles I wasn’t 100 percent sure.” Only ninety-nine. The most important thing then was that this transmitter had to be blown up as soon as possible. This had absolute priority!
  
  
  “But I could have flown there,” I snapped at him. “There was no need to travel 700 kilometers by car.”
  
  
  - I know, boy. I know. I needed time to lure Phelan out of his hiding place. I had to scare him into losing his cool and running away. I chased him for a long time, but without success. He never panicked and I couldn't prove anything. Until the Peruvian case began. We found a trail in Los Angeles. In Hollywood. This was Phelan territory. He oversaw Pentagon operations in the area. This was an opportunity I had been waiting for forever. I went to the director of his department and told him that he had hired a traitor. I managed to convince him, and with that I led this operation.” The old man grinned. “It was the Director of the Pentagon himself who convinced the President that AX could best handle this case.
  
  
  If this is about AH, then Hawk is absolutely immoral. I pointed my cigarette at him. “But you weren’t one hundred percent sure about Phelan.” So how could you convince the director? I can't say he's one of your best friends.
  
  
  “I may have exaggerated a little. I let him think that I was confident that I had positive evidence in my hands.
  
  
  “Didn’t he ask for proof?”
  
  
  Hawk took a cigar from a box that was on his desk. - He asked for it. And of course I couldn't give it to him. You know that AX files are secret. I promised him that Phelan would escape, and that would be enough.
  
  
  “And if he hadn’t run away.” What if he had maintained his composure?
  
  
  He bit his cigar with his dentures. - That would be very bad, son. Very unpleasant. But he escaped, as you know.
  
  
  “Did you tell Phelan that I was going to the rock in a jeep?” So he knew he could get there before me?
  
  
  - Naturally. He was afraid of you, Nick. He was ordered to kill you, and he failed many times. He knew that you would head towards the rock and that he would meet you there. The more he thought about it, the more scared he became. He tried to escape to Cuzco, do you know that? He was spotted there, wearing a rather amateurish disguise. I made sure we had agents there. When they showed up, he still flew in a helicopter to the rock.”
  
  
  I said that I saw it. That I saw him get out of the helicopter. Then, seeing the look on Hawk's face, I said, “Then you could have captured him in Cuzco. But he was running. So you've provided evidence. Then why did you let him go back to the rock again? As if I didn't know the answer.
  
  
  Hawk was very patient with me. “You know this as well as I do, boy.” This was part of my agreement with the Pentagon Secret Service. I'll make sure Phelan is removed quietly. Somewhere outside the USA. So that there is no scandal.
  
  
  “What if I trusted Phelan? It could have killed me!
  
  
  He shook his head. “I knew this wouldn't happen, baby.” Phelan had no business being on the cliff and you knew it. I was never afraid that he might be a danger to you. I knew you could handle this situation.
  
  
  “I hope you will be more understanding now.” I know there's probably no point in asking, but could you please tell me more often what's really going on?
  
  
  “That’s what I usually do,” he said in a friendly tone. - 'Do you know that. This time I couldn't. It was too complicated and would only distract you. We were talking about this channel. Money, you see. All these dollars. All this pressure from the government.
  
  
  I wake up. - It was an official order. But the real one had to come from somewhere else, didn't it? You can save face with the Pentagon and thereby allow yourself to get whatever you want from them. I just call it blackmail!
  
  
  Hawk looked at me in fear. 'Blackmail! What an unpleasant word, boy. Terrible word!
  
  
  “I’ll stick to it,” I said hoarsely, heading for the door. When I reached the door, I turned around. “How did you even know there was something wrong with Phelan?”
  
  
  He pursed his lips and looked at me thoughtfully over his half-burnt cigar. “Are you sure you want to hear this, boy?”
  
  
  "Of course, I'm sure."
  
  
  “Girl Pat,” Hawk began. “She worked for me. Some time ago I sent her to the Pentagon to keep an eye on Phelan's affairs. She made a mistake that I don't know exactly, and Phelan found out who she really was. She didn't know that he knew, and neither did I. Until he ordered Hermes to kill her. Together with you. That night he tried to kill two birds with one stone.
  
  
  I stared at him, thinking I saw something sad in Hawk's eyes. Pat Killbride. I remembered that innocent kiss she gave me. So she worked for AH all this time. And Hawk knew it. I was still thinking about that kiss of hers on my cheek. She was "Peter Pan".
  
  
  Hawk continued talking. “What happened to Phelan was a sad old story. I recognized this in him a long time ago. He was a typical intellectual, although he pretended to be a rude bureaucrat. His wife was in a psychiatric hospital, and his three children were in expensive boarding schools. He always needed money and they kept convincing him. He hated himself. Sooner or later he would have committed suicide."
  
  
  I nodded. “But it would be of no use to you.” It wouldn't have gotten any better for AH.
  
  
  Now he was truly surprised. 'Of course not. How did you imagine it? As I stood in the doorway, he said, “Nick. Look at it this way: we have now saved his children a lot of trouble. They will never know the truth. He died while doing his job.
  
  
  What can you say to this?
  
  
  Nothing, as far as I know. “By the way, I didn’t kill him,” I said. “This old temple did it.”
  
  
  Now he smiled again. - Naturally. The Incas killed him. Their stones.
  
  
  “Goodbye,” I said. "I think I'll get a little drunk."
  
  
  I knew I wouldn't do it. He waved his strong hand at me and smiled. "You're not completely crazy, are you, Nick?"
  
  
  “I'll have to think about it again.” I was already coming to my senses, beginning to understand his point of view, but I still didn’t want to tell him.
  
  
  The smile was still on his face, but now his eyes were cold. - You always have freedom of action, Nick. This is what you ask for and I never ask you too many questions. It's about results. They work both ways, man. We have results. Don't ask me any more questions on this topic. Have you agreed on who to meet?
  
  
  —
  
  
  Della Strokes nodded at me as I passed her desk. Her intercom buzzed. She answered, and I heard Hawk’s voice: “Send Nick to me, Della.”
  
  
  I'm back. Hawk held a piece of paper in his hand and looked at me mysteriously for a while. “Do you happen to know a woman named Keziah Neumann?” Double agent. Worked for Shin Bet and Russians.
  
  
  I nodded. 'I know her. What's happened?'
  
  
  He didn't look at me. He looked at the paper in his hand. “Yesterday they fished her out of the Sea of Galilee. She stayed at the Tiberius Hotel.
  
  
  - Why are you telling me this?
  
  
  He chuckled and waved the piece of paper lightly. - Goodbye, boy. Just take it easy for a while and report back in two weeks. Then I would like to discuss one small thing with you.
  
  
  As I stepped into the elevator, I wondered who killed Kezia Neumann. Shin Bet or Russians? I hoped they weren't Russians. Not Nikolai Tovarets with such big hands. And again the question flashed through my head whether he would have fucked her before this.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  A difficult mission takes Nick Carter to the interior of Peru. The reason for this: a pirate channel that regularly treats television viewers around the world with unsightly programs. A joke that costs the Western economy billions and can hardly be called a joke anymore. Hawk thinks his way and sums up the order he gives Nick in no uncertain terms:
  
  
  - I'll show you the trace of this station, Nick. And if the trail does lead you to this transmitter, you will remove it and anyone who gets in your way.”
  
  
  Nick looked at the clinking ice cubes in his glass as he lifted it to drink. Like this. New task. Absolute power of attorney to kill. He sighed, "Okay sir, where is the transmitter?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Beijing and the Tulip Affair
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Beijing and the tulip affair
  
  
  Beijing
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the secret services of the United States of America
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  Hawk stood at the window of his office and looked at the morning sky as lightning zigzagged through him. Then the skies opened and torrential rain poured down, flooding the streets of Washington, DC. The thunder was heavy and deafening.
  
  
  The sky was alive and crisp, opening at irregular intervals with lightning strikes. It looked like the world had gone crazy.
  
  
  If the world ever ends, Hawk thought, it would look something like this.
  
  
  Hawk stood there, fascinated by the scene. He lost track of time. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The sky was normal and the sun was trying to appear.
  
  
  Chief AX looked at his watch. Almost half an hour passed. And Nick Carter had to.
  
  
  Ironically, Hawk thought, something always comes up when Carter gets too carried away with a woman. Now it was the daughter of a senator. He had seen her photograph in the newspapers too many times for his liking. But she was really beautiful. Beautiful and spoiled.
  
  
  On the street below, Nick was getting out of his car. Hawk turned away from the window, went to his desk, sat down and began to wait for his man….
  
  
  She was young. Nick Carter loves it. She was Chinese. Nick liked it too. She was naked from head to toe. Nick liked it even more.
  
  
  He looked at the photograph.
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick said. "She looks good." Using his index finger, he passed the photo across the table to the man, who tossed it to him a second after he sat down. “I believe that you have a purpose in showing me a naked Chinese woman. Or rather, damn it, a picture of her. You’re usually not that lenient unless you have a good reason.”
  
  
  Hawk turned the photo over. Not that the sight of a naked girl offended him. But he didn't want to be distracted by anything. His cold eyes looked at Killmaster, his chief agent. "Are you packed?"
  
  
  Nick grinned mirthlessly. I'm always packed. "
  
  
  "Let's talk about the girl. Her name is Sim Chan, and she's twenty-five. Born in Kirin Province in China. Smart, shrewd, agile, you name it. Adventurer Got together with a top communist when she was twenty, and left him later for a general , whom the Red Guard killed about a year ago. Now she is in Beijing, the mistress of Walter Kerner. " Hawk stopped and waited for a reaction.
  
  
  Nick's heart almost skipped a beat. He tensed slightly. “Kerner. One of Bormann's men."
  
  
  “That’s right,” Hawk said hoarsely. “And where you find Kerner, you will find Martin Bormann.” He watched as Nick lit a gold-tipped cigarette. “We also know what Borman and his team are working on.” This caused Nick to react even more harshly. Hawk's leathery face twisted into a grin. “Kerner is a drug scientist. This is a well known fact. Sim Chan, his mistress, is also a scientist and also specializes in drugs. But this is a little-known fact. We had to do a lot. dig to find it"
  
  
  Nick made an astute guess. “Sim Chan's job is to spy on Kerner. The Red Chinese don't trust anyone, not even their so-called allies. And the best way for Sim Chan to get closer to Kerner is to become his mistress.”
  
  
  “It has to be,” Hawk said.
  
  
  "What else can you tell me?"
  
  
  “Kerner is working on a cure. This is a synthesis of a list of substances that can cause model psychosis.”
  
  
  “Please make it easier,” Nick begged.
  
  
  “Synthetic drug,” Hawk said. "Kerner calls it Agent Z. The drug is related to belladonna, a plant extract. Depending on the dosage, it causes dizziness and hallucinations. It is a mind-altering drug, and when perfect, it can do anything, even change a person's thinking and personality. Ours "Our own scientists tried to perfect such a drug. We used marijuana and mescaline, but we had to eliminate both drugs because they required very large dosages. We are now experimenting with lysergic acid siethylamide, better known as LSD, but have not gotten the expected results."
  
  
  Nick looked at the glowing end of his cigarette before stubbing it in the ashtray. "Agent Z could be a powerful weapon for any country," he said silently.
  
  
  “Your task is twofold - stop the experiments and catch Bormann.”
  
  
  Nick has crossed swords with Martin Bormann before, and each time the Nazis have eluded him. Nick silently prayed that this would be their last meeting, and Borman would die at his feet.
  
  
  Hawk asked Nick if he had any questions.
  
  
  Nick nodded. "How did you know all this?"
  
  
  The information came from an AX agent located in the Imperial Palace in Beijing. He reached his contact before he was killed. Hawk was confident that contact coverage was still fine, but nothing was certain.
  
  
  “You will come in as Harry Toombs of the Toronto Telegraph Service,” Hawk added. "Canadian.
  
  
  
  
  You also leave your toys. Newsboys don't have guns or knives."
  
  
  "Anything else?"
  
  
  "Yes. First you stop in Hong Kong and see a man named Hans Danzig at the Peninsula Hotel. Damn it, give you all the drugs you need for Agent Z."
  
  
  "Danzig?"
  
  
  "Scientist."
  
  
  “Never heard of him,” Nick said.
  
  
  “Very few people,” Hawk said. "That's why he's so valuable to me."
  
  
  Nick's eyebrows furrowed in surprise. "Hide secrets from me?"
  
  
  “You're always in the field,” Hawk said softly, “so how can you possibly know everything? Of course, if you want to work at a desk..."
  
  
  Nick slowly turned around, like a cobra crawling home from a basket and rising to its feet. "What does Danzig look like?"
  
  
  Hawk described the man.
  
  
  As Nick turned to leave, Hawk said, “One more thing. We have just perfected a medicine called "Shop". It puts a person to sleep for a week without a single trace of a heartbeat. There is an antidote in case you want to... uh... sacrifice to get well quickly. This might come in handy. Talk to the boys in the editor before you leave."
  
  
  Nick reached over to turn the photo over and looked back at the naked Sim Chan. "Just wanted to refresh my memory."
  
  
  "Get the hell out of here," Hawk growled.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Selina Stanton was a vivacious redhead and a beautiful figure who constantly embarrassed her senator father. Her wild antics earned her a lot of headlines in the newspapers, but she had recently mellowed out because her latest lover didn't seem to want the publicity.
  
  
  For the first time in her twenty-four years, Selina Stanton fell in love. Selina never knew anyone other than Nick Carter. Nick was handsome and smart, and she fell head over heels in love with the bronze giant.
  
  
  He was a closed-mouthed bastard; he never talked about himself or asked about her former friends. She didn't know much about him except that he worked for the government. The fact that he avoided publicity forced her to curb her impulsive, wild nature.
  
  
  Wearing soft green pajamas, she walked over to the portable bar and made herself a drink.
  
  
  She always got what she wanted - but now? She didn't have Nick. She couldn't fool herself. She knew she loved Nick, but he didn't love her. Not really. She knew she meant more to him than just a ball in the hay, but the deep affection he felt for her was definitely not love.
  
  
  Selina knew there would be a break someday. It won't be a complete break either. It will be rough and rough because she is too emotional to take something like that lightly.
  
  
  She swallowed some of her drink and her thoughts faded when the doorbell rang. She put down the glass and slowly walked towards the door, not wanting him to know how she was tearing. Selina opened the door and he entered.
  
  
  She closed the door and leaned her back against it. "You are late."
  
  
  He headed to the bar and poured rum into a tall frosted glass. "I'm so sorry, Selina." He turned to face her, remorse in his voice. "It's nothing you can do". He offered no other explanation. He watched as she walked away from the door and towards him. He saw her high breasts swaying under her pajama coat and knew she wasn't wearing a bra.
  
  
  Now she was next to him, and her eyes shone with undisguised passion. She forgot everything except that he was here and she wanted him. She had pain in her loins, and it only went away after a session with the man in front of her.
  
  
  She took his glass and set it aside. She moved even closer and her arms wrapped around his neck. They kissed and her eager body pressed tightly against his.
  
  
  He inhaled the scent of her warm flexible body and really wanted her. This would be their last fling until he came back - if he came back. Nick knew she was thinking about him, which is why he wanted to break away from her, but there was something attractive about Selina. He knew that the romance could not last long. He will have to find a way to end their relationship without hurting her. It will be hard. With a wry smile that she couldn't see, he realized that there was one sure way to end the affair - by killing himself.
  
  
  Finally she pulled away, took his hand and led him to the bedroom. She took off her pajamas, climbed into bed and waited impatiently for him.
  
  
  Nick folded his clothes on the chair and joined her. They kissed and his hands roamed freely over her eager body. He caressed her high, firm breasts and ran his hand over her navel, over her beautiful navel, over her creamy thighs.
  
  
  “My breasts,” she moaned. "Nick. My chest".
  
  
  He bowed his head and kissed her.
  
  
  Her luscious thighs spread and she pulled him closer to her, welcoming his muscular body.
  
  
  The completion was complete and very satisfactory. When they finished, small beads of sweat appeared on Selina's forehead. Nick carefully rolled away from her.
  
  
  They lay on their sides, facing each other, Nick's hand on her hip.
  
  
  Nick knew she was a passionate creature. He wondered if she would remain celibate while he was gone. Probably no. Even
  
  
  
  
  
  she loved him or thought she did, she was realistic and fiery.
  
  
  She looked good lying there, her breasts lightly touching his chest. It would be nice if she just stayed like that, naked, waiting for him to complete his mission. What a joke - injecting her with Store, a drug that causes suspended animation, which the Editors gave him as a gift. This will last exactly seven days. But there was no guarantee that he would return in seven days. There was no guarantee that he would ever return.
  
  
  He didn't want to think about the mission. There is enough time for this.
  
  
  "Nick," she muttered.
  
  
  "Which?"
  
  
  "Do you love me?"
  
  
  “As much as I will ever love any woman.”
  
  
  “You are honest,” she said hoarsely. “I wish you weren’t so honest.”
  
  
  He didn't want to make fun of her and told her so. Soon he says goodbye to her. But not now. There was still time...
  
  
  He pressed her close to him, and she felt his obvious arousal.
  
  
  "So early?" She was surprised but delighted.
  
  
  He kissed her hungrily and soon lost himself in her arms.
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  The huge blue and silver bird landed at Kai Tak Airport and Nick checked his suitcase in his locker. He felt for a pen in his breast pocket. It was an unusual pen. It contained Magazin, a drug that induces a state of suspended animation, as well as an antidote. It was the only weapon Nick had.
  
  
  The taxi took him to the Peninsula Hotel. “Yes, Mr. Danzig was,” the receptionist said with a cheerful smile. The elevator took Nick up to Hans Danzig's floor.
  
  
  Hans Danzig was a bald man of about fifty with horseshoe-shaped gray hair. He was wearing a linen suit that seemed too snug for his stocky body. He invited Nick to sit down and asked if he would like a drink.
  
  
  "Nothing for me."
  
  
  "Just to be social." Danzig picked up the phone and asked for room service. He looked at Nick and raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  “You persuaded me. I got a B and a B.”
  
  
  Danzig spoke into the microphone and hung up. He sat down on the sofa and looked at Nick with soft, pleasant eyes. “I don’t envy you,” he remarked.
  
  
  "What does it mean?" - Nick said dryly.
  
  
  "I can guess your mission."
  
  
  "Very interesting." Nick leaned back and stretched his legs. “I was ordered to see you. That's all what I know".
  
  
  "And I have been ordered to inform you about Agent Z." Danzig stopped, as if waiting for a reaction. Did not have. "What exactly did Hawk tell you about Agent Z?"
  
  
  “You know, Mr. Danzig, I’m a funny swearer. I hate talking. All I like to do is listen."
  
  
  “You mean you suspect me? How funny." But Hans Danzig did not look surprised. He looked annoyed.
  
  
  “I’m not suspicious of anyone,” Nick said calmly. “I just wasn’t told to mention to you any conversations I might have had with anyone. Discretion, Mr. Danzig. You know how it goes."
  
  
  Before Danzig could answer, a boy arrived with a Benedictine and brandy. He tipped the boy, handed Nick a glass, and kept one for himself.
  
  
  Nick took a sip of his drink and then asked Danzig who he was.
  
  
  “Someone is just passing through the East. Scientist" Danzig tasted his drink. “I can be as secretive as you. But we will achieve nothing this way. Nevermind. You don't need to tell me anything.
  
  
  "What is Agent Z?" - Nick asked.
  
  
  “A combination of synthetic drugs that can change a person's entire personality. It might even change his thinking.”
  
  
  “I think Hawk mentioned it,” Nick said, relaxing.
  
  
  "That's a lot to admit," Danzig mocked the AX agent. “You may get a bad grade if you say anything else.”
  
  
  It may be a joke to you, sir, but not to me. You should see my position. If Hawk had introduced us, or if we had met before, I wouldn't be so careful. But as it is... "
  
  
  "I understand." Danzig nodded sympathetically. “I don’t envy you, my friend. This is a difficult matter. What did Kipling call it? I think this is a great game. But it's not really a game. Not in the true sense of the word, right? High stakes. , Yes. We're playing big." He sighed.
  
  
  Nick wanted to have lunch before he got on the plane. He looked pointedly at his watch.
  
  
  "Okay my friend, I'll get to the point." Danzig put his glass down. “Agent Z has a lot of potential. Imagine, if you will, enemy agents infiltrate the cabinet or parliament of a government by using Agent Z on members of the cabinet or parliament. They capture the minds of these officials and force them to act. what they want. Soon they control the country."
  
  
  "It's pretty scary," Nick commented. “But agents will need to get close to these officials.”
  
  
  "Do you think it's impossible?" Danzig grinned humorlessly. “Remember how quickly Philby grew up before he was recognized? A few more years and he could have headed British intelligence. When the CIA discovered that he was closely associated with Burgess and Maclean, they refused to have anything more to do with him. What if Philby or someone like him had Agent Z and was ordered to use it? "
  
  
  Nick understood Danzig's point. In 1949, Philby was the SIS representative in Washington, working in liaison with the FBI and CIA. SIS was the British Secret Intelligence Service or MI6.
  
  
  
  
  
  . Philby was in contact with many high-ranking officials. With Agent Z at his disposal, who knows what damage he could cause.
  
  
  Nick knew it all sounded fantastic, but over the years with AX he had been involved in many fantastic situations.
  
  
  Danzig burst into his thoughts. “During the recent elections in Germany, neo-Nazis received a surprising number of votes. Martin Bormann may think that the time has come to seize power in Germany, making himself the new Fuhrer. He wouldn't need a large army if his agents managed to infiltrate high-ranking German officials with the help of Agent Z. He could even go after small countries in Europe or South America. It is no secret to the CIA and AX that Nazis based in countries like Argentina are eager to spread their poison. through South America. They are getting old and this may be their last chance."
  
  
  There was a lot of respect and admiration in Nick's eyes as he looked at Hans Danzig, as if seeing a balding man for the first time. “You are not just an ordinary scientist.”
  
  
  “No scientist is ordinary,” said the man without malice.
  
  
  “You said Agent Z was being injected. Is this the only way to use it? Can’t you just put a few drops in someone’s drink?”
  
  
  “Maybe sometime in the future this will be possible,” Danzig said. "But not now. One day you place a man under a solar lamp, which will cycle through his brain cells, and he will emerge from the table a changed man, an android, ready to do your bidding. Z, a drug that must be injected into a vein to be effective."
  
  
  "How close are they to perfecting Agent Z?"
  
  
  "Very close. Walter Kerner, Bormann's man, is an extraordinarily brilliant scientist. We didn't even bother to win him over to our side, knowing how loyal he was to Hitler. His loyalty shifted to Bormann." Danzig reached for the forgotten drink and finished it. "You've got an unusual pen there, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  “At this stage of the game, nothing can surprise me,” Nick sighed. “You probably know more about the pen than I do.”
  
  
  “The score is one of my little inventions. I hope you know how to use it."
  
  
  “They explained it to me.” Nick lit a cigarette. “One click delivers the medication; two clicks is the antidote. This needs to be done quickly. Always go for the throat."
  
  
  Danzig rose to his feet. “I wish I could tell you exactly where the laboratory is. I can't. But it must be close to Beijing. It's up to you to find her, destroy her. But you know everything I wish for you, Mr. Carter. Until we meet again."
  
  
  Nick stood up and they shook hands.
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  Nick did not cross the harbor to Hong Kong. There were many good restaurants on Nathan Road in Kowloon. Known as the City of Nine Dragons, Kowloon had as many interesting tourist attractions as Hong Kong Island. There was the Typhoon Yaumati shelter, where people lived in boats, and the Lauchikok amusement park. But Nick didn't have time. He had lunch and then went to catch a taxi.
  
  
  He lit a Canadian cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
  
  
  The taxi passed the many department stores on Nathan Road. He looked out the window and saw pretty girls in cheongsams walking by, exposing part of their thighs. He liked to look at pretty girls. He hoped that he would never reach the stage where he was not interested in a beautiful face or figure.
  
  
  The cabin arrived at its destination.
  
  
  The plane took off from Kai Tak Airport and headed towards the mainland. Nick saw naval and merchant ships in the harbor; family sampans in bays and bays. The water was soft blue.
  
  
  He liked Hong Kong. He hoped that he would return soon to stay for a long time. He thought about Selina for a while and then put her out of his mind. There was still something to think about.
  
  
  He was running against time. There was a terrible urgency to it all. An interview with Hans Danzig convinced him of this.
  
  
  Agent Z. Mind-altering drug. Subtle weapons. It did not explode, make noise or cause death and destruction like dynamite or an atomic bomb. But it was more dangerous than anything anyone could think of. The idea of taking over a person's mind and turning him into a robot was almost unthinkable. Almost inhumane. Damn, it was inhumane. A devil like Martin Bormann wouldn't think twice about using such a weapon.
  
  
  Bormann would do anything to bring about the revival of Nazi Germany.
  
  
  Martin Borman. Or Judas. God knows how many names Bormann has taken on since he disappeared from Germany after Hitler's fiery death. Nick had respect and admiration for some of his enemies. But never for Bormann. He only felt a white-hot hatred for the man without arms. No hands. Just claws. Stainless steel claws. And a face that wasn't a face. Just a thousand scars.
  
  
  Nick hadn't gotten to the point where he liked killing yet. He knew others who had it. But there would be no doubt about ending Bormann's life. This man has lived too long. Nick will still kill not a person, but a thing, a monster, a threat. He wanted
  
  
  
  
  
  
  kill Bormann. He should have been. He just hoped he wouldn't like it - he really would. God, he hoped he would never feel the joy of taking a man's life. Even such a monster as Bormann. He will feel nothing, absolutely nothing, when he puts an end to Bormann's black life. That's what he wanted. Kill the devil cleanly, quickly, without remorse.
  
  
  He never wanted to kill anyone. Now everything was different. It was an almost insane desire to rid the world of Bormann.
  
  
  When he killed, it was because he had to. There is no other way out. He never thought twice about it. He had to save himself or his mission. He knew that hesitation even for a second could interrupt the mission. And he would be dead.
  
  
  Killmaster tried to put everything out of his mind, but couldn't. He was on edge and it was no use.
  
  
  He felt naked without Wilhelmina and Hugo. He's used to them being around. All he had was a drug in a pen he carried in his chest pocket, a drug called "Magazine." But he had to get damn close to the enemy to use it.
  
  
  The plane was flying over the mainland.
  
  
  He saw rolling hills and valleys. There were rice fields and water bulls. There were agricultural machinery, tractors and all that, but they were not enough.
  
  
  Production in many provinces was stopped due to clashes between the peoples of Red China. “They are quarreling among themselves,” thought Nick. Like little children. They will never grow up.
  
  
  He knew that one hundred and sixty people had been killed recently in an armed battle between two communist factions in Xiamen. The warring groups were the Promotion and the Revolutionary Alliance. The Advertising Alliance was primarily a labor group supported by communist artillery units, while the Revolutionary Alliance was composed primarily of peasants and had the support of communist foot soldiers. Chuangzhou, a nearby city, rushed to support with about fifty truckloads of troops.
  
  
  Nick also knew that anti-Maoist organizations were very active in Jiangxi and Kweichou provinces.
  
  
  Although it was time for revolution in Red China, Nick felt that Mao Tse-tung would retain the upper hand. He controlled the Red Army, and that was the most important thing.
  
  
  Nick lowered the seat to the reclining position and took a nap. The plane was flying over creamy clouds.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nick bought a copy of the People's Daily News, tucked it under his arm, and caught the bus to Liberty Square. He checked into the Cathay Hotel near the square. He chose Cathay because it was one of the most modern hotels that Western correspondents did not visit. He didn't expect to run into employees of the Toronto Telegraph Service. If any shady Chinese officials decide to check on him in Toronto, he will receive a full clean bill of health; this had already been agreed upon with the people of Toronto at the wire agency. But the actual Toronto employees were not notified for obvious reasons. Might as well advertise it than tell it to one of the wire service guys. Nick wanted to stay away from them.
  
  
  The furniture in his room was simple but comfortable. He took off his clothes and put the suitcase under the bed. He hung up his jacket, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed to read the Beijing newspaper. It seemed that anti-communist and anti-Mao forces in southern Guangdong used anti-revolutionary economism and infiltration of revolutionary committees to alienate the relationship between the revolutionary masses and committee members.
  
  
  Nick was amazed that big shots would allow such information to reach people. It would seem natural that they would remain silent. Did Mao Tse-tung want these different groups to fight each other? It seemed that way to Nick. It was an old political ploy. The various factions were kept in check by fighting among themselves, and Mao Tse-tung remained at the top.
  
  
  He put down the newspaper and sighed. Well, Hawk was right. After landing at the airport, he and other passengers were searched. The grinning, toothy Chinese man explained that a lot of gold and silver is smuggled into China, so it is important that all visitors are searched. He apologized for the inconvenience.
  
  
  It's good that he left his weapon. It would be difficult for him to explain what a stiletto and a luger are.
  
  
  When it got dark, he changed into a dark blue suit and stuffed his pockets with yuan notes he had been given in exchange for Canadian money. As he walked down the street, five coins jingled in his pants pocket. He noticed a small restaurant across the street. He dined on mutton and rice and drank two cups of hot green tea.
  
  
  It was dark when he left the restaurant. The moon was speckled with lead. It hung low over the city.
  
  
  He lit a Canadian cigarette from his pack, boarded the bus, and sat behind a middle-aged couple who were discussing the strike on the bus in Canton.
  
  
  Nick went out and found himself in an almost deserted part of the city.
  
  
  
  
  
  . He walked through the winding streets until he reached a small souvenir shop. He hesitated, looked around and saw a figure standing in a nearby doorway. It was a girl. She looked at him, then turned away.
  
  
  “Probably a prostitute,” he thought. But there was no point. It was a deserted street; things would be bad. He thought no more about it and walked to the door of the store. There was a button in the doorframe. He knew that someone he knew lived in the back of the store. Nick was about to press the button when there was a sharp crack - a gunshot. And it came from the store.
  
  
  He tried to turn the handle and the door opened. As he entered, another shot rang out.
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  Nick hurried through the store to the back, where he saw a yellowish light leaking through the gaping door. He swung the door open and the man craned his neck to look at Nick. The man was squatting next to the body of a middle-aged Chinese man. The man, also Chinese, was dressed in Western clothing and was holding a pistol in his right hand. He began to stand up, at the same time moving his gun hand to cover Nick.
  
  
  Nick threw himself at the rising figure and they both fell, rolling onto an old-fashioned roll-top table. Nick pressed his knee sharply against the man's groin. There was a cry of pain and indignation. Nick grabbed the man's right wrist and twisted it sharply. The pistol fell from his paralyzed fingers.
  
  
  Nick grabbed the gun, turned the man over, pressed the gun against his back and fired. The bullet tore the aorta, and Nick rose to his feet.
  
  
  He walked toward a middle-aged Chinese man and stopped, his back as stiff as a cast. A girl materialized in the doorway - a girl who had been partially hidden in the dark doorway outside.
  
  
  She ignored the gun Nick pointed at her and ran towards the middle-aged Chinese man. She knelt down next to the man and began to cry. If it was a performance, it was a good one.
  
  
  Nick walked to the door and looked into the store. There was no one else in the store. He leaned against the wall, looking at the girl.
  
  
  Finally she stood up and turned to face him. She was young and pretty. She was wearing a peasant pajama suit. Nick thought she would look good in a cheongsam, the dress was so tight that it had to have slits on both sides to allow the wearer to walk. But the cheongsam was banned in Red China because it was an example of bourgeois bad taste.
  
  
  Nick nodded to the dead man he had been in contact with. "Do you know him?" - he asked the girl.
  
  
  "He... he was my father." Her chin was shaking and he was afraid she would cry again. "I'm a coward. I feel so ashamed".
  
  
  “Why do you call yourself a coward?”
  
  
  She turned her head and looked at the man Nick had killed. “I was outside when I saw Lum Fen enter my father’s shop. I recognized him. He is a well known killer. There was nothing I could do. I was paralyzed with fear. Then you walked by, and then there were shots, and I knew that my father was dead. I almost ran away, but... - She shrugged.
  
  
  "You had to find out for sure, didn't you?"
  
  
  She nodded slowly.
  
  
  Nick moved away from the wall, walked over to the place where the man he had killed lay, and began rummaging through his pockets. There were ID cards and a box of ammunition. He put the box in his jacket pocket and stood up. There was no point in searching the person he came to see, and there was no point in going around the small office and living quarters. The man wouldn't write anything down.
  
  
  "You are American, aren't you?" - asked the girl.
  
  
  "Does it matter?" He approached the girl. "Is it really important? I mean, deep down?"
  
  
  She saw his crooked grin. "You don't believe what I told you?"
  
  
  "How do I know you're not in league with the man I just killed?"
  
  
  “Then kill me now,” she said defiantly.
  
  
  “I can just do it. This is a dangerous business."
  
  
  "I know my father worked for the Americans."
  
  
  Nick stared at her. "Did he tell you all his secrets?"
  
  
  She shook her head no. “My father and I weren't... very close. He found out that I sold my body and he kicked me out. Often I would come to him and try to make him understand. I didn't like it, we didn't talk to each other. . "
  
  
  "Do you live far from here?"
  
  
  "No, not far"
  
  
  “Let’s go to you and talk.”
  
  
  "Yes. But first...” She walked over to her father’s body, knelt down and took something out of his pocket. She straightened up and Nick demanded to see what she had. She showed it to him. It was a piece of jade.
  
  
  Many Chinese carried jade in their pockets for good luck. It was a Chinese superstition.
  
  
  “That was my dad for many years,” she said. “He would often put his hand in his pocket just to rub it. Look how smooth it is."
  
  
  "Yes. Now let's get the hell out of here."
  
  
  They walked through the store and out the front door. Either no one heard the shots, or people here, as elsewhere, simply did not want to interfere.
  
  
  Nick put his hand on her shoulder when she wanted to walk faster. “Take your time,” he said. "You don't want to attract attention, do you?"
  
  
  
  
  
  She told him that her name was Lotus and she lived alone. Her father was her only living relative, and now he is gone too.
  
  
  Nick was only half listening to her. He felt the weight of the pistol in his jacket pocket. He felt good having a gun. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it on the girl. She was too pretty to kill. He wasn't one hundred percent sure of her. She seemed sincere enough, but...
  
  
  They approached the house where she lived. A young couple was hugging at the front door. “There is a way back,” Lotus told Nick. They walked halfway around the building, through the back door, and up one flight of stairs.
  
  
  It was a beautifully furnished apartment with deep, inexpensive rugs and watercolors on the walls. She quickly rummaged through her dresser, pulled out a few pictures and showed them to him. “Here are photographs of my father and me. You will see that I did not lie to you."
  
  
  "Fine. I’m convinced,” he returned the pictures.
  
  
  "Would you like some tea?"
  
  
  “I’d like some,” he said.
  
  
  While Lotus was preparing tea, Nick examined the gun he had taken from the killer who killed Lotus' father. It was an Astra Firecat .25 caliber with a blue finish and plastic grips. It had four safeties and could only be fired when the safety was depressed. It was a Spanish pistol.
  
  
  "Do you like guns?" - asked Lotus, placing two cups of tea on the low table in front of him.
  
  
  “You can get very attached to a gun,” he said, putting the weapon down. “Especially after it helped you get out of difficult places. And the gun doesn't look like a woman. He only speaks when you want him to speak. When you want him to be silent, he is silent.”
  
  
  Lotus picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. “He can’t stay warm on a cold night,” she reasoned.
  
  
  "No. But it can make you feel comfortable just knowing he's there when you want him. You can trust him; you can’t trust a woman.”
  
  
  "Have you never met a woman you trusted?"
  
  
  He took a sip of tea. “I can’t say no to that. But women are damn emotional, and even when you feel like you've met one you can trust, you still need to be on your guard."
  
  
  "You can trust me."
  
  
  "May I?"
  
  
  “Yes,” she said almost frantically. “I want to avenge my father. You have to give me this chance."
  
  
  Nick studied her for the first time. She was slender and virginal in appearance, with a thin, long neck and jet black hair that came down to her shoulders and curled inward at the ends. Her smooth skin was the color of ivory. Her lips were full and blood red and her eyes were dark almond shaped. She wore a string of Mikimoto pearls around her neck.
  
  
  Eastern girls look innocent, virginal and calm, but underneath this cover lies a passionate nature that puts Western women to shame.
  
  
  Nick couldn't help himself; he began to think about Lotus in a sexual way, and his senses were overcome with desire.
  
  
  As if she could read his thoughts, Lotus lowered her eyes like a blushing bride and then raised them again. "Do you want me?" Her voice was low and hoarse. Her teeth were tiny pearls.
  
  
  "Yes very."
  
  
  She was on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, and her mouth pressed tightly against his. His hands found her small, firm breasts under her clothes.
  
  
  The bed was firm, durable and did not squeak.
  
  
  Later, much later, they talked. Lotus was adamant about helping Nick. Fear paralyzed her, fear did not allow her to help her father. Now she was angry with herself for her shameful behavior. She had to redeem herself. Nick should have given her this chance.
  
  
  Nick tried to explain. “I'll have to trust you. I can not afford it. There's too much at stake. If you are caught, you will be tortured."
  
  
  "Are you afraid that I'll talk?"
  
  
  “Yes,” he answered bluntly.
  
  
  "Are you here because of the Germans?"
  
  
  Nick sat down, took a cigarette and lit it. “You claim that your father did not tell you any of his secrets, but at the same time you know about the Germans. Are you trying to confuse the old man?”
  
  
  "You are not old." She touched his hand with thin fingers. “Some of the Germans are my clients,” she said without embarrassment. They live in the Imperial Palace."
  
  
  It decided that Nick hated using it, but it was necessary. And she really wanted to avenge her father. “Do you know exactly where the Germans are staying in the Imperial Palace?”
  
  
  "Yes. In the left wing, which almost goes around the courtyard. Each person has his own bedroom."
  
  
  "Do you know anything about their leader?" - Nick asked.
  
  
  She took the cigarette from him, took a drag on it and handed it back. “I heard about a man who never smiles because his face is frozen. When my German clients talk about him, there is respect and sometimes fear in their voices.”
  
  
  “Do the Germans talk to you a lot?”
  
  
  “When they're drunk. They love to drink. They talk about a new Germany, a more powerful Germany."
  
  
  Nick put out his cigarette. "Do you really want to help me?" - he asked, studying her face.
  
  
  "Oh yeah."
  
  
  “I don’t need to tell you about the danger.”
  
  
  "I'll do anything."
  
  
  He asked her if she could take him to the Imperial Palace. She nodded. This
  
  
  
  
  
  it would be very easy.
  
  
  “Tomorrow evening,” he said. “Can you make me a suit? Black suit? Something that will blend in with the night?”
  
  
  "Yes. I suppose so. But what is the goal?
  
  
  “You were talking about a man who never smiles. About a man with a frozen face. I want to kill him. It is so simple".
  
  
  "Is this your mission?"
  
  
  "One of my missions, Lotus."
  
  
  “But how do you know where he will be? How do you know which room is his?”
  
  
  “This is an opportunity I have to take,” Nick said. “If I fail the mission, I won't lose much. The Germans will know something is wrong when they find their Chinese killer dead. So I might as well do my best and try to kill our friend with the frozen face.”
  
  
  "If you shoot him, you'll wake up the others," she noted.
  
  
  "I have a more sophisticated weapon than a gun," he said, thinking about the drug in his pen, a drug called "Magazine." If he finds Bormann, he will inject him. When others find Bormann, they will think he is dead and will either bury him or cremate him.
  
  
  “Beware of Stryker,” she warned in a thin voice.
  
  
  "Stryker?"
  
  
  “His name is Captain Stryker. He answers only to his leader. He was with me once. He is cruel, He never drinks. He's not human."
  
  
  “I’ll watch my step,” Nick promised. “I'll go soon. See you tomorrow evening".
  
  
  "It's almost dawn."
  
  
  He laughed. "Then I'll see you tonight."
  
  
  “You can take a few more minutes,” she said boldly, running her fingers over the patterns on his chest.
  
  
  Their bodies met and became one.
  
  
  A cool breeze entered through the half-open window and washed their naked bodies.
  
  
  They kissed, delivering the final blow.
  
  
  Her fingers ran through his hair, feeling his scalp. “That was very nice,” she whispered.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lotus stood by the window and giggled. “I can hear them. I think they're making love."
  
  
  Nick was dressed. He walked up to her and put his arm around her waist. “Isn’t that rude? Listen to other people make love?
  
  
  “I don't think they care. The girl trusts me. She doesn't hesitate to tell me things. Listen carefully. You can hear them."
  
  
  Nick frowned. “I don't want to hear them. I'm ashamed of you, Lotus. Would you like it if someone listened to us make love?”
  
  
  Lotus suddenly covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her giggles and walked away from the window. Nick heard a groan from under the window. He left and lit a cigarette. "Is this how you spend your leisure time?"
  
  
  "Of course not." She pretended to be outraged. “Why should I apologize to you? I don't harm anyone. Aren't we all curious to some degree? Are there people who look at dirty pictures to turn them on, or just out of curiosity? They are absolutely terrible. People? Don't people listen to other people's private conversations? "
  
  
  "All your arguments are weak." Nick sat down on the bed. “People have a right to privacy.”
  
  
  “You are not deceiving me,” she said, sitting down on the bed next to him. "You're as curious as I am." A thoughtful wrinkle appeared on her forehead. “You are an agent of your government. Have you ever listened to someone's conversation? With electrical appliances?
  
  
  “It’s something different again. Completely different." He dismissed her arguments with a wave of his hand.
  
  
  "Because you say so?"
  
  
  “Let's give it up,” he pleaded.
  
  
  "Because you're losing the argument."
  
  
  It was the same old story, Nick thought. Never argue with a woman. A man can't win. Women all over the world were the same. They were always right, no matter what.
  
  
  There was only one way to silence her. He covered her mouth with his and pulled her towards him. He felt her arms wrap around his neck and her body writhe beneath him.
  
  
  Their movements were slow, graceful, like a flow of mercury. Her sighs and sighs set him on fire.
  
  
  When it was over, she said, “The sounds the couple made outside made you nervous. There is nothing wrong".
  
  
  He groaned. “Lotus, you are crazy. Absolutely crazy."
  
  
  She stroked his shoulders and back. “Americans are generally shy. The truth shames them, so they hide from it.
  
  
  "Philosophy at such a time." He bowed his head and decided to play a joke on her. “My dear child, you are absolutely right. I had a very strict upbringing. In fact, I was a virgin until that very night."
  
  
  She lightly slapped him in the face. "Are you kidding me".
  
  
  "In a very good way."
  
  
  She suddenly became serious. "Have you killed many men?"
  
  
  He told her that it was a very strange question. He wanted to know why she asked.
  
  
  "I was curious."
  
  
  "I've lost count," he said. And he wasn't lying.
  
  
  “The person who is their leader. He is responsible for my father’s death, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “That's what I imagine,” Nick said. "Why?"
  
  
  "I would like to kill him with my own hands."
  
  
  Nick saw the hatred in her eyes. “This is a difficult task, Lotus. He is probably one of the most dangerous people in the world. And believe me, he is hard to kill. I tried".
  
  
  “I have to try,” she insisted. “I have to get a chance. I loved my father and now he's dead."
  
  
  “Don't fall on me, Lotus. This won't help."
  
  
  "I'm sorry."
  
  
  "If you are
  
  
  
  
  
  good girl,” he said. - I'll let you go to the window and listen to the young couple below.
  
  
  She was laughing.
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  Back in his hotel room, Nick thought about what Lotus had told him. A man with a frozen face. A man who was a leader. A man whose followers feared him.
  
  
  It had to be Bormann.
  
  
  But what happened to the frozen face? Was Bormann wearing a mask? No, that was not the answer. Anyone could have noticed the mask. There would be no guesswork. Lotus would say if it was a mask. This meant only one thing. Plastic surgery. Borman underwent plastic surgery.
  
  
  Who was Captain Stryker? This was the new name for Nick's memory bank. Bormann never lacked help.
  
  
  Nick went to the window and looked out at the street teeming with people. It was early morning and the streets were filled with crowds. The sun rose slowly, already a red-hot yellow ball. He had all day to kill. Part of it will be spent on sleep.
  
  
  He undressed and lay down on the bed again. He absently felt a scar somewhere on his body and tried to remember where and when he had won this souvenir. His trained mind remembered and he grinned. It would be funny if he couldn't remember something like that. He thought about all the places he had been and all the places he had not. The first far outweighed the second.
  
  
  He realized that he was thinking too much and it was no good. He turned on his side and fell asleep.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Captain Gunther Stryker hated his uniform. It was too easy. He was missing a small swastika, a wide leather belt and shiny boots. The uniform he was forced to wear now was damn plain and simple. But the orders remained orders.
  
  
  He laid out his uniform on the bed and took off his pajamas. He looked at the inside of his wrist and saw a liver spot where two small lightning bolts had once been. SS stamp. His fraternity badge was scraped off and pigskin was applied to it. Many of his comrades went through this because the Americans were especially looking for SS men.
  
  
  Captain Stryker was one of the first German soldiers of his generation to take part in combat. Not during the bloody invasions, but with the Blue Division in Spain. Hitler's personal contribution to Franco. He killed and he liked it. It became second nature to him.
  
  
  Germany's defeat was a bitter pill to swallow. But there were promises of revenge, and he bided his time with many of his comrades. He spent many years in Switzerland and Portugal keeping in touch, and finally the word came.
  
  
  He was fifty-three years old and still in good shape. His stomach was thin and firm, without fat. He ate the right food and did the right exercise. Funny how the chief insisted on the Canadian Air Force training. But Stryker didn't care. The only thing that bothered him now was inaction.
  
  
  He put on a simple one. uniform, which he despised, and went to the Leader. He walked down the corridor, stopped at a wooden door and knocked. “Eintreten,” he heard a familiar voice. He turned the handle and entered. He almost saluted in the old Nazi style, but caught himself. The Chinese owners disapproved of such manifestations. And the Leader was impatient to please the owners - until the due moment.
  
  
  The leader was already dressed. "Have you had breakfast yet?"
  
  
  "No. I just woke up when your message arrived.”
  
  
  “We will have breakfast together. But first we must talk. Sit down. Captain Stryker."
  
  
  Captain Stryker sat down on a simple wooden chair and watched the bulky figure pace back and forth. He saw a face that was not a face. He saw the black gloves and knew what was inside those gloves. It was remarkable how the Chief used those claws. He could even shoot them. And yet there was something about him that scared him. This was the same man who had been so close to Hitler during those amazingly productive years. And yet a decisive change took place in Martin Bormann. He felt all this hatred coming from the walking man.
  
  
  "Lum Fen is dead."
  
  
  Stryker was shocked by this news. Lum Fen was one of the best assassins working for the ChiComs. It was Stryker who discovered the contact who was supplying the Americans with information. It was Stryker who convinced Borman to allow Lum Fen to kill the contact. Now Lum Fen was dead.
  
  
  “The man he went up against was weak and middle-aged,” Stryker said. "How could he fail?"
  
  
  “But he didn’t lose,” Bormann noted. He stopped and looked at his henchman with empty eyes. The contact is dead. They shot twice. Lum Fen did his job well. But it looks like someone else came and killed our man."
  
  
  Stryker stared at the frozen face and shuddered internally. “But who? There was only one contact working.”
  
  
  “Perhaps another agent will take the place of the man we captured in the Palace. Agent from AX. It would be nice if that were the case and that person turned out to be Nick Carter. I owe him a lot. I'd like to meet him again." The voice was smooth, silky, almost oily. "Yes. It would be nice. Sometimes I think Carter and I were both born in hell. He's as ruthless as I am."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Verdammen? - Stryker cursed. - What does he need?"
  
  
  “Only one thing,” Bormann intoned. "Agent Z." Captain Stryker rose to his feet. "What shall we do?" “There is nothing we can do, my dear captain. Our friend, whoever he is, must take the next step." Borman put his arm around Stryker's shoulders. "Let's go to. Let's go to Speisezimmer and have breakfast."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nick tried on the black suit that Lotus had made for him. There were two chest pockets and two side pockets. It was a one-piece suit, easy to put on, easy to take off.
  
  
  Lotus watched him take off his clothes. "Do you approve of my sewing?" she asked.
  
  
  "Betsy Ross couldn't have done better." Nick put on his clothes. He knew how to sneak into the Imperial Palace. He didn't like it. But Lotus was right. This was the only way out.
  
  
  Lotus was wearing a very tight dress that showed off her small, toned curves. The dress was red, the color of passion. She ran her hands over her thighs. "Do you like the dress?"
  
  
  "Yes. You look great in it. It’s a pity that it has to be spent on a security guard.”
  
  
  “Don't go on like this. I forgot how many men I had." She stroked his cheek, stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Her body was warm and soft.
  
  
  His hands caressed her back, feeling the flesh under the fabric of her dress. She was naked under her red clothes.
  
  
  "Are you excited?" she whispered.
  
  
  "So many."
  
  
  "We have time, don't we?"
  
  
  “I can control myself,” he said with a grin. "Can't you?"
  
  
  She stepped back, her face and eyes sad. “I want you to make love to me now. I want to remember that while I'm with him."
  
  
  His hand caressed her cheek. "I understand."
  
  
  Her hands lifted the dress and removed it from her head. She stood naked and without shame. Her body was slender and perfect, with firm curves. She saw him looking at her with impatient eyes, and her own eyes glowed.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  His name was Li Dan, he served in the army for four years from the age of twenty. He came from a village in Hunan Province where his father was the mayor. He could have stayed in the village, working in the fields, but he found it too boring, so he signed up. Now he was nothing more than a guard for the Germans. The two years he spent in Manchuria were profitable, enjoyable and highly exciting. He robbed with his comrades, with the support of officers. He didn't think that the people he shot and stole were simple farmers like the people from his own village. He was a soldier and obeyed orders. These people were against Mao Tse-tung and needed to be punished.
  
  
  He then spent a year near the Indian border. There was talk of an invasion, and he was eager to act. The invasion never happened. It was never explained who exactly would be invading.
  
  
  Now, after all this, he was assigned to guard the wing of the Imperial Palace, where the Germans lived.
  
  
  He and his comrades did not like the Germans. They worked so well. These were rogue Germans. Les Misérables. They were dressed in simple uniforms and looked ridiculous. Nevertheless, they walked and trained as if they were preparing for a big war. What war?
  
  
  Li Dan looked at the moon and moved his rifle. It was a big, fat, romantic moon. He wanted to have a woman.
  
  
  He was interested in a girl from the Red Guard. She had sparkling black eyes. He took it out twice, but was unable to get any further. One day she let him touch her, as if she had given him something precious. He decided that if he took her out again, he would demand that she go to bed with him or he would never see her again.
  
  
  A branch cracked and his mind cleared of thoughts. "Who is this?" - he demanded sharply.
  
  
  “It’s just me,” said a voice from the shadows. "Lotus".
  
  
  Lotus. He knew her. She was a prostitute serving the Germans. The Germans were lucky. The lotus was very beautiful. He assumed that she had come here to enter the outbuilding where the Germans lived. Well, he wasn't going to miss it. Even if he could, he wouldn't. Just out of spite. Chinese girl goes to bed with white men. And the Germans.
  
  
  He saw her in the moonlight, walking towards him. That dress. Very tight. Her pointed breasts moved slightly as she walked. He wanted to split her skull with the butt of his rifle.
  
  
  No, I didn't. He didn't feel it at all.
  
  
  His body trembled with desire. Come on. He wanted her. What person in their right mind would not want such a beautiful creature. He managed to frown.
  
  
  "What do you want?" He made his voice stern.
  
  
  Lotus stood only a foot away from him. "I think I'm lost"
  
  
  “You can't fool me. You know that Germans live here. You are looking for a German lover for this night. Well, you can't pass. So go away, you Chinese whore."
  
  
  The lotus froze. “Rape of women, killer of babies. Watch your tongue or I will make you lose it."
  
  
  “Just go away. I have orders."
  
  
  "I'm not looking for Germans." Her voice became soft. "I was lonely.
  
  
  
  
  
  Was he lonely? "
  
  
  He couldn't believe his ears. Was Lotus available to him? He was not lucky. Then a thought struck him. Yes, sure. It was about money. Perhaps she was unable to find clients that night, so she decided to test the security. “I have six yuan in my pockets. This is all my money."
  
  
  "I don't want money, my friend." She laughed a little.
  
  
  "What do you want then?"
  
  
  "An hour of your time. If you can spare it?" He looked around. If he is caught from his post, he will be charged. His superiors were very strict about this and he was under the direct control of the Germans. It was not said what they would do.
  
  
  Li Dan shook his head regretfully. “I'm so sorry, Lotus. I'm on duty. Maybe one more night? Curse your luck. After he wished for the opportunity, Lotus revealed herself, but he had to refuse her sweet and generous offer.
  
  
  “There is a dense forest behind me,” Lotus reminded him. “The bed is soft grass and we will be comfortable. Nothing happens here. You will be safe. Come". She took his hand.
  
  
  He quickly shook his head. "I can't. It's so tempting. But I can not. If I leave my post..."
  
  
  Lotus slowly lifted her skirt. Her slender legs and slender smooth thighs appeared. Then she took off her dress and exposed herself in the moonlight. She ran her hand over her chest. “I no longer offer myself to you. If you don't come with me, you will always regret it. You will dream about me and curse yourself for acting like a child, not being afraid of anything. Do you know that you left your post? Nobody will know. If you don't tell them. And you're not such a fool, Li Dan."
  
  
  Li Dan looked at her body with his hot brownish eyes. He saw the slight swell of her hips, the line of her hips, the flatness of her stomach, the sharpness of her breasts.
  
  
  Lotus turned slowly, throwing her dress over her right shoulder, and walked into the forest. “Come on, follow me, Li Dan. We will go deep into the forest where they won’t see us.”
  
  
  He saw her tense buttocks and the back of her moving thighs. He cursed himself for being a fool.
  
  
  He was just a man.
  
  
  He began to follow her and then quickened his pace, afraid of losing her in the forest.
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter felt awkward in his black suit, but it was absolutely necessary. He had to unnoticed get into the outbuilding where the Germans lived. The suit will help. A rustling sound was heard from the left. He knew it was Lotus and the Chinese guard she had seduced from her post. He remained in the shadows until he reached the courtyard. He darted quickly, a black figure outlined in the moonlight. He was inside the wing.
  
  
  His forehead was sandstone from the dirt he had smeared across his face. Smile and bear it, my boy. He held a Spanish pistol in his hand, and he hoped that he would not have to use it.
  
  
  He found the door ajar, crept up to it and looked inside.
  
  
  A man was sleeping on the bed with his back to Nick.
  
  
  Nick prayed it was Borman. He reached for the handle and widened the door, pushing it inside, stepping over the threshold. Now he was near the bed. It was a young man. It was not Bormann. He wanted to turn around, but the man suddenly opened his eyes and began to look around.
  
  
  Nick poked the man in the neck with his pen and felt the clamp once. The German froze, fell, his eyes opened and looked.
  
  
  What a lousy failure. Nick swore. He retreated, quietly crept along the corridor, stopping at the door. He thought furiously. Should he take another chance? He felt like he was pushing his luck. Another one. What the heck.
  
  
  He opened the door and entered as silently as a cat. He heard deep snoring. No, this man was not Bormann either. He backed away as the man sat up, rubbing his eyes. Nick quickly stepped forward with a pen in his hand.
  
  
  The man's eyes widened at the sight of the figure in black. His mouth opened to scream as the pen hit him square in the neck.
  
  
  He cursed his bad luck when he saw the guards crossing the courtyard through the chest-high window in the hall. There had to be another way. He turned, hurried down the corridor, turned a corner and waited, hoping they wouldn't come towards him.
  
  
  They followed his path. Crap!
  
  
  He moved along the corridor when he saw a wide door ajar. He went for it and slipped inside with his gun at the ready, just in case. It was a large room with a bar on one side, a jukebox, tables and chairs. Most likely, some kind of officer porridge. There was another door to the left of the bar. He tried it. It opened, and he found himself outside, on the palace grounds.
  
  
  He walked around the wing, staying in the shadows when he could, hoping to reach the courtyard and unguarded post before Lotus and her temporary lover were done.
  
  
  Now he was in the yard. He headed to the security post and passed. He walked along a well-used road, across a field, and stopped to catch his breath. He then went to a large tree where he had left his clothes. He took off his suit, put on his clothes and waited for Lotus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When she arrived a few minutes later, he took her hand and they moved quickly and silently from there.
  
  
  Yesterday's couple hugged again at the front door. Lotus and Nick entered the building in reverse.
  
  
  In her apartment, he tossed the bundle of black cloth that was his suit and placed his twenty-odd in an easy chair. “What’s wrong with those two down there? Don't they have a home?
  
  
  “Her parents are very strict,” Lotus explained. “She lives in an apartment with them and cannot raise her boyfriend. And he lives with two brothers. As you can see, it’s very difficult for them.” She was undressing as she spoke. Naked, she left the living room, and soon Nick heard her splashing in the bathtub in the bathroom.
  
  
  He lit a cigarette and thought about the night's escapade. He interrupted it. Perhaps he shouldn't have worried. But no, he tried, because one of his missions was to kill Bormann. He had to take a risk. It was just bad luck.
  
  
  It would be foolish to try again. He will have to forget about Borman for a while and focus on Agent Z. He needs to get alone with one of Borman's men and get him to talk. He needed to find a laboratory.
  
  
  Lotus came out in a cheongsam. The slits were high, and the hips were long, thin, and ivory-colored. She looked great.
  
  
  "Do you like it?"
  
  
  "So many. But I thought such clothes were prohibited in Red China.”
  
  
  "This." She sat on his lap and one slender arm wrapped around his neck. “A friend brought it from Hong Kong. I don't wear it outside."
  
  
  "He wasn't stopped?"
  
  
  “He brought a few items,” Lotus said. “He paid the customs officers to look the other way. Corruption is one of our oldest virtues." She kissed him. “He also brought me rice wine. Want to?"
  
  
  "Certainly."
  
  
  She kissed him again, got off his lap and went to get some wine and two glasses.
  
  
  They drank and Nick asked if there was food nearby. Lotus prepared a chicken and rice dish and Nick ate.
  
  
  Later she asked him if he had killed the German leader. Nick explained to her what happened. He also talked about the medicine he used.
  
  
  "They'll think those two are dead... and bury them," Lotus said. Then she laughed cheerfully. "It's a fucking joke, isn't it?"
  
  
  "Yeah." Nick suddenly pulled her towards him and kissed her almost harshly.
  
  
  She felt his insistence. There was no mention of the guard with whom she lay that night. It didn't matter. It just had to be done. In addition, there were many men. Right now it didn't mean anything. It's very unimportant.
  
  
  She ran her fingers through his hair. They kissed passionately. She knew that this was a man whom she could learn to love. But it was just a dream. She was a realist. Life on the mainland made a person a realist.
  
  
  Nick stood up, holding her close to him. He carried her into the bedroom and carefully laid her on the bed.
  
  
  She watched him undress and then took off his cheongsam. Below she was naked.
  
  
  He joined her on the bed and her body was alive and moving.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nick took a hot bath and Lotus insisted on washing his back. He declined her offer to wash him completely. She used a heavy towel and dried him off as he stood there with a wry grin on his face. “I can dry myself there,” he objected.
  
  
  "Don't be stupid."
  
  
  He put on shorts and they sat in the living room, eating almond cakes and drinking goat's milk. He realized that he was spending more time in Lotus's apartment than in his own hotel room. Well, it was nicer here.
  
  
  “Are you going back to the Imperial Palace?” - she asked him.
  
  
  "No. I think tomorrow night I'll let the victim come to me. With your help".
  
  
  “I will do anything,” she said passionately. "Do you know that."
  
  
  He told her what he wanted. Before that, she dated one of the German officers. He was supposed to come to her apartment, where Nick would be waiting. He'll be too into her to notice Nick until it's too late. If the idea was too unpleasant...
  
  
  There was a tight smile on her beautiful face. “You know I will do it. I can't help you."
  
  
  "It's a calculated risk," Nick explained. “He can bring someone even if you tell him not to. Or he can tell some of his co-workers where he is going. When he doesn't return, you will be under suspicion. So think carefully before you agree"
  
  
  “There’s nothing to think about here,” she said almost angrily. “I’m in this until the very end.”
  
  
  "Let's hope the end doesn't come sooner than expected."
  
  
  "I know you're not afraid."
  
  
  “I have my moments,” Nick admitted.
  
  
  “You are a very brave man,” she said, embarrassing him. "I've never met anyone like you before."
  
  
  “Your father was a brave man. He believed in something and died for his beliefs.”
  
  
  She put her hand on his thigh. "Can you spend the night with me?" she asked.
  
  
  He shook his head. It was too dangerous.
  
  
  Silence fell between them. They met only recently, and yet there was a strong connection between them. It wasn't just sex.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was something else that no one could explain. But it was there. Strong and invisible.
  
  
  Everyone felt admiration, respect and devotion to each other. They were a team; one complemented the other.
  
  
  Nick knew it would be awkward to leave. This will come when his mission is completed. Unless he died. And he wasn't going to die. His luck was good, but it did not last long. The time had to come when its numbers would increase. He just wanted it to be quick when it did come.
  
  
  "What do you think?" - she asked, studying his thoughtful mood.
  
  
  He didn't want to tell her that he was thinking about death. The Grim Reaper looked over their shoulders. He didn't want to remind her of this.
  
  
  "Remembering the days when I was in college."
  
  
  “You looked so gloomy,” she whispered. “I thought you were thinking dark thoughts. That's why I bothered you."
  
  
  "It's OK."
  
  
  "Have you been thinking dark thoughts?"
  
  
  He managed to smile widely. It was difficult to deceive her. He remembered something from Virgil.
  
  
  Here is Death, twitching my ear: “Live,” he says, “for I am coming.”
  
  
  Nick knew what Virgil meant. Live in the moment and to hell with tomorrow.
  
  
  “No dark thoughts,” he said hoarsely. “Not when I have a beautiful doll like you with me.” He reached out to her and she was available.
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  Captain Stryker had never seen the Leader so furious. But he couldn't blame him. Two of their men were found dead this morning with no marks on their bodies except puncture marks on the neck.
  
  
  The latest reports have just been received. Nobody saw anything.
  
  
  They were in Borman's room, only Borman and Stryker. The man who found the bodies was ordered to remain silent about it, but Bormann knew that was impossible. His men and Chinese guards were interrogated. It was useless to hope that the affairs of the two dead men could be hidden.
  
  
  Borman was furious, ranting and raving, and Stryker thought the man's face would crack. He knew about plastic. He was in the next room while the operation was going on. He was close to Bormann and enjoyed his position. He was not as smart as the scientist Walter Kerner, but he was shrewd enough to understand that Bormann's genius could take him far, even if it meant always being subordinate.
  
  
  It took Bormann a moment to calm down, but even then he was shaking a little. "There must be some explanation for this madness."
  
  
  “Puncture marks on the neck,” Stryker said. "Could this have caused their death?"
  
  
  "Very likely. In an otherwise remarkable coincidence, both men have identical markings. I don't believe Dracula came back from the dead to cause us this tragedy. It had to be the same person who killed our man, Lam Fen. I see the beautiful hand of the Ax at work. A person who enters an enemy camp undetected must be quite a remarkable and courageous person. Yes. Certainly. Nick Carter. But how did he do it? How did he get past the guards? And how did he kill people? I? I don't see an agent from AX using poison."
  
  
  Stryker scratched his nose. “Perhaps he survived by bribing a guard?”
  
  
  “The shot is a thousand to one. Do you think he approached the guard in the middle of the night and tried to bribe him?” Bormann's voice was incredulous. “Make sense, Captain Stryker. Nick Carter, if it's Carter, is no fool. No, it was well planned."
  
  
  "What will I do with men?"
  
  
  “Bury them. Or maybe you want to stuff them?” Bormann looked angry. “I seem to be surrounded by incompetence.”
  
  
  Stryker tensed, but remained silent. He was a good soldier and proud of that "Yes, sir."
  
  
  "Did you personally interrogate the guards?" - Bormann asked for the fourth time.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Not a single person left his post?"
  
  
  Stryker shook his head.
  
  
  “Ask them again,” Bormann ordered. “I don't believe in ghosts. This was done by a man of flesh and blood. Keep an eye on these guards. One of them must have left his post. But who exactly? Hold on to everyone. Destroy them. The person who left his post must confess. "
  
  
  "But why should he leave his post?" - asked Stryker. "Unless he was bribed?"
  
  
  "Nonsense. There must be an explanation. And this is not bribery. No, not bribery with money. You don't plan a mission and then approach a guard with money, hoping he'll accept it and fly away. That's funny. . But a woman can seduce a man from her post of Yes - woman.” Borman nodded slowly. "That makes more sense, doesn't it?"
  
  
  "Yes, I suppose so," Captain Stryker said weakly.
  
  
  "But you don't think so, do you?" Borman picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured some into a glass. “For a man like Nick Carter, it’s not hard to find a woman to help him. Even in Red China."
  
  
  "Perhaps she was sent with Carter to help him?" - said Stryker.
  
  
  "Yes. It's possible." Borman drank a third of his whiskey. "Either he brought a woman with him, or he found one here to help him. Either way, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he did the damage. I can't allow our men to panic.
  
  
  
  
  
  I need them at the right time, and it could be very soon."
  
  
  "Is the drug almost perfected?"
  
  
  “According to Kerner,” Borman said. “Yes, he is confident that he is close to perfecting Agent Z. Very close. And then we strike. We hit hard." His voice rose and rasped in Stryker's ears. “Germany is waiting for us, Captain Stryker. We cannot let our country down."
  
  
  Stryker almost raised his hand in a Nazi salute. He wanted to click his heels. It would be like old times.
  
  
  “Agent Z,” Borman said, lowering his voice. He was calm again. “This will be our salvation. With Agent Z, you can do whatever you want, depending on the dosage.” He saw how eager Stryker was to get more information about Agent Z. Only he and Kerner knew the real potential of Agent Z. He fed his men bits and pieces to whet their appetite. To them, Agent Z was a secret weapon, a big weapon. “I can introduce Agent Z to you and you will become my slave,” he suddenly boasted.
  
  
  “I am your slave now,” Stryker said humbly.
  
  
  “But think about it, Captain Stryker. What if you were not my slave, but a high-ranking government official? I find a way to get you alone and then use Agent Z. Your mind becomes clouded, open to suggestions. I whisper in your ear, sow the seeds of hatred in your brain. You think the way I want you to think. Your whole personality changes. You are under a hypnotic spell that lasts forever. You are a different person. You are exactly what I want you to be. Imagine this, Stryker. Capturing the minds of government officials. You control them. And then you control their nation."
  
  
  "It's a form of brainwashing, isn't it?"
  
  
  “Yes,” Bormann said thoughtfully. "You can say it"
  
  
  “Science has taken over,” Stryker said ruefully. “Atomic bombs. War on germs. Everything is push-button. Rifles and machine guns will soon become obsolete. Even soldiers will soon become obsolete.”
  
  
  “There will always be a need for a soldier, Captain Stryker. Now go kill the dead and deal with those Chinese guards. Don't be too harsh with security. We don't want incidents to spoil our harmonious relationship, do we? "
  
  
  "I'll take care of everything." Stryker bowed stiffly and left.
  
  
  “A good man,” thought Borman, watching the door close behind Captain Stryker. Not exactly smart, but loyal to the cause.
  
  
  He finished his whiskey.
  
  
  There was too much at stake to let this elusive enemy ruin his plans. He was close, very close to accomplishing the impossible. Yes, it's impossible. Germany with a democratic form of government. Only a miracle could completely destroy it. But there was a good chance; The recent elections told him this. He needed a miracle, and a miracle was close.
  
  
  His gloved hand closed on the glass and it shattered. He will crush Carter in the same way. He will find him and kill him.
  
  
  Did AX know about Agent Z? But how could they? His men caught AX-Man before he could leave the palace grounds. This man died, the secret was still in him. Or was he wrong? Did this man succeed in getting a message to Washington? It was possible.
  
  
  Another man took his place. Another agent from AX. Carter. He was sure it was Carter.
  
  
  What did AX know? He must find out. He couldn't let Carter roam at will, ruining all his plans. He had to silence him once and for all.
  
  
  He poured whiskey into a fresh glass.
  
  
  In his mind's eye, he saw Carter being caught and brought to him. He saw Agent AX being tortured. He heard Carter's screams and pleas for a quick death. He laughed and caught himself doing it. This will not work. The others will hear. They would think he was crazy. Well, perhaps he was.
  
  
  He sat down heavily in a leather-backed chair. It was a miracle that he wasn't completely angry. Hiding from the world, afraid of being caught by the police in almost every country in the world. They hunted and hated.
  
  
  Well, he could hate it too. And he hated the weaklings who dominated the world. Gentle. Little people. They were just ants under his boots. He will trample them. He will trample them all. And he laughed loudly. He didn't care if people heard him. He didn't care if the world heard him.
  
  
  He rarely laughed.
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  Nick watched the parade from a tea shop, where he ordered tea and rice cakes. How the Chinese loved parades. They shot firecrackers and beat kettledrums.
  
  
  It was better than a crowd of chanting, pushing, screaming Red Guards, but the madness of the Red Guards was not over. They were still active in many provinces. Only the army could stop them, but it was obvious that they were ordered to stay away.
  
  
  Mao used the Red Guards to get rid of his enemies. He knew how to deal with them, but sometimes they got out of control; There were too many incidents that put Mao in an awkward position.
  
  
  He left the tea shop and walked down the street. There were many foreign guests in Beijing, so he was not out of place. Although Red China had tense relations with almost all countries except Albania, it did not mind foreigners.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The people themselves were friendly enough, unless they were supported by the Red Guard. Then they usually followed the British.
  
  
  He found a small park in the square and sat down on a metal bench. It was quiet there, only a few people were sunbathing. He lit a cigarette and looked like any other white tourist. He knew that no one was watching him from the hotel. He was careful. He hoped Lotus was careful too.
  
  
  When she appeared, he lit a third cigarette.
  
  
  "How was it?" he asked.
  
  
  She smiled, showing her tiny white teeth. “It's arranged. He will come this evening."
  
  
  "I don't want to rush, but..."
  
  
  “I understand,” she said, not letting him finish. “His name is Maximilian Able. He's a captain, like Striker, but he doesn't look like a man with a frozen face."
  
  
  “You have to keep him busy...”
  
  
  She nodded. "Yes, you told me."
  
  
  “This will end quickly,” he promised.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," she said firmly. “I've been with him before. Don't make me an angel, Nick. We both know who I am."
  
  
  Nick wanted to tell her that she was a sweet child, but he thought it would sound stupid. Instead, he patted her on the knee. "I'll be there early." He offered her a cigarette and she accepted. He realized he was running low on cigarettes and asked her if she knew where he could get American or Canadian cigarettes.
  
  
  “I know what it is,” she sighed. “The cigarettes they sell in tobacco shops here are terrible. But I know someone."
  
  
  "You are an amazing creature."
  
  
  “I live by my mind. I could work in a factory or farm, but that's not for me. I don't even have a philosophy, and that's bad. All I know is that I'm not happy with the way things are. they're running around here. This feeling. There will never be any changes. At least not radical changes. That's how I feel about it. It's no use, Nick. But I can't help how I feel, right?
  
  
  He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.
  
  
  Soon it was time for them to part. She stood up and walked away, and he looked at her neat hips under her very thin waist. Some young people entering the park turned around and looked at her firm buttocks.
  
  
  Nick stood up, dropped the cigarette butt, pressed it to the ground and began to walk out of the park.
  
  
  Two Chinese police officers entered the park. They went to Nick. He casually continued walking until one of them spoke to him in perfect English. He was tall, graceful, like a ballet dancer, with a thin mustache. "Please wait. Can I see your passport?"
  
  
  Nick stopped. He grinned lightly at the man. "Ofcourse, why not?" He showed the man his passport. "Nothing bad?"
  
  
  Still polite, the policeman said, “Routine, sir.” He examined the passport. "Where are you staying?"
  
  
  Nick told him.
  
  
  “This is strange,” the man said. “I thought all the correspondents stayed at the Lenin Hotel.”
  
  
  “You know how it is,” Nick said easily. “All boys want to do is talk. Then they try to get you drunk and steal your story if you have one.”
  
  
  The policeman returned Nick's passport. His lips curved into a superficial waiter's smile. “We apologize for the minor inconvenience. Just a routine. We hope you stay happy here."
  
  
  “I have the ball,” Nick admitted.
  
  
  The two men continued on their way.
  
  
  Nick left the park and crossed the square. He didn't believe this nonsense about it being a normal routine. Probably because of his last night. He wondered if they would check his hotel room. The policeman who looked at his passport was no dummy. He looked very insightful.
  
  
  Well, to hell with them. Nick was outside the square and walked slowly and easily, like a man who doesn't care in the world. Let him check his hotel room. The gun he had taken from the Chinese assassin was in Lotus's room, as was the suit she had made for him. If they searched his room, they wouldn't find a big fat nothing...
  
  
  Two hours passed before he returned to his hotel room. The hotel clerk tried not to look at him. Nick had been through it all and knew his items had been given a fine comb treatment. As far as he was concerned, he was safe.
  
  
  They couldn't find anything that would give him away. And if they had, they would have been waiting for him. So he was safe anyway.
  
  
  He took a bath, changed into a blue linen suit and went out. He had lunch at a small restaurant, then hopped on a bus and left partially. He walked a few blocks, turned back to make sure he wasn't being followed, then continued on his way to the Lotus apartment.
  
  
  She was wearing red silk pajamas that fitted her. “I found American cigarettes. Three packs." She kissed him. “And I have two bottles of rice wine.”
  
  
  "I see you've been very busy." He opened a pack of cigarettes and they caught fire. “I was going back,” he told her. “Probably force of habit.”
  
  
  “It’s safer for you.”
  
  
  They drank some wine and he stood at the window, watching the distant moon rise up. The sky was clear and there were a thousand stars on the moon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  she hugged him around the waist.
  
  
  He saw a tall figure crossing the street. The man didn't seem too steady on his feet.
  
  
  Nick moved away from the window, and Lotus went to get the Spanish pistol. He stuck the gun in his waistband and she made room for him in the bedroom closet, taking off her dresses and putting them in her dresser drawer. He climbed into the closet and closed the door, but not all the way. Just a narrow slit so he can see into the room.
  
  
  There was a loud knock and Lotus went to answer.
  
  
  He heard the front door open and close. The toilet was stuffy and he was sweating. A man's voice came to him, loud and guttural. Whiskey slurring, too much whiskey. There was laughter from Lotus, forced laughter. Then, finally, they entered the bedroom, and Nick had a clear view of the man.
  
  
  Tall, with broad shoulders. Beautiful. Dark brown hair. Maximilian Abel. Captain of Bormann's secret army. He began to take off his usual uniform. “A night made for love, my Chinese beauty. The couple was downstairs again. You must rent them your own room. Make some money on the side. Five marks an hour." He laughed and took off his shirt. There was a scar above his left thigh.
  
  
  Lotus took off her pajamas and, naked, climbed into bed. The man looked at her hungrily. He took off his shorts and followed her into bed.
  
  
  Nick took a pen from his breast pocket. He watched as the man fumbled, caressed, kissed and prepared to invade the girl's body.
  
  
  Nick chose the right moment - when the man was too engrossed in what he was doing to be alert - to leave the closet and approach the bed. He poked the man in the neck and flicked his cap once. It was all over and Lotus was freed. She ran to the bathroom and Nick turned the man over. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn the man was dead. Lotus returned and put on her pajamas.
  
  
  Nick undressed and put on his man's uniform.
  
  
  "What are you doing?" she wanted to know.
  
  
  “When he doesn’t come back, they will look for him. The couple below saw him approach. And he probably told some of his buddies that he was coming here."
  
  
  Lotus nodded wisely. “So you're going to leave here pretending to be him. If the couple downstairs are questioned, they will say they saw him leave."
  
  
  "Right. I'll go back and go in reverse. Then do a good job here with our friend.” Nick patted the man's stomach. "I bet there's a hell of a lot to say."
  
  
  Nick came down and walked out the front door. The couple stood close to each other and whispered. He crashed into them without lowering his face, muttered something in German and continued walking, pretending to be drunk. When he was two blocks away, he made a wide circle, hoping he wouldn't get lost on his way back. The streets were narrow, and he moved forward carefully until he was at the back of an apartment building. He walked up the back road and Lotus kissed him as if he had returned from a long journey.
  
  
  He took off his uniform and dressed the man, then put on his own clothes. “You better wait in the other room,” he advised her. Without saying a word, Lotus left.
  
  
  Nick found a cord and tied his wrists and ankles to the bed. He placed the gun on the nightstand and then used the pen again, this time injecting the man with the antidote.
  
  
  The German began to breathe again. He opened his eyes in surprise and then in anger.
  
  
  Nick picked up the gun and showed it to the officer. “I'll blow your brains out if there's any screaming. Do you understand me?"
  
  
  The man's eyes narrowed in hatred.
  
  
  “I have some questions I want to ask you and you are going to answer them. You understand?"
  
  
  The man shook his head stubbornly.
  
  
  Nick grinned wolfishly. He put the pistol aside and began to work with the German with his hands. The man gasped and lost consciousness.
  
  
  Nick went to the bathroom, filled a glass with water, returned to the bedroom and threw the water in the man's face. The eyes slowly opened and stared at Nick.
  
  
  “All you have is a sample,” Nick said. "I will teach you what pain is." His hands were busy again. One day the man screamed and Nick dug two fingers into his throat.
  
  
  Nick began to sweat profusely before the German's stubbornness left him. The officer finally nodded and answered freely as Nick asked him questions.
  
  
  Nick used the handle again and the man died. Nick walked into the living room and sat down on a chair. Lotus brought him a glass of rice wine. “I heard him moaning. My blood has run cold."
  
  
  Nick drained his glass. “Don’t ask me to apologize for my actions. I do what I have to do."
  
  
  Lotus touched his shoulder. "I understand"
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  Nick had what he wanted. The laboratory was located near the village of Qing Ten. From Lotus he learned that the village was less than a hundred miles from Beijing. Nick told Lotus everything the German had told him, leaving nothing out. There was a new Nazi movement in Germany, and Bormann was more than a small part of it, Bormann promised to help them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Movement using the most powerful weapon ever invented, and for Nick that meant giving Agent Z the ability to move. The German in Lotus's bedroom didn't mention Agent Z, which didn't surprise Nick. Bormann gathered people around him who blindly followed him, never asking questions. Thus, Bormann kept Agent Z a secret except for a small handful of his closest associates. The German knew that Captain Stryker had information about this mysterious weapon. There were a couple of other people, but they didn’t tell him anything.
  
  
  “I thought the man with the frozen face worked for the Chinese?” - Lotus wondered out loud.
  
  
  “The old double cross,” Nick said. “He uses ChiComs to get what he wants. Equipment, technical assistance and time. He has no intention of turning Agent Z over to the Chinese. He needs it to get to the top. That kraut there..." Nick pointed his thumb towards the bedroom door. "...knew about the lab, but didn't know what was going on. He was there to help oversee the delivery of laboratory animals and equipment. Lotus, I'm going to Qing Tuo."
  
  
  "Are you coming now?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "I will go with you"
  
  
  He started to shake his head, but saw the determination in her eyes. “This is damn dangerous,” he said weakly.
  
  
  “I know a family in Qing Tuo. They will give me food. You cannot enter the village. Residents will be suspicious. White people never go there.”
  
  
  “I’m going to throw our friend in the closet for fucking a week. I'll take with me the black suit you made. It might come in handy."
  
  
  While Nick dragged the German to the closet, Lotus wrapped her suit and some food in bags, and then changed into black pajama clothes. They left through the back door.
  
  
  On Chow Din Avenue they came across an old Packard. Nick worked quickly. He lifted the hood, crossed several wires, and soon they were gone. In the dashboard compartment, Lotus found identification documents belonging to the owner. He was a factory foreman.
  
  
  “The average worker usually can’t afford a car,” Lotus explained to Nick.
  
  
  They left the city without stopping, and Nick breathed a sigh of relief. They stopped to eat and then continued.
  
  
  It was two o'clock in the morning when they approached the village. Nick turned off the dirt road, drove through the foliage and stopped next to a tree. He didn't want to leave the car in the open. He turned off the engine and got out.
  
  
  "This family you mentioned - are you sure you can trust them?" - he asked her.
  
  
  She smiled wryly. "You can't trust anyone these days, not even your family. I'll tell them the story of going here with some man. I'll ask them for food, and then I'll start talking about the laboratory. Maybe they'll tell me what we we want to know."
  
  
  "You're taking a risk," Nick told her. “You’ll be playing by ear, and that’s not good.”
  
  
  "They might become suspicious," Lotus admitted. "Give me all your money."
  
  
  Nick handed all the yuan bills into his pockets.
  
  
  “I’ll pay them for the food. Even if they start to suspect, they won't say anything. Not all that money to make them happy.”
  
  
  Nick watched as she ran into the village, then undressed and put on a black suit. There was an hour before she returned.
  
  
  She had chicken pies and rice wine, which they finished first. She then told Nick what she had learned. The laboratory was patrolled by Chinese guards. It was a complex of three houses. The white-painted house housed a laboratory, while other drab-looking houses housed guards and technicians. The villagers didn't know what was happening. They always saw people in white coats, but never saw security guards entering the White House. That's why Lotus found out that the White House was a laboratory. Some residents worked in the complex cleaning and doing laundry, but were not allowed in the house, which was painted white.
  
  
  “Listen, Lotus, you're in a hurry here. And it’s useless to argue with me.” He gave her a pen and told her how it worked. "In case I get caught, I don't want it to fall into their hands."
  
  
  Lotus took the pen, put it down and watched him leave. He headed to the left of the village where the laboratory was located.
  
  
  Lotus was not going to stay in a safe place while Nick stood alone against a formidable enemy. She waited five minutes and followed him out.
  
  
  When Nick caught a glimpse of the structure, he dropped to his hands and knees and then slowly turned around and crawled like a snake towards the three houses. There were no wire fences, but there were tall plaster posts, which meant electric eye beams.
  
  
  He was in an open field and there was little moonlight. Five guards surrounded the area. They had rifles and pistols. They walked in pairs, except for one guard. They were in the circle of posts.
  
  
  Nick had no way to kill the electric beams. He was at a dead end. Even if he had grenades, there was little he could do with them. If he had thrown a few of them into the laboratory, he would have caused enormous damage. He should have blown this place sky high. That meant explosives.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He began to move like a crab to the left. This way he will walk around the entire complex. Maybe the idea will strike him. Perhaps the poles with electric eyes did not completely surround the area. There was something to do.
  
  
  His foot hit something and it gave way. He cursed quietly and stretched through the short grass. The wire.
  
  
  A scream was heard from inside. Then the guard ran out of one of the gray buildings, gesticulating, shouting, running towards the confused guards.
  
  
  Nick heard a ringing from the house. A jeep jumped out from behind a building loaded with guards. A beam of light streamed from the roof of the building and played in an open field.
  
  
  Nick had an Astra Firet in his hand. He took careful aim, and the bullet shattered the searchlight.
  
  
  The guards began shooting wildly, aiming in the direction from which the shot was fired. The jeep left the area, its wheels clinging to the mud. Nick took aim at the driver and pulled the trigger. There was a shout and the guard folded his hands. The jeep overturned, crushing two guards with its weight. The rest of the guards huddled to the ground, barking with their rifles.
  
  
  Bullets littered the ground near Nick's head. He retreated wisely. Another beam of light passed through the night and crossed the field a few yards away. There was gunfire to his left.
  
  
  The camp guards flanked him as he fired along with the guards in the jeep.
  
  
  He looked to the right. Two guards were approaching him. He continued to move backwards, hoping that the beam of light would not find him.
  
  
  A guard was running towards him with a rifle on his shoulder. Nick shot him.
  
  
  Suddenly the air was filled with clear Chinese words. Someone in the village used a megaphone. The guards were ordered to capture the invader alive.
  
  
  All rifle fire stopped.
  
  
  Nick moved his face to the left. He saw two guards rise from their prone position. They ran towards him. Nick poured out everything that was left in the cell, and both guards died on their feet.
  
  
  He was reloading his clip when the light caught him. He cursed and dove into the darkness. He heard his feet hit the ground and the butt of a gun hit him in the head. He rolled over, began to rise, and felt another blow to the back of his head. He fell. A dark puddle opened up and he dived into it. He fell and fell... into a bottomless pit....
  
  
  In the distance, hidden in the shadows, Lotus watched with bated breath as the guards carried Nick away. A beam of light caught the guards and Nick and followed the contingent to the camp.
  
  
  Lotus moved in the darkness on all fours and came across the body of one of the dead guards. He was shot in the head. She quickly took off her outer clothing and put on the dead man's uniform. She tucked the pen Nick had given her into her breast pocket and picked up the dead man's rifle.
  
  
  Her hair was hidden under her cap. She silently prayed as she walked towards the house. Soldiers were scurrying around. She blended in with the crowd and listened to the chatter. She learned that an alien devil had been taken to the white building.
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  Walter Kerner was fifty-one years old; he was a stocky man with a thick head of dark brown hair. His eyes were dark gray, and his nose was thick, above prominent lips. He was wearing a T-shirt and trousers. He had slippers on his feet. He was tired, grumpy and irritable. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he had important matters to take care of.
  
  
  He stood in a small, empty room, with Chinese guards on either side of him. Nick Carter sat in the center of the room on the only chair. He was wearing shorts and nothing else. His suit was taken from him and he was led into a bucket of water. He was then taken to this room to wait for Walter Kerner.
  
  
  Kerner and Nick stared at each other, sizing each other up like two fighters before the first round.
  
  
  "Are you an Englishman?" - Kerner finally asked.
  
  
  "Does it matter?" - Nick asked softly.
  
  
  Kerner bowed his head. "American. Oh well. Don't you know that Americans are prohibited from entering Red China? You broke the law, Mr... uh..."
  
  
  "Smith."
  
  
  "Oh yeah? Smith, did you say? A very unusual name." Kerner advanced toward Nick and then suddenly fired his fist at him, hitting Nick in the side of the face. Nick fell out of his chair and hit the hard floor. He pushed the floor away from him and rose to his feet.
  
  
  “You can sit down again,” Kerner said generously. “You killed six of my people. You came out of nowhere to spy on me. And what’s worse, you disturbed my sleep.”
  
  
  "I'm sorry about that last bit."
  
  
  “I try to keep it humorous, but it’s difficult. Please tell me who you are and why you are here.”
  
  
  “What would you say if I told you that I was Peter Pan and was looking for the never-never land?” - Nick asked smartly.
  
  
  “You understand, of course, that I have no choice but to kill you,” Kerner said, and there was no levity in his voice. "How will you die
  
  
  
  
  
  . It can be quick, but with a minimum of pain or... - Kerner shrugged. - Do you understand what I meant?
  
  
  "I get the big picture"
  
  
  "Are you from the CIA?"
  
  
  “Look,” Nick said, “what difference does it make? I lost. It doesn't matter to you..."
  
  
  Kerner punched again, sending Nick to the floor. It was an unexpected blow. He did not expect it to come and did not throw a punch. He hoped he hadn't lost a tooth.
  
  
  “Please get up,” Kerner said almost softly.
  
  
  "For what?" - said Nick. “You're just bringing me down again. Besides, I feel quite comfortable here.”
  
  
  Kerner pointed to one of the guards, who began viciously kicking Nick in the shins. Nick struggled to his feet.
  
  
  “Sit down,” said Kerner.
  
  
  Nick said in a voice full of emotion, “You better kill me now. You won’t get a damn thing out of me.” He sat down on a cold metal chair.
  
  
  “I could always torture you,” Kerner said grimly. “But there’s not enough time.” He pretended to yawn. “And I really need sleep. Yes, Mr. Smith, if that is your name, you will die immediately.”
  
  
  The door behind Kerner opened and a beautiful Chinese woman in a quilted robe entered. She was tall for a Chinese woman. She had raven hair and a hauntingly beautiful face.
  
  
  Kerner turned and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “I'm almost done with this man, my dear. I'll join you now."
  
  
  But the girl could not be put off. "Did you find out who he is?"
  
  
  "No." Kerner frowned. “And it doesn't matter. I'm going to shoot him right now."
  
  
  The girl examined Nick's half-naked body. "It would be a waste."
  
  
  “Now, Sim Chan, let me handle this,” Kerner put his arm around her waist and tried to lead her out of the room.
  
  
  “I’m not a child,” Sim Chan said, refusing to move. She removed Kerner's hand from her waist.
  
  
  “This is none of your business,” Kerner said angrily.
  
  
  “This man killed six of my people,” Sim Chan said hotly. "And you want to give him a quick death!"
  
  
  Kerner looked at Nick. "Do you want him to be tortured?"
  
  
  “Better than this,” said Sim Chan. "Let's use Agent Z on him."
  
  
  Nick tensed. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
  
  
  Walter Kerner seemed to like the idea. The scientist beamed. “Yes, why not? I'm sure the drug has been improved. And we need people to experiment.”
  
  
  Nick jumped to his feet: “You will never use that drug on me.” He rushed to Kerner. One of the guards hit Nick in the chest with a rifle.
  
  
  Sim Chan watched as the American folded and fell heavily to the floor.
  
  
  “Let's get everything ready,” Kerner said, and they left the room, leaving Nick alone. One of the guards locked the door and stood with his back to it as Kerner and Sim Chan walked down the corridor to the laboratory. The second guard said he was going to have tea and flew away.
  
  
  As soon as he left the building, he was surrounded by others who demanded to know what was happening. The guard told them that the scientists were going to use this medicine against the foreign devil. He refused to answer questions and headed to the dining room. He didn't see one of the guards following him. The dining room was empty. He walked over to the urn, took a metal cup from a pile nearby and began to pour tea into the cup when a sudden noise made him turn around. He saw the butt of the gun rush towards his head. His scream died in his throat.
  
  
  Lotus swung her rifle again and heard the man's skull crack.
  
  
  She put down the rifle and dragged the man towards the closet where brooms, mops and buckets were stored. She threw it inside and threw the rifle. She closed the door and went to get the rifle.
  
  
  She walked through the courtyard and entered the white building. She wandered down the corridor until she came to an open doorway and saw a huge room in which a white man and a Chinese woman were working on a table with bottles and test tubes. The man was drawing liquid from a tube into a hypodermic needle. He put the hypo. "Shall we go get our friend?" - asked the white man.
  
  
  The girl nodded and followed the man out of the room through the door to their right.
  
  
  Lotus entered. Her eyes were glued to the hypodermic needle.
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  Live mushroom. That's what Nick was thinking when the door opened and Kerner and the guard walked in. Sim Chan was waiting outside in the hall. The guard waved his rifle and Nick walked out, Kerner following. Sim Chan walked ahead. They entered the laboratory.
  
  
  Lotus was there. She sharpened her voice and spoke to the guard.
  
  
  "What he says?" Kerner demanded an answer.
  
  
  “Fong is sick,” Sim Chan explained. “He asked this security guard to replace him.”
  
  
  "No matter." Kerner turned to Nick and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you will get a taste of the German genius." His voice and attitude were smug. “I take it for granted that you know about Agent Z. That's why you came. To find out more about the drug or destroy it. It’s possible to do both.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Nick said disdainfully. "German genius. That's why you lost the war. It was easy to take over small countries. But when it came to..."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nevertheless,” Kerner shouted. His face was blood red. His humor was completely gone.
  
  
  Nick continued to egg the German scientist on. It was an old trick, but it still worked sometimes. He knew that Sim Chan was here to keep an eye on Kerner. He wanted to turn them against each other.
  
  
  “How the mighty have fallen,” Nick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your country no longer belongs to you. Now you have to hide in the shadows, do your work in secret because you are afraid..."
  
  
  "Fool!" - Kerner thundered, feeling pain from Nick's words. “You don't know what you're talking about. There will soon be a new Germany. With Agent Z at our disposal, we can do anything. You hear? Anything. We will finish what Hitler started. The world will be ours and... - he caught his breath. He talked too much. He turned slightly and saw Sim Chan looking at him. Those deep black oriental eyes. He could never know what was going on in her head. He managed a grin. He needed to somehow calm her down. “Yes,” he said more softly. “We will do all this with the help of our Chinese friends. We will have Germany and we will help our Chinese allies in their domination of the world."
  
  
  Nick grinned at Sim Chan. “It's like an old doppelgänger to me, baby. Your people will never get this drug. It will be…"
  
  
  Kerner punched Nick in the jaw as hard as he could. He watched the man fall, his face hard and grim. He reached for the hypodermic needle, knelt down in front of the wounded man and plunged the needle into a vein in Nick's arm. His thumb dipped the fluid from the tube into the vein. He stood up, some of the rage leaving his body. "It will soon be known whether Agent Z has been perfected." He grabbed Sim Chan's hand, his fingers curling with excitement.
  
  
  “You’re hurting me,” Sim Chan breathed.
  
  
  Kerner's eyes widened when he saw how tense Nick was. He knelt down and felt his pulse. “This man is dead,” he breathed.
  
  
  "But this can't be true."
  
  
  Sim Chan remained calm. "Too high a dosage."
  
  
  "No. I gave him very little. You saw."
  
  
  Then the mixture is wrong. Sim Chan turned to the guards. “Get rid of him. Bury him off-site. Then stay outside this building. I don't want anyone to come in."
  
  
  The two guards quickly obeyed Sim Chan's orders.
  
  
  Kerner waited until they were gone before turning to Sim Chan. "The guard obeys you as if you were a field marshal."
  
  
  "Does this surprise you?" Her hands were hidden in the deep, wide pockets of her quilted robe.
  
  
  “For some time I suspected that you had come to spy on me,” Kerner said calmly. “You even went so far as to become my mistress. I have to admit, I enjoyed every moment of it. But, as you can see, your comrades’ suspicions are unfounded.”
  
  
  "I do not think so".
  
  
  Walter Kerner raised his eyebrows. "So? Do you believe what this man said? Isn’t it obvious that he was trying to turn you against me?”
  
  
  “I heard you with my own ears. This drug is not meant for us, is it? You and your friends are only interested in taking over Germany. Perhaps the rest of the world does too. I will not allow you to use us as pawns. . "
  
  
  Kerner licked his lower lip. Sim Chan knew too much. She was too dangerous to live. She could ruin all their plans. His hands suddenly wrapped around her throat. First he felt a knife push into his stomach. Then air rushed in and he felt pain. His hands moved away and he looked down and saw the knife in her hand. She hid it in her robe pocket. He saw blood oozing from a wound on his stomach. His lips moved and she struck again. And again. He felt like he was falling. There was a red haze before his eyes. He knew he was dying. The pain was terrible, but he could not scream. Then he died.
  
  
  Sim Chan went to the sink, washed the blood off the blade and wiped it off with a cloth. The knife returned to her robe pocket. She knew what to do next. Fight Borman. She wanted to kill him, but he was too important for her boss. There was always a chance that Kerner was acting on his own, but she doubted it.
  
  
  She left the laboratory and went to her room, where she got dressed. She used the phone on her desk to order a car.
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  “This white devil is heavy,” Lotus complained, hugging Nick’s legs with one arm. “Let’s stick with tea and rice cakes.”
  
  
  “Very good idea. Then we'll take a car and take him to the village, and let some of these peasants bury him for us. It is not good for a soldier to do manual labor.”
  
  
  Lotus agreed with him, and they carried Nick's body to the dining room, where they parked it on a bench. “You sit here, and I will bring tea and cakes,” Lotus said to her companion.
  
  
  She went and filled two mugs with tea, but found no rice cakes. She found a sharp knife, which she hid in her uniform. She wasn't going to risk being shot with a rifle, and it would be just as much of a risk to try to kill him with the butt of her gun.
  
  
  The first man she killed thought he was alone. She managed to take him by surprise. It would be more difficult
  
  
  
  
  
  
  with this man who knew he was not alone. It took precious seconds to raise the rifle and bring the stock forward. But the short stabbing was quick and took half the time. That's what she thought.
  
  
  She placed the cups of tea on the long wooden table and set them down. Her companion grumbled and asked for rice cakes.
  
  
  “I forgot,” she said. “Have some tea. I'll bring some cakes."
  
  
  He picked up his cup of tea and took a sip.
  
  
  Now she was behind him. The knife came out. She didn't pick it up. She pushed him forward and the blade entered the middle of his back.
  
  
  The cup fell from his hand. Tea flowed down the table, soaking into the wood. Wild sounds came from his twisted mouth. He fell forward, the knife still in him. Blood gushed from his mouth and mixed with the tea.
  
  
  She took him under the arms and dragged him into the closet, where he joined his dead comrade.
  
  
  Lotus walked over to where Nick was stretched out, took out a pen and applied the antidote.
  
  
  Nick opened his eyes and Lotus helped him sit up. She gave him her cup of tea and he drank it gratefully.
  
  
  “We can’t stay here,” she said urgently. "Someone might come in."
  
  
  Nick looked around. "How did I get here?"
  
  
  “Let’s go to the rear where we can talk.”
  
  
  They went into the kitchen, and among the huge pots and pans and cold stoves, she told him what had happened.
  
  
  “So you replaced the Store with Agent Z,” Nick said admiringly. "Good idea." Nick looked at himself. "I need clothes." He was still wearing shorts.
  
  
  “I have two dead soldiers hidden. But their shape is too small for you."
  
  
  "Wait a minute." Nick looked through several closets and found what appeared to be the equivalent of overalls. He put them on, and although they were tight, he could move freely without tearing the seams. Lotus showed him the storage room where she kept two dead guards. He took their rifles and pistols.
  
  
  "We don't have much time," he told Lotus. “Soon it will be dawn. We must act now."
  
  
  "What are you going to do?" - she asked breathlessly. Haven't they gone through enough? Isn't it time to rest? She thought so. And yet this man armed himself as if he were about to attack a fort or castle. Where did he get his energy from? She had never seen anything like this before.
  
  
  "I'm going to level this lab," Nick said. "If I can't blow it up, I'll burn it down."
  
  
  "But how?"
  
  
  "There's enough flammable material in this lab to start a holocaust."
  
  
  “Perhaps you can do it,” she reasoned. “We were supposed to guard the building after we buried you. This was the girl's order." Her eyes widened. “But they will be there. Sim Chan and the German. What if you run into them?
  
  
  “That's why I'm taking away all the equipment. But first I must disable the electric beam system. She's probably in the center of the building with floodlights on the roof."
  
  
  Lotus shook her head. He took too many risks.
  
  
  They walked to the front door and looked outside. Most of the soldiers went to their barracks to catch up. Some milled around, exchanging gossip.
  
  
  “Wait here until I come for you,” Nick Lotus whispered. He gave her one of the pistols. “If you see someone coming, just duck down. Stay somewhere back. There are a lot of dark corners."
  
  
  "Do not worry about me".
  
  
  He walked out without raising his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. He hid the pistol in his uniform and held both rifles in one hand. He reached the white building without stopping. Then he was inside and it became easier for him to breathe. He headed to the laboratory, where he found the corpse of Walter Kerner.
  
  
  “So the thieves are falling apart,” he muttered.
  
  
  He plundered the medicine cabinets for the chemicals he needed and built a fire within five minutes. It was a fire that could not be put out. It will go out only when there is nothing left to burn. By then the building would have been reduced to smoldering ashes.
  
  
  Now he was sweating from the blazing flames.
  
  
  He started when he heard footsteps. A fat man in a white jacket was walking down the corridor. His glasses were as thick as the bottom of milk bottles. He muttered in German. In his hand was a Luger.
  
  
  Nick stepped back, raising one of his rifles. The other was on the floor. The man entered the laboratory, saw the flames and Nick, screamed something and aimed his Luger in Nick's direction.
  
  
  Nick fired and the bullet hit the man in the left shoulder. The man stood his ground. He fired again.
  
  
  Nick felt a sharp pain in his left side. He fired twice, the German dropped the Luger, grabbed his stomach and fell forward. The flame was behind Nick. He did not take the second rifle and ran into the corridor. He jumped over the lying body of the dead German and rushed down the corridor. At the other end, Chinese guards were walking towards him. He fired the rifle until it was empty. Then he retreated. Back to the laboratory.
  
  
  It was a raging inferno.
  
  
  He picked up a dead German with a Luger.'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He couldn't get another rifle. He was engulfed in flames.
  
  
  He lit a fire. He knew what he was capable of.
  
  
  To his left was a doorway. This was the doorway Lotus used when she first found the lab. He walked towards it, stopped, turned and dropped to one knee, holding the Luger tightly in his hand.
  
  
  The guards poured into the laboratory and stopped when the heat of the flames reached them. Then they saw Nick.
  
  
  Nick made Luger jump in his hand. The flame was now between him and the guards. He fired the last two bullets through the flames. Then, as a sign of defiance, he threw the Luger at the remaining guards. He knew he had killed at least four of them.
  
  
  He quickly stood up and ran, his hand reaching under his clothes for the pistol he had taken from one of the guards killed by Lotus.
  
  
  By some miracle the corridor was empty.
  
  
  He was in the compound amid chaos, confusion and screaming Chinese soldiers. No one seemed to notice him. One sergeant tried to bring order to the chaos. He ordered the men to form bucket brigades.
  
  
  Nick ran into the dining room and found Lotus excitedly watching the fire. “The roof is falling in,” she said, pointing.
  
  
  Nick watched as the roof of the building collapsed. He grabbed the girl by the shoulder. It's time to take a break. Even if we break the circuit of electric eye beams, we can still get away with it. Security guards have too much on their plate to worry about alarms."
  
  
  At first they walked slowly, skirting the crowd of soldiers, and then quickly rushed between two plaster pillars. Nobody tried to stop them. They continued running until they were completely exhausted, and then fell to the ground. Nick looked back and saw that the fire was still raging. It was orange-yellow against the foggy sky.
  
  
  "Now what?" she asked.
  
  
  “The man with the frozen face,” Nick said grimly.
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  Borman was holding the phone in his hands when Captain Stryker urgently knocked on the door. “Come in,” he barked. Stryker entered with a bright face. “Sim Chan is here. She insists on meeting you. I don't like the way it looks. She has blood in her eye."
  
  
  “It’s too early to be melodramatic,” Bormann growled. "Where is she?"
  
  
  “In your office. I told her to wait there."
  
  
  “Let me get dressed. Tell her I'll be with her soon." Borman watched Stryker leave and began to get dressed. He had just received news that the laboratory was no longer there. Burned to the ground. Sooner or later Stryker will have to find out about this. But how would this person react? Will he stay with him or desert?
  
  
  He fastened a wide leather belt with a holster around his waist. He made sure his Luger was loaded and got out.
  
  
  After the laboratory disappears, work on Agent Z will have to start all over again, from the very beginning. He wondered why Kerner didn't call himself. The caller was quite vague. There was something about a white man who tried to invade the territory and was captured and then executed. Soon after, the laboratory caught fire. The caller was one of the Chinese officers assigned to the complex.
  
  
  Borman entered his office and found Sim Chan sitting calmly in a leather-backed chair, cross-legged, smoking a cigarette. She was wearing a short leather jacket over a tight dress. He bowed stiffly and sat down at the table.
  
  
  Sim Chan looked at the mask-like face with disgust. “When I was driving from the laboratory to Beijing, I was thinking about showing you your treachery, Herr Bormann, and putting you down.” She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with the sole of her shoe. Her right hand slid into the pocket of her leather jacket.
  
  
  "Betrayal?"
  
  
  Was this man bullying her? “Yes, betrayal,” she hissed. "You're not going to hand Agent Z over to my people."
  
  
  "Where did you know this nonsense?"
  
  
  “From Kerner himself. He gave himself away." Then she grinned. "It wasn't long before I killed him."
  
  
  Bormann's back hardened like plaster. “Walter Kerner is dead? Then Agent Z died with him."
  
  
  "What are you talking about?" - she snapped.
  
  
  “The laboratory burned to the ground,” he told the Chinese girl. “He's gone. No laboratory, no papers, no agent Z.”
  
  
  "The formulas we used are in my head," she said.
  
  
  Borman stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Who are you, Sim Chan?"
  
  
  "Are you that stupid?" she spat. “I am an intelligence agent as well as a scientist. I became Kerner’s mistress just to keep an eye on him.”
  
  
  Bormann seemed to relax in his swivel chair. “So we need each other, Sim Chan. You're wrong about me. Perhaps Kerner had his own ideas about Agent Z. I don't know. I never tried to get into his mind to find out what he was thinking. I also believed that he was faithful to our cause. If he betrayed you, he betrayed me too."
  
  
  "You are too smart, Herr Bormann." Sim Chan studied the man thoughtfully. “You may be telling the truth, but I doubt it. Time will show".
  
  
  "We must trust each other if we are to achieve our main goal," he told her patronizingly. "You are an intelligent woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If we fight each other, we will achieve nothing except perhaps our own destruction. He took a cigarette from the ivory box on his desk and lit it with a heavy silver lighter. “Who was that white man that was captured last night?”
  
  
  "American. He did not give his name. We used Agent Z on him for experimental purposes and he died. There's still something wrong with the formula. Before Kerner introduced Agent Z to the American, he made a beautiful speech. about how he and his German friends were going to take over Germany. When the American's body was taken away, I ran into Kerner. This fool tried to kill me, thinking that all women are weak. It was he who died."
  
  
  "You don't know anything about the fire?"
  
  
  "There is nothing. I ordered a car and went... to talk to you.”
  
  
  “This fire could not be an accident,” Borman decided. "It had to be an American."
  
  
  “He was dead,” Sim Chan insisted.
  
  
  "Was he?" Borman released gray-blue smoke. “Describe an American.”
  
  
  Sim Chan described the man he and Kerner had drugged on, and Borman was sure it was Nick Carter.
  
  
  “Whoever he is,” said Sim Chan, “he’s dead.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t his ghost that burned the laboratory to the ground,” Borman said patiently.
  
  
  Sim Chan stubbornly stuck to his guns. Didn't she herself see how the American died? He couldn't fake death. Bormann had to be wrong. Well, if he was going to insist that dead people could live and start fires, she definitely wasn't going to argue with him. She always doubted the man's sanity. She knew he had plastic surgery on his face. She knew that his hands were not hands, but stainless steel claws. No man could go through all this and still maintain his sanity. She knew she had to humor the crazy. Well, she would joke with this man who was so confident in himself. He was supposed to be an ally of her people, but she highly doubted it. She is used to playing games in her chosen profession. She knew that Bormann could not touch her. Only after Kerner's death could she begin experimenting again to improve Agent Z.
  
  
  "You're going after your Nick Carter," she said. "It's your problem, not mine."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Borman nodded in agreement. "Yes. Let me worry about Carter. We'll find a new location for the lab, but we shouldn't start experimenting again until Carter is dead."
  
  
  "What should I do until then?" - she asked sarcastically. "Turn your thumbs?"
  
  
  “You can stay here as my guest,” he kindly invited.
  
  
  Sim Chan agreed that it was a good idea. "That way we can keep an eye on each other."
  
  
  Borman met Captain Stryker in the courtyard. He told Stryker about the laboratory being burned to the ground and the death of Walter Kerner. He saw the desperation on Stryker's face and quickly added that Sim Chan could improve Agent Z.
  
  
  "But when?" - asked Stryker.
  
  
  “Nothing can be done until Carter is dead. It had to be Carter who set the lab on fire. I want you to go to Qing Tuo and find out what you can. . See what you can find out. Visit the area, talk to the soldiers there. Someone must have seen something."
  
  
  "I'll go immediately."
  
  
  “What about the guards who were on duty the night Carter slipped through and killed two of our men? Did you find out anything?
  
  
  "Not yet. I have three of our people still working on it.”
  
  
  "Fine. And call me when you find out anything."
  
  
  Stryker turned and took off.
  
  
  Borman knew that things were going badly. He was so close, so damn close, and then Carter showed up. Without Kerner everything will be difficult. He knew that Sim Chan didn't trust him. But she was his only hope. Once Agent Z is perfected, he will kill her and then leave China as quickly as possible.
  
  
  But Carter was his first concern. Where the hell was this man?
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  Nick was ready to return to Beijing when Lotus discovered that he had been shot in the side. Nick explained that it was just a fold. She made him wait in the car while she went to the village to get bandages and medicine. Nick's protests were in vain.
  
  
  When she returned it was dawn and they decided to stay there until dark. She bandaged it carefully like a professional nurse.
  
  
  He tucked his shirt into his pants. The sun was overhead, hot and yellow. "Don't tell me no one suspects."
  
  
  “The village doctor provided medicine and dressings. I gave him all our cigarettes. He didn't ask questions."
  
  
  "Do you trust him?"
  
  
  “No,” she answered simply. “But there was no choice. I didn't want you to get infected."
  
  
  “We can’t stay here,” Nick told her. “When the boys in the compound find these two bodies in the cafeteria, they will start thinking, and this whole village will be swarming with soldiers.”
  
  
  “You agreed that we cannot travel in daylight. We must stay here until it gets dark."
  
  
  “Too dangerous. If they question the doctor and he talks, that's what we're in for."
  
  
  Lotus saw the meaning of his reasoning, but it was well hidden here in the foliage. If only N
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wanted to stay in the village.
  
  
  “You know this family. What can you offer them? We have no more money."
  
  
  “They don't like Germans. I can tell them that the Germans are after us.”
  
  
  "You're grasping at straws."
  
  
  She shrugged and said she would leave it up to him.
  
  
  Nick checked the weapons and ammunition. There were two pistols and a rifle. There were six bullets in the rifle. One of the pistols was fully loaded. The other had three rounds in the clip. It's not exactly a two-man army. “How can I get through if your friends say it’s normal?” he wanted to know.
  
  
  “People will be in the rice fields. All of them will work there, except for the very old and young children. I'll talk to them. They won't say yes if they don't. They are noble."
  
  
  "If they tell the others..."
  
  
  "They won't," she insisted. Before he could say anything else, she turned and ran. He grinned after her.
  
  
  Late in the evening, Captain Stryker called Borman from camp. Two guards were found dead in the cafeteria toilet. He organized a search party.
  
  
  "Have you learned anything about the man who was captured?" - asked Borman.
  
  
  “He was wearing a black suit. Probably used it to get into the Imperial Palace."
  
  
  “Very smart,” Bormann said dryly.
  
  
  “Some of the men saw his body being taken out of the laboratory. But two guards claim to have seen him later in the laboratory while it was still burning. The two were badly burned and are in the infirmary. They were lucky. Their comrades were killed. , shot by a man."
  
  
  "Carter must have returned to Beijing," Borman said. "He wouldn't be stupid enough to stay there, not after he accomplished what he set out to do."
  
  
  "Can I stop searching?"
  
  
  "I'll leave it up to you, Captain Stryker."
  
  
  Stryker heard a click and realized that Borman had hung up. He put the phone in the cradle. Borman believed that the man had returned to Beijing, but there was always the possibility that he was hiding somewhere, trying to regain his strength. The man must be exhausted from all the chaos he has created. Where would he be if he were still around? There has always been Qing Tuo Village. It would be foolhardy for a normal person to try to hide in the village, but this was no normal person.
  
  
  He might have stopped in a village for a quick investigation before heading to Beijing. There is no need to take Chinese soldiers with you. If he did find Carter, he was confident that he could handle him alone. He wouldn't sleep like the Germans Carter killed in their beds. Kerner was more of a scientist than a soldier. And the Chinese soldiers were stupid. No, Stryker was not a boy. He was a professional soldier. He was more than a match for this American idiot. Maybe Bormann was afraid of him. But not Stryker. Of course not.
  
  
  Stryker left the small makeshift office and got into his car. He motioned to the guard standing in the doorway of one of the two remaining buildings. The guard went inside to cut the electric beam. Stryker left the camp.
  
  
  Killing this man, Carter, would not be serious. He knew how Carter tormented Bormann. It would be a real feat to accomplish what Bormann never managed.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lotus and Nick sat on the straw beds, their backs against the wall of the thatched hut. They had just finished eating and their stomachs were full and satisfied.
  
  
  “I feel dirty,” Nick admitted. "I wish I could take a bath."
  
  
  “A stream flows nearby. But now it is dangerous to go there. We were lucky that no one noticed us coming in.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of jade. “That’s where our luck comes from.”
  
  
  "What it is?"
  
  
  "The jade I took from my father's dead body," she reminded him.
  
  
  "Did you carry it with you?"
  
  
  "Yes. I hope this brings me more luck than it did my father. We Chinese are superstitious, aren't we?"
  
  
  "No more than most people."
  
  
  Lotus suddenly bowed her head. "I hear a car."
  
  
  Nick struggled to his feet. He looked out the doorway. The car was driving towards the village across an open field. There was one occupant. Lotus was next to Nick. She sucked in a sharp breath. "This is Captain Stryker." Her fingers, like steel claws, pressed against Nick's hand. “I told you about him. He's cruel."
  
  
  Several old peasants stood near their huts; they ignored the car.
  
  
  Stryker braked and got out. He pulled out his Luger and began a systematic search of the huts from left to right.
  
  
  Lotus was pressed against the wall of the hut, and Nick was pressed against the wall near the doorway. He had one pistol in his belt, but he didn't want to shoot Stryker; he didn't want the people in the rice fields to hear the shot.
  
  
  When Stryker entered the hut, his Luger jutted out at least two feet in front of him. Nick hit his wrist with the pistol and the Luger fell. Stryker ignored the pain in his wrist and rammed his left fist into Nick's face. Nick rolled away from the blow. He dropped to both knees, wrapped his arms around Stryker's ankles, and pulled. Stryker retreated
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick was on top of him, his knee buried in the hole in the German's stomach and his fingers on Stryker's neck. Stryker pushed Nick's head away with his palm.
  
  
  Nick had to let go of Stryker's neck or his own neck would have been broken.
  
  
  Nick jumped to his feet as Stryker lunged at him. Nick stepped back, quickly turned around and wrapped his arms around Stryker's neck. Stryker's back pressed against Nick's front. Nick kept his legs spread wide so Stryker couldn't rest on his shins. Stryker tried to throw Nick over his shoulder, but his strength was quickly fading. Nick's hand was pressed against his windpipe, cutting off oxygen to his brain.
  
  
  Nick bared his teeth as he felt the man begin to fall. He didn't let go until he was sure Stryker wouldn't survive. Then his hand came off, and the German collapsed like a rag doll that had run out of sawdust.
  
  
  Nick knelt down and began to undress the man.
  
  
  "What are you doing?" - asked Lotus.
  
  
  “We're about the same size,” Nick said. - I'm taking his uniform and his car. It will be safer than Packard."
  
  
  "We can't leave his body here."
  
  
  "We will not. We'll leave him in some ditch." Nick added Luger to his collection. He put on the Stryker uniform and found it just right.
  
  
  "When are we leaving?"
  
  
  "Soon. But nice and slow. I don't want to go to Beijing until it gets dark. Along the way we will stop at some village or farm and have a good dinner.” He showed her the money he took from Captain Stryker's body. “Borman pays his people well. Nothing too good for the master race.”
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  The guard was shot on Bormann's orders. Sim Chan did not interfere; she just wanted to know why.
  
  
  In his office, with his hip resting on the edge of his desk and one leg dangling, Borman explained that the guard had left his post to be with a prostitute named Lotus the night Agent AX. Carter slipped into the Imperial Palace to kill two of his men. The man finally cracked under the pressure. Bormann controlled the guards subordinate to him for life and death; this was part of his agreement with the ChiComs.
  
  
  Sim Chan shrugged her slender shoulders. She wore black trousers, a white blouse and a short alpaca jacket with wide pockets. She liked the wide pockets - a good place to hide a gun. “I don’t care about the death of the guard. I was just curious."
  
  
  “I called the Beijing police to find out where this Lotus lives. When I receive their response, I will interrogate her personally. I don't trust anyone but me to get Carter."
  
  
  Sim Chan raised her eyebrows mockingly. “Are you afraid that if I meet him again, he might convince me of your betrayal?”
  
  
  Borman frowned. In his mind, he vowed to kill Sim Chan as soon as she perfected Agent Z. She continued to rub him the wrong way, taunting him, mocking him. “This is a personal matter,” he said hoarsely. This isn't the first time he's bothered me. So your sarcastic remarks are in vain. My skin is as hard as leather."
  
  
  “Not strong enough to stop a bullet,” she chuckled.
  
  
  He was about to protest when the phone rang. He listened carefully and hung up.
  
  
  “You look pleased with yourself,” Sim Chan said. "Was that good news, Herr Bormann?"
  
  
  “Better than I expected. I have the girl's address. The police added some information that they thought might interest me. You, of course, know that I killed a man who was a liaison for the Americans. He had a rarity. It seems he had a daughter named Lotus, and there was a rift between them because she became a prostitute."
  
  
  “So Lotus has a reason to help Nick Carter,” Sim Chan mused. "If Agent Z couldn't kill Carter, maybe one of my bullets can."
  
  
  “I must insist that you do not interfere,” Bormann snapped. He checked his Luger, put an extra clip in his jacket pocket, and walked out.
  
  
  Sim Chan waited a full minute before she casually walked out of his office….
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Martin Bormann found Captain Maximilian Able in the bedroom of the Lotus apartment. The man has been missing for two days. Borman decided that he had been dead all this time. The toilet was stuffy, but there was no body stench. He was puzzled.
  
  
  He heard the front door open and close and pulled out his Luger. There were voices. Male and female.
  
  
  He moved and stopped in the doorway, his Luger covering Nick Carter and the Lotus.
  
  
  Lotus gasped when she saw him. Nick slowly raised his hands. He almost wanted to try and reach for the gun in his belt, but it got him nowhere. He would have been shot before he could touch metal. His arms were raised high.
  
  
  “We meet again, Carter,” Borman said.
  
  
  "It's funny how we keep bumping into each other," Nick said lightly. “It’s as if the gods decreed it.”
  
  
  “But this is the last time, Carter. Our very last meeting. When I leave here you will be very dead.”
  
  
  “This is the work of the gods,” Nick said. He nodded towards Lotus. “Why don’t you let her go? She can't hurt you."
  
  
  “She knows too much. Besides, she helped you. You almost ruined my plans, Carter."
  
  
  "Almost?"
  
  
  "You undoubtedly know that Kerner is dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  And you took care of the laboratory. But I still have Sim Chan. She will provide me with Agent Z. And then, Carter, I will become the new Fuhrer of Germany. This will be the first step. With the help of these stupid Chinese communists, I... - Borman suddenly stopped, and his eyes widened, looking over Nick's shoulder. His finger began to tighten on the trigger.
  
  
  Nick quickly craned his neck and saw Sim Chan in the doorway with a gun in his hand. He pushed Lotus out of the way of the fire and dove to the floor. Sim Chan and Borman fired simultaneously, both shots sounded like one.
  
  
  Nick and Lotus huddled behind the sofa. Nick pulled the gun from his belt and looked around the arm of the sofa.
  
  
  Sim Chan was on her knees, blood oozing from her chest. She was still holding the gun. She tried to shoot again when Borman sent a bullet into her brain. She collapsed on the floor. Blood was flowing from Bormann's shoulder. He was hit. He turned, saw Nick aiming at him, fell to one knee and fired.
  
  
  Nick threw his head back. The bullet almost grazed his cheek.
  
  
  Lotus walked to the other side of the sofa with a gun in her hand. This was her chance to avenge her father's death. She knew that the man with the frozen face had ordered her father's murder. She quickly jumped up, exposing herself, and opened fire on her hated enemy.
  
  
  Borman howled in pain, moved his Luger and fired twice.
  
  
  Behind him, Nick heard Lotus scream in pain. He jumped to his feet just in time to see Bormann heading towards the bedroom. Nick followed him.
  
  
  Borman was jumping out the window when Nick shot at point blank range. He ran to the window and saw Borman rushing across the street. He shot again and again. Why didn't the man fall? Bormann was not there, he was swallowed up by the night.
  
  
  Bormann was wounded at least three times, but he continued to walk. Nick swore silently. Pure willpower. Man was made of iron. But a bullet in the back should have finished him off. “Probably climb into a hole and die,” Nick thought. He couldn't live after that.
  
  
  But Bormann was not a man. Yet he was made of flesh and blood.
  
  
  “He must die,” Nick shouted into the night. He returned to the living room and found Lotus behind the sofa, eyes open, peacefully dying.
  
  
  “I don’t want to leave you in this state,” he told the dead girl, “but I have to.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
  
  
  It was time to leave. He got up.
  
  
  Police found two dead Chinese women in the apartment and a German woman in the bedroom closet. This would give them something to think about.
  
  
  Nick looked at Lotus one more time and left.
  
  
  
  
  ========================== ======================================= == ==========================
  
  
  
  
  
  annotation
  
  
  In N. Carter's novel Blue Death, an FBI agent investigates the sinister experiments of a secret Nazi organization related to the development of chemical weapons.
  
  
  1
  
  
  Chapter first
  
  
  Cutting through the darkness of the night in the ominous silence, dazzling flashes illuminated the hazy sky in the north, foreshadowing a storm of monstrous force. It seemed that a storm coming from outer space was about to hit this remote corner of the universe. Unearthly flashes of neon light awakened in the subconscious of the people on the longboat memories of a long-past era, instilling vague anxiety: none of them had ever observed such quirks of the northern lights at this time of year.
  
  
  A heavily built American standing on the bow of the old sloop looked with fury at the raging sea. Just twenty minutes ago the fog above it was so thick that you could cut it with a knife and serve it for dessert instead of pudding. Forecasters predicted thick fog over Northern Europe and Southern Scandinavia that night. For the second day now, the longboat was heading to its destination, remaining unnoticed by the coast guard, stars sparkled along the small islands in the strait of the sky, and in the north - these treacherous flashes, plunging a person into atavistic horror. In the distance, a black stripe appeared on the coast of Musco, the sight of which finally confirmed the American’s opinion that weather forecasters could not be trusted, despite all their expensive technical equipment.
  
  
  Clutching the forestay with one hand, the gloomy big man gritted his teeth and wrinkled his forehead in frustration, feverishly considering the possible undesirable consequences of this surprise of nature. Finally he decided that he should continue the mission, despite the bad jokes of the weather. It was at this moment that the hoarse voice of the Swede standing at the helm was heard, drowning out the howl of the wind and the creaking of the mast:
  
  
  - It seems to me that we are at the goal, mister! - he shouted, distorting English words into a Scandinavian manner.
  
  
  - Five more miles, Lars! - The American shook his head. - As agreed. Otherwise we won't get to the shore.
  
  
  “The fog has cleared, I can’t get any closer,” the old man said angrily. - In the restricted area, they shoot first, and only then talk, if there is anyone else...
  
  
  The wrinkled, weathered face of the sailor, testifying to the many trials that befell him, expressed the unshakable stubbornness of a man confident in his rightness.
  
  
  “Okay, have it your way, old man,” the passenger waved his hand. “Just try to stay the same course for at least a few more minutes: we need to check the equipment.”
  
  
  With these words, the American nodded to his partner, and they went down the ladder into the hold to prepare for the final, underwater, stage of their dangerous journey. All their equipment, of course, was in perfect order, but the leader of the group, wise with rich experience of immersion in the unpredictable water elements, considered it necessary to once again make sure of this, as if it had been bought on occasion in the port from a dubious merchant.
  
  
  Even in the dim light of the only light bulb in the cabin, one glance at this man’s face was enough to understand that it belonged to a decisive, courageous and intelligent man, who, however, judging by the sly sparkles in his eyes, was not without cunning and a sense of humor. It is no coincidence that the US Secret Service considered him one of the outstanding knights of the cloak and dagger.
  
  
  “But how will we overcome the protective network?” his partner asked with concern, seeing that the boss was satisfied with the results of the inspection.
  
  
  “We’ll just dive under it, Chet,” Nick smiled indulgently. - After all, you had to go down to great depths, didn’t you? Besides, we simply have no choice, old Lars seems to have gotten pretty cold. But I don't blame him for this; without fog, the ship becomes an excellent target. Well, it's time for us to go.
  
  
  Putting on wetsuits and air tanks, they climbed onto the deck, wet from salty spray.
  
  
  - Good luck! — the old skipper waved his hand at them.
  
  
  - And you too, buddy! - Nick shouted to him, looking anxiously at the foamy waves. - My advice to you: return safely to the port, don’t get drunk to celebrate and try not to waste all your dollars on one beauty.
  
  
  “I’m too old for this,” the sailor grinned.
  
  
  “You can’t tell by looking at you,” Nick noted with a smile, glancing at the strong figure of the sea wolf. - Yes, and one more thing: if you don’t want to end your life behind bars, refrain from selling an anti-radar device for now.
  
  
  “I’ve been to prison,” responded the Swede. “But I would prefer to be there again than to dive into the icy water with you in this devilish bay.” And if you are caught, they will put you on an atomic bomb and throw you on the moon. Ha ha ha!
  
  
  Pleased with his joke, the skipper continued to laugh for a long time, even when his passengers disappeared under the water. A gusty wind filled the sloop's sail and quickly carried it away into the darkness of the night.
  
  
  The heads of the intrepid swimmers, however, soon reappeared between the crests of the waves: they still needed to be fastened to powerful electric scooters. Nick’s young partner looked at the sky and remarked in a fallen voice:
  
  
  - I don’t like the damn northern lights today! An evil omen... And our task is not easy.
  
  
  Nick didn’t answer him: the eerie flashes really didn’t bode well, but now it was better not to pay attention to them. He signaled to his partner to dive and silently went into the depths of the sea to complete this protracted journey to the forbidden island.
  
  
  The rocky islet of Musco, which they needed to get to, at first glance did not stand out among the other islands, peninsulas and reefs off the southern coast of Sweden. Few people knew yet that an entire city was built here in a short time - with hotels, theaters, factories, offices, garages and even military bases. A remarkable feature of this city was that it was built underground, and therefore reliably protected from missiles and bombs by a thick layer of granite.
  
  
  While other countries were investing millions of dollars and rubles in the development of atomic and nuclear weapons, Sweden began to create underground shelters on the coast where the population could hide from the horrors of a future war. The first town, built in the strictest secrecy, became a kind of experimental laboratory in which both psychological and purely technical problems related to survival in the coming atomic battle of the superpowers for world domination were solved.
  
  
  However, the insidious betrayal of Colonel Wennerstrom, a high-ranking Swedish officer who defected to the Russians, confused the Swedes all their plans. The traitor gave Moscow the most secret information about the defense structures of Musco, and the Swedes had to rebuild the entire defense system of the island. During this colossal work, scientists and military personnel for the first time realized that their underground shelter had an Achilles heel.
  
  
  To prevent a sudden enemy invasion of the island, jet fighter-interceptors were in constant combat readiness at the underground air base. The most advanced radars probed the surrounding air and water space around the clock. The pine-covered slopes of the rocky coast could open at any moment and release patrol boats and destroyers from the docks, capable of reliably blocking the path of any ship that dared to try to penetrate the forbidden zone.
  
  
  Nick Carter, silently approaching the island through the black waters, understood perfectly well that it was almost impossible to get to it unnoticed; the fate of the madmen who decided to do this was predetermined. But nevertheless, he agreed to participate in this dangerous experiment - for the safety of the entire nation and, possibly, all of humanity. Only a few people knew about this task, for which the superspy was provided with all the necessary equipment and the right to choose his own assistant.
  
  
  Discussing the upcoming mission with his boss, a wiry, middle-aged man named Hawk, who has been heading one of the divisions of the US Secret Service for many years, Nick Carter noticed that people have not yet created such a structure that an outsider could not penetrate if desired.
  
  
  “I was convinced of this from my own experience,” he added.
  
  
  Hawk looked at him thoughtfully, chewed his lips and, putting out his cigar in the ashtray, said in a calm tone:
  
  
  “It would also be nice to get out of there alive.” If the Swedes have any difficulties with their safety, then let them solve their problems themselves. And I don't want to lose my best agent because of them.
  
  
  — What about the security of the US air defense control center? — Nick Carter asked just as calmly.
  
  
  “Well, that’s an interesting question,” Hawk said, lighting a new cigarette. - This is really worth thinking about.
  
  
  They were both well aware that the US air defense control center was located in a mountain range in Colorado, strongly reminiscent of the rocky islet of Musco, and if it turned out that the attackers could penetrate the Swedish bastion, then there was no guarantee that they would not use their experience to penetrate a similar facility in the USA.
  
  
  Apparently this thought caused Hawk to change his mind, because he eventually authorized the operation.
  
  
  Nick chose Chet as his partner, an experienced agent with an engineering degree and extensive knowledge of speleology and underwater navigation. In the process of preparing for the secret mission, it soon became clear to them that the Swedish military attache, who proposed that Washington carry it out, was guided by more than purely hypothetical concerns. There are serious reasons to believe that one of the Asian powers bordering Russia is showing increased interest in scientific research conducted in a secret laboratory on the island of Musco. Some facts even indicated that there was already a gap in the Swedish defense system...
  
  
  That’s why two secret agents of the US Special Security Service, taking different routes, reached a small fishing village in Sweden, agreed with a trusted skipper that, under the cover of fog, he would take them in his longboat to the restricted area at night, and were now approaching the anti-submarine net underwater. At the risk of being noticed by a patrol plane or boat, Nick turned on a powerful electric flashlight from time to time. Finally, his beam snatched out from the darkness threads that resembled the web of an unprecedented sea spider.
  
  
  Of course, it was possible to simply cut the network, which would simplify the task, but then a signal light would immediately flash on the control panel in the underground bunker, and their location would be indicated on the map. The same thing would happen if they tried to get over the top edge of the net. Knowing this, Nick studied all similar security systems in advance and finally found a way to penetrate the underground city while remaining undetected. Now it was time to share this discovery with his partner, and he gave him the signal to rise to the surface.
  
  
  - How are you feeling, Chet? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Not the Bahamas, of course, but still easier than training at a survival school,” he answered. All special agents from time to time took a mandatory preparatory course there before the next assignment in order to be in shape.
  
  
  “Okay,” said Carter, “we’ll have to dive to great depths, and it won’t be easy, but there have been more difficult situations, as you yourself noted.” — He glanced at the glowing dial of his watch. “You shouldn’t rush, but you shouldn’t waste time either.” Act carefully and calmly, and in twenty minutes you and I will be knocking on the door of the Swedes from the back door.
  
  
  They again began to dive into the depths in complete darkness, checking the instruments from time to time, and with each atom the water became colder and colder. The lower edge of the net stretched at a depth of two hundred feet...
  
  
  But what is it? Golden stiletto? Nika's hand reached out to the elegant handle, made by the ancient craftsman as if especially for him, the bravest of the bravest. But where did familiar faces suddenly come from at such depths? How did all these kings, generals and cardinals from the pages of historical novels end up here? Do they really want to take possession of a stiletto intended exclusively for Nick Carter? Nick grabbed his find and began to examine it with admiration, feeling extraordinary excitement and delight. A bright flash suddenly blinded him, he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that he was surrounded by women of indescribable beauty. They made inviting signs to him, expressing their joy at meeting him and the desire to immediately shower him with their caresses. Their flexible bodies, exuding bliss and passion, beckoned, the beauties whispered something, evoking memories of stuffy Caribbean nights and fun in European capitals with seductive fairies of all colors and skin tones. Nick felt extraordinary bliss. He was irresistibly drawn to the surface, where the magic stiletto would certainly immediately display all its mysterious power...
  
  
  Nick heard someone's sarcastic laughter, and an inner voice clearly told him that ascending faster would lead to inevitable death. Nick realized that he had not yet completely lost the ability to soberly assess what was happening, his subconscious told him that he was showing symptoms of nitrogen narcosis: this had happened to him before during a dive to a significant depth. Changes in blood composition affected the brain, causing hallucinations. Nick looked anxiously at his partner and involuntarily shuddered at what he saw: he saw the deathly pale face of a madman, on which the mark of death already lay.
  
  
  Chet was in the deepest trance caused by nitrogen narcosis. He tore the mask off his face, and bubbles of air floated from his mouth. His scooter made intricate figures in the darkness, rising and falling again, around Carter. But as soon as Nick extended his hand with a flashlight and illuminated Chet’s face, his eyes suddenly acquired a mischievous sparkle, his mouth twisted in a mocking grin, and before Nick had time to bring the scuba mouthpiece to him, the guy deftly dodged and rushed away at high speed into the darkness. Nick had no choice but to see him off with a sad farewell glance.
  
  
  A nervous chill ran down the back of the surviving American. Something happened to his young partner that often happens to inexperienced divers at great depths: he could not resist the urge to rip off his mask. Perhaps, Nick noted with a gloomy grin, he had a premonition of his death before the dive...
  
  
  Carter shook his head, driving away unnecessary guesses. Secret Service agents are trained to leave their fallen comrades where they died and continue their mission. Nick glanced at his watch: for the second time that night, he had to decide whether to follow the plan or turn back. And he had no time to think. In a few minutes, even the devils would get hot in the bay: the special agent took care of this in advance.
  
  
  Chapter two
  
  
  Hiding in a cave at the foot of the cliff, Nick patiently waited for the right moment, trying not to think that the air in the tank was running out. In the darkness, thousands of invisible eyes watched to ensure that no foreign object intruded into the restricted area. But then a ray of light fell on the black bottom of the cold Baltic Sea. Nick smiled: his calculation turned out to be correct, it was time to act. He came out of hiding and swam towards the light.
  
  
  The water around him began to boil furiously: it was a patrol destroyer rushing right over his head. This is what was supposed to happen, according to plan: the special electronic device Nick left behind began sending distracting signals.
  
  
  As soon as Nick slipped into the passage that had opened in the underwater fence, the hydraulic mechanism again pulled the giant net. Alarmed by a strange image that appeared on the radar screen, the Swedes wasted no time. Nick smiled, remembering Lars: the experienced skipper was probably already far from the dangerous area where the patrol ship was now plowing the lead waves of the bay in search of an intruder. The electronic device will haunt his commander for several more hours, forcing him to rush around the island in pursuit of the ghost. Nick surfaced and looked around.
  
  
  At first glance, the underground bay was no different from the port of an ordinary naval base. Several patrol boats stood at the berths, loading cranes rose above the slipways, access tracks ran away from the hangars into the darkness, sailors in blue naval suits were hurrying somewhere, and cigarette lights were flashing. And only the arched reinforced concrete structures of the huge cave vault testified to the uniqueness of this structure in the belly of a rocky island, leading the astonished contemplator to think that he found himself in the twenty-first century.
  
  
  Nick shook his head. This mission was completely unlike any he had ever performed in his many years of intelligence service, and he was glad that he was close to completing this unusual mission. Heavy footsteps thundered along the walkway above his head, and an angry, rough voice said in Swedish:
  
  
  “I don’t care about anxiety,” the midshipman reprimanded the sailor. “Even if it’s the end of the world, I won’t allow a Swedish warship to have its ends dangling in the water!” In the old days, for such deeds, three skins were skinned! Raise the line immediately!
  
  
  Nick could only guess at the meaning of the salty words with which the non-commissioned officer accompanied his angry tirade: they were not included in the accelerated course in Swedish, which he studied at Georgetown University. Well, Carter thought, humanity can reach the stars and burrow deep underground if necessary, but midshipmen will remain midshipmen, and sergeants will remain sergeants.
  
  
  Once he was sure the dock above him was empty, he climbed onto one of the support beams and pulled off his rubber wetsuit, then tied it around his gear and sank him down. Then he changed into the uniform of a Swedish sailor, checked again the waterproof bag on the belt under his jacket with ingenious special devices, his weapons - a 7 mm Lugger pistol, a stiletto and a cylinder of nerve gas, and climbed out from under the gangway.
  
  
  Once on the pier, the first thing he did was look around, hoping to find a mop that someone had forgotten. Since the time of Caesar, no one has paid attention to a soldier with a mop in his hands. However, at the moment, fortune turned away from Carter: there was no mop nearby, but an officer who suddenly appeared from nowhere called out to Nick himself with this slang word:
  
  
  - Hey, mop! I'm turning to you, sailor! Straighten your blouse and stop loitering around!
  
  
  Nick saluted with a grin and, straightening his blouse that had treacherously ridden up at the back, quickly walked away in the direction of the huge granite wall of the dock. Nobody paid any attention to him. The junior officer on duty at the warehouse calmly sipped his coffee, leafing through the pages of an illustrated magazine. Having crossed the access roads, Nick confidently approached the metal staircase, climbed it and walked along the walkways for repairing electrical wiring to another staircase mounted directly on the wall of the cave. Having climbed it to a small platform intended for installation and repair of lighting fixtures under the cave arch, he looked down: at that moment the hydraulic doors of the dock gates smoothly parted, allowing the returning destroyer to pass. From above, the ship looked like a plastic toy model, and the sailors looked like tiny gnomes.
  
  
  Above Nick's head, a huge air conditioner started working - part of a general ventilation system connected by a pipeline, providing air purification in a giant underground city with its docks, depots and a lot of military and auxiliary equipment. With the exception of an accident near the underwater barrier network, as a result of some Nick lost his assistant, while everything was going well. But now, raising his head, the superspy saw that his main difficulty was still ahead.
  
  
  The problem was that the ventilation hole was located a little high. Together with a partner, they could solve this problem without much effort. Now he could only grab the edge or bracket of the air conditioner by standing on the railing of the catwalk and jumping from it over the harbor. Nick looked down: hitting the water when falling from such a height meant certain death. His corpse would hardly have been identified after this, even if it had been possible to collect it from small pieces before the fish devoured them.
  
  
  Nick attached miniature electromagnets to his hands, with their help he could move along a steel pipeline like a fly on the ceiling. It was only necessary not to lose the rhythm and not to tear both hands off the metal surface at the same time.
  
  
  Trying not to look down at where the tiny sailors were fussing, Nick climbed onto the railing, leaning his fingertips on the wall, and took a breath. Before the jump, one had to maintain absolute composure. The slightest mistake and he would fall from a height of two hundred feet onto concrete or water. If he had stood firmly with both feet on the floor, and not on the slippery pipe, he could have easily jumped to the ventilation hole. An inner voice urged him: “Give up this stupid idea, Carter! It’s clear that you can’t handle this matter alone!” His palms were sweating and his heart was beating faster as he took a deep breath and looked again at the opening of the pipeline: it was not an inch closer.
  
  
  - No! - he said to his inner voice and jumped.
  
  
  For an instant, his entire strong body was filled with mortal terror. But the magnets were already firmly stuck to the pipeline, he pulled himself up with his hands and climbed inside. Now you could turn off the magnets and smoke a cigarette. Ahead of him was a difficult march through the ventilation labyrinth through the entire underground city. Chet, an expert in narrow, dark caves, would be very useful to him right now.
  
  
  Dinner ended and the guests left. All except one. Sitting on the veranda of her home on the Musco coast, Astrid Lundgren nervously twirled her silver glass with her fingers, clearly not delighted that her guest was late. However, the young man, comfortably seated opposite her on a sun lounger, calmly admired the northern lights, as if observing them for the first time.
  
  
  - What are you thinking about, Astrid? — he finally broke the painful silence. —About work again? You are not a woman, but a machine. Do you know what your colleagues called you? They called you...
  
  
  “I’m not interested in this at all,” the mistress of the house interrupted him, looking at her guest with a bored look. Yes, he's tall, that blond one, and handsome as Adonis, not to mention that he was once on the ski team that represented Sweden at the Olympics, which greatly contributed to his successful career in the Swedish security service, Chief which, Vice Admiral Larson, for some reason favored him. If it weren't for her friends insisting that Astrid spend more time relaxing and socializing, she wouldn't have given this young athlete any reason to think she was interested in him.
  
  
  “So, they called you the Swedish Iceberg,” the stubborn handsome man finally finished the phrase. Astrid had heard other things from men, but she couldn’t allow herself to worry about it: as the head of the technical support department for the entire underground complex, she had enough other problems. Men were very annoyed that such an attractive woman as Astrid preferred work to married life, and Knut was no exception to this. What especially infuriated him was the fact that Astrid was very successful in the scientific field.
  
  
  Without reacting in any way to Knut’s next barb, she just shrugged her shoulders and stretched out her slender legs, throwing back her head and curling her full lips in a sarcastic grin. The delicate milky white skin of her face with high cheekbones contrasted effectively with her green eyes.
  
  
  Knut walked up to her and, plopping down on a nearby chaise longue, ran his hand over her cheeks and neck, glancing sideways at the neckline of her dress.
  
  
  “You are an ice goddess,” he said in a low voice, “you drive me crazy.” I lost sleep!
  
  
  Astrid remained cold as an iceberg.
  
  
  - You are like a star - beautiful and inaccessible in its radiance...
  
  
  “Is he really so stupid that he thinks I will melt at his words?” - she thought with irritation.
  
  
  - But you are not an ordinary star, you don’t care about men at all. Apparently, you prefer the caresses of women...
  
  
  “If you think that I’ll sleep with you to prove that I’m not a lesbian, then you’re mistaken,” Astrid said calmly.
  
  
  “And yet, you will do it,” he said hoarsely. Astrid regretted that she had not removed the whiskey from the table in time.
  
  
  - I will light a fire in your heart! he rumbled, kissing her neck and wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her hips. Astrid tried to free herself from his embrace, but the Whip was too strong.
  
  
  She had almost decided to give herself to him, thinking that she had inflamed him, but then the thought occurred to her that once she had given in to his advances, she would never get rid of him. Astrid abruptly pushed Whip away and jumped up from the sun lounger, leaving the top of her evening dress in his hands.
  
  
  “I urgently need to go to the laboratory,” she breathed.
  
  
  “Not today, my dear,” he growled, not taking his bloodshot eyes off her naked bust.
  
  
  Astrid rushed to the door, but he caught up with her and, tearing off her skirt, fell on her with his whole body. However, she managed to escape again. She rushed out of the house and ran towards the trees behind him, laughing hysterically.
  
  
  The clatter of his boots could be heard behind him. He grabbed her hand, Astrid turned around and, kicking him in the shin with her bare foot, struck him on the chin with her free hand. The blond giant staggered, she grabbed him by the wrist and with a deft move threw him over her hip to the ground. He fell heavily on his face, burying his face in pine needles. Astrid twisted his arms back and pressed him even further to the ground with her foot.
  
  
  - Behave yourself! - she said instructively.
  
  
  - Bitch! - he croaked.
  
  
  “Do you promise that you’ll be a good boy if I let you go?” she asked.
  
  
  - I will finish you! - he promised her.
  
  
  “Listen, Knut,” she decided to change tactics, “you are an excellent man, handsome and strong.” But now our country is on the verge of disaster, you know that. And if our physicists fail to find a way to prevent it, the Chinese, with the help of their powerful laser weapons, will penetrate the Musco granite, cutting it with a beam like a knife through butter. That is why I am only concerned about the problem of our defense for now. Be patient until the crisis passes.
  
  
  Knut's ardor cooled slightly: pine needles were not to his taste. She finally allowed him to rise from the ground, and he hurriedly left, muttering something unintelligible in parting, which Astrid took as an apology.
  
  
  Returning to the bedroom, she changed clothes and, leaving the house again, got into her small English sports car. The powerful engine roared angrily, breaking the silence of the dark forest, and the car rushed towards the laboratory. There was still a lot of time left before her colleagues arrived, and Astrid hoped to work productively alone. The Chinese laser haunted her; scientists of this great Asian country were close to completing work on its creation. And probably Chinese agents tried to infiltrate the secret Swedish laboratory. If it weren't for Vice Admiral Larson and his guys, they would have succeeded long ago. But thanks to the vigilant security service, neither mackerel nor sea gull could slip into the island's holy of holies unnoticed.
  
  
  - Hello Beautiful! - A familiar guard at the entrance to the laboratory building smiled at her. - Where is our pass?
  
  
  Presenting her pass, Astrid took the elevator down to the laboratory. Walking along the long corridor, she was already thinking only about work. Astrid has almost found a way to neutralize the new Chinese weapons, having conducted a series of successful experiments based on theoretical research in the field of force fields. The trouble was that people working on this problem with her suddenly died.
  
  
  There was a suspicion that they were killed by some unknown rays arising during scientific experiments. There have already been urgent calls to stop dangerous research until reliable protection of scientists from deadly training can be found. And there was less and less time left...
  
  
  At this early hour, her deputy was on duty in the laboratory. Having poured coffee from a thermos into cups, Astrid walked with them to his room. But at the door she dropped the cups, scalding her knees, and covered her mouth with her palms so as not to scream: Knudson was lying on the floor, showing no signs of life. His skin took on a bright blue hue, like that of Chinese porcelain, especially distinct on his balding head against the backdrop of his sparse gray hair. Inappropriate laughter burst out. Leaning back against the door, Astrid took a deep breath: another fatal blow from the mysterious rays!
  
  
  But isn't it dangerous to touch a dead person? What if these rays hit her too? Looking at her watch, she nevertheless decided to act: the first employees working the first shift were soon to appear. The death of another colleague would have caused real panic, and this could not be allowed to happen.
  
  
  Having looked around the room with an appraising glance, Astrid put on a lead-lined protective suit and a special helmet and approached the dead man. Not without difficulty, she finally managed to get him to his feet and, hugging him like a dance partner, dragged him into her office and pushed him into the closet there.
  
  
  A few minutes later, having changed clothes, she kindly greeted the first laboratory assistant and gave him the necessary instructions in a calm business tone.
  
  
  Development of protection against Chinese laser weapons continued.
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  Nick had been making his way through the pipeline for the second hour now, wearing special glasses and turning on the infrared flashlight. However, he didn’t encounter anything interesting on his way; he just had to be careful not to accidentally fall into the fan hole or into the air-purifying bath with a chemical solution.
  
  
  Nick intended to reach the nuclear reactor, which provides electricity to almost the entire island, take several photographs and bring them to the head of the underground city’s security service, thereby proving the possibility of infiltrating the secret facility. This was the end of his mission. True, Hawk said something else about some mysterious blue dead, but Nick considered it a joke.
  
  
  Sometimes he stopped to check the compass and make a note of the change in course. During one of these stops, he came across a package of photographic film. Having picked up the box, he carefully examined it in infrared light and discovered that such film was used exclusively by professional photographers in laboratories. But which of the workers servicing the ventilation system would think of taking a camera with them into the pipeline?
  
  
  The conclusion was that Nick Carter was not the only uninvited guest in the underground city; someone else was traveling through its ventilation pipes. This forced Nick to reconsider his plan. A new game was planned, with different rules. Over the next forty-five minutes, he carefully examined the entire area surrounding the discovery site.
  
  
  Mentally imagining the entire extensive ventilation system, he realized that he was in a deserted part of the Musco complex. Once upon a time they wanted to drill shafts here for fighter-interceptor lifts. But after secret information was leaked to the Russians, this idea was abandoned, and the planes began to be based elsewhere. Nick concluded that the spy had nothing to do here.
  
  
  Suddenly, with his sixth sense, he felt a foreign presence nearby. Nick froze and heard the sound of footsteps. Worker? Hardly. A stiletto appeared in Nick’s hand, as if by magic.
  
  
  The unknown man was already very close, around the bend, and Carter began to tiptoe towards him, confident that he would collide with the Chinese. Nick squeezed the handle of the stiletto tighter: no, he wouldn’t kill him right away, he’d ask a few questions first.
  
  
  Footsteps and heavy breathing were heard more and more clearly. Nick silently rounded the corner and turned on the infrared flashlight. The pipeline was empty. The man disappeared, he was swallowed up by the pipeline.
  
  
  - What the hell is this? Carter muttered. Did he really imagine all this? The next second he noticed a door, and doors, as you know, are meant to be opened. He pushed it quietly and shone the infrared flashlight at himself.
  
  
  Before him appeared a tunnel lined with granite, leading into the darkness of the island. Nick guessed that this was a discarded passage to the aircraft area. That's why the unknown person left him. Nick followed him.
  
  
  But as soon as he took his first steps, he realized that he had made an unforgivable mistake, hoping that if his unknown opponent had a partner, then he would betray himself by careless behavior. Nick was so carried away by the hunt for the invisible man that he stopped looking back, and this mistake almost cost him his life.
  
  
  The blinding beam of a flashlight and the surprised exclamation of the second stranger, who suddenly appeared from around the corner, took Carter by surprise. However, the man staring at him in amazement also did not expect such a meeting in the underground labyrinth. Nick couldn’t shoot: at the sound of a shot, this guy’s friends would come running, probably knowing all the passages and exits of the dungeon like the back of their hand.
  
  
  Clutching the stiletto in his hand, Nick jumped straight into the light. The opponents grappled and rolled down the tunnel. A sharp pain pierced Carter's left shoulder: the stranger stabbed him with a knife. Enraged, Carter broke his arm and plunged his stiletto into him.
  
  
  “Gross Gott...” the stranger croaked in German and gave up the ghost. The superspy rose heavily to his feet and examined the corpse in the infrared rays. Having found nothing that could shed light on this unexpected meeting, Nick decided to leave the German where he lay and continue exploring the tunnel.
  
  
  The unfinished tunnel, laid in rock, did not have ventilation adits. The walls were covered in dirty slime, and the air was heavy and damp. After walking a few hundred yards, Nick found himself at the edge of a tunnel that opened onto another shaft, perpendicular to it.
  
  
  Below, a hundred feet away from Nick, some people were busily scurrying around the torch-lit area. Equipment and technical equipment were placed along the walls of the adit, someone slept with a backpack under their head and crawled into a sleeping bag, someone worked at the drawing board. The inhabitants of the underground camp clearly had no fear that they would be discovered here. Well, Carter thought, he will report these suspicious cavers to Vice Admiral Larson, and let him deal with the Germans himself. And it’s time for him to get out of here before one of the cave dwellers stumbles upon the corpse of a comrade at the beginning of the tunnel, Nick decided.
  
  
  And no matter how difficult it was for him to suppress his professional desire to stay and still observe these strange Germans, who, without the knowledge of the Swedes, had set up their camp under their noses, super spy No. 3 set off on the return journey. But it was too late, his worst fears were realized: suddenly in his face a shaft of light struck. There was nowhere to hide in the tunnel, and Nick fell onto its granite floor. Whistling past his head, the bullet hit the wall and bounced off with a squeal. Nick ran back to the tunnel exit towards the perpendicular shaft. The experience of mortal combat, gained in the dark alleys of many cities around the world, from Argentina to the Zambezi, told him that it was impossible to stay in the tunnel. Behind him, he heard heavy breathing and the pitter-patter of feet.
  
  
  Turning around, Nick shot at the lantern in the hands of his pursuer from his Lugger, and the light went out. From the bottom of the shaft came sharp, guttural commands in German. His pursuer shot twice at random at Nick, and he fell face down near the very edge of the tunnel.
  
  
  The alarmed inhabitants of the mysterious camp ran around the site, lanterns and spotlights flashed, blinding Nick and preventing him from conducting aimed fire. Their beams darted along the cave walls, like dogs sensing a mountain lion. Shots rang out from all sides, and bullets whistled over Carter's head. Deciding that it was getting a little hot here, Nick rushed to the metal ladder leading to the bottom of the shaft. By exposing his back to them while descending, he exposed himself to mortal risk, but he had no other choice. His cartridges would soon run out, and there was no hope that shooting in this remote dungeon would attract the attention of the town’s security service. All we had to do was rely on luck and our own strength.
  
  
  Risking falling off the slippery stairs and breaking his neck, under a hail of bullets, Nick quickly went down, hoping to touch the hard surface with his feet before the Germans arrived. About fifteen feet above the granite floor, he unclenched his hands and flew down. The impact of landing caused him to lose consciousness for a moment, but he quickly came to his senses and rolled along the bottom of the cave, shooting at the approaching figures. Realizing that they were dealing with a seasoned wolf that could escape from the trap, the Germans panicked. Taking advantage of the confusion in their ranks, Nick killed two careless shooters with aimed shots and, hiding behind a large stone, shouted hoarsely in German:
  
  
  - Achtung! Surrender, or I will shoot you all! Drop your weapon, schnel!
  
  
  No one dropped the weapon, but silence reigned in the cave.
  
  
  Nick once again repeated his call to the enemy to surrender. No one shot him back, but no one came out of cover with a white handkerchief in his hand. Nick was a little confused: maybe the Germans had run out of ammunition or were they waiting for reinforcements? What if they are preparing a trap for him? The prolonged silence in the cave was beginning to get on the super spy's nerves.
  
  
  - What the hell is this! — he said quietly under his breath and resolutely walked out from behind the stone. No shots, no screams. Nothing! It seemed that the cave was empty. Looking around, Nick saw someone's motionless body nearby. Approaching him, he froze in amazement: the man with the Mauser in his outstretched hand was dead! Nick turned the corpse over and looked at the pale face: slightly bulging open eyes looked at him with a frozen gaze, the muscles of the neck cramped in a death spasm. Nearby, a few steps away, lay another lifeless body. Nick rushed around the site, discovering more and more corpses. All the Germans were dead! The superspy felt deceived.
  
  
  So, he was left alone in the cave in the company of dead German spies who preferred death to interrogation! This whole eerie scene looked like the final act of a Greek tragedy. It seemed that the glassy eyes of the suicides were telling him reproachfully: “You see how simple everything is! And no interrogations, no trial. Goodbye buddy, we wish you good luck!
  
  
  - Damn it! - Carter swore, but the next moment someone nearby moaned weakly, like a wounded kitten. Rushing towards the sound, Nick discovered a blond young man in a Wehrmacht uniform from the Second World War, but without insignia, lying in the corner of the cave.
  
  
  His long eyelashes fluttered and he let out another soft moan. It looks like the guy was seriously injured, falling off a support beam during a shootout and hitting his head, after which he lost consciousness and did not have time to swallow the poison pill. He was also wounded in the chest, and blood was streaming from the corner of his mouth down his chin. The poor man was doomed. Unbuttoning the collar of his jacket, Nick patted his cheeks. The German groaned louder and opened his eyes. Looking at the American with horror, the young man suddenly got on all fours and quickly crawled away. Nick grabbed him by the leg and turned him onto his back with a sharp painful hold.
  
  
  The German opened his mouth wide and with a quick movement of his hand stuck something into it. There was a smug sparkle in his blue eyes. The American's fist hit him in the solar plexus with the force of a mule's hoof. The suicide bent in half, and the colorless ampoule flew out of his mouth. Nick crushed her under his heel.
  
  
  - Yavol! — he exclaimed with satisfaction and raised a stiletto to the German’s face. - So, now I will decide when you die!
  
  
  - Nain! - the young man exhaled. - I still won’t say anything!
  
  
  Nick was not a sadist, but he knew how to loosen the tongues of stubborn people if circumstances required it. After twenty minutes the German could no longer be silenced. He talked and talked about everything, quickly and sometimes incoherently: about his family, about his studies, about friends and acquaintances. But Nick was interested in something else.
  
  
  -What kind of uniform are you wearing? - he asked.
  
  
  “The world belongs only to a chosen few... To those who are able to rule it...” the young man answered, breathing heavily. - Goering, Hitler and all their descendants are pathetic idiots, Count von Stadi - that’s the real Fuhrer! - He fell silent, and Nick decided that these were the last words of the fanatic. But suddenly he opened his eyes and, curving his plump lips in an eerie grin, whispered: “The Teutonic Knights are from a completely different cloth... The Chinese communists, our allies in the struggle, will help us bring America to its knees...”
  
  
  - But what were you doing here in Sweden? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Of course, money, stupid Yankee,” the young man grinned. - After all, I am a specialist in spectroscopy. Not a bad joke, isn't it?
  
  
  With these words, the German gave up the ghost, and Nick thought that now he could safely get out of the adit. The eccentric who prevented him from getting out of the tunnel earlier must already be buying a ticket at Stockholm airport for a flight to Berlin.
  
  
  Nick felt a little sorry for this poor fellow, who got involved in other people's games and paid for it with his life. It was hardly worth taking his dying words seriously; rather, it was nonsense: what should a laboratory scientist do in an abandoned adit? And yet, an inner voice told Nick that behind today’s incident lies a terrible secret, the key to solving which lies with Count von Stadi. It was time to get to know him better.
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  The booming echo ominously echoed Nick’s steps as he headed toward the dead room, accompanied by a bald, pop-eyed man, along a gloomy, cold corridor.
  
  
  The morgue looked exactly as it should look: after rummaging through his memory, Nick could not find anything to compare this peculiar institution with. Perhaps, he himself would prefer to go missing while performing a combat mission or die in a disaster and burn, than to lie with a tag on his leg in the refrigerator.
  
  
  - So you want to look at number five hundred and three from section “B”, mister? — the morgue employee specified, turning Carter’s pass in his hands.
  
  
  “That’s right,” Nick confirmed gloomily. “I have permission from Vice Admiral Larson.”
  
  
  “I don’t care who gave you permission,” the man winced painfully. - Even Saint Peter himself or the Queen of Sheba! Anyway, I don’t intend to go near this blue dead man, I’m not paid that much, mister, for me to risk my life.
  
  
  “I’m unlikely to be able to find this poor guy on your farm,” Nick muttered irritably. - I need someone named Knudson, he was delivered this morning!
  
  
  - Yes, I know, I know! — the unpleasant person in the white coat grinned. “The guys from the security service brought him in.” This Nudson of yours conducted risky research, and this is how it ended...
  
  
  - Okay, tell me straight: is fifty crowns enough for the risk? - Nick asked.
  
  
  - No, mister, don’t even try to persuade me! — the stubborn orderly waved his hands. “Either go somewhere without me, or we’ll end this conversation.” Decide!
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick agreed. - Where is this section “B”?
  
  
  - Straight along the corridor to the end, turn left there and enter the third door on the left. I wish you a pleasant meeting!
  
  
  “I’m very grateful,” Nick nodded and walked down the narrow passage, humming something under his breath.
  
  
  “And don’t even think about coming near me, mister, when you return from there,” the caretaker shouted after him. - If you stay alive...
  
  
  It was impossible to confuse the dead Knudson with another corpse: looking at the blue body, Nick shuddered and forgave the cowardly morgue worker. “The cause of death has not been established,” said the pathologist’s conclusion, only Nick strongly doubted that he touched the body, because he knew that the scientist died from mysterious radiation. Nick had little understanding of physics, but was knowledgeable about other ways to send a person to the next world.
  
  
  Turning the corpse over, he felt a lump on the back of his head and whistled with satisfaction: the deceased might have been irradiated with some kind of rays, but first he was soundly hit on the head with a baton. That’s why there was little blood, Nick thought. So much for physics, he grinned.
  
  
  Very pleased that he had contributed to solving the mystical crime, Nick lit a cigarette and tried to recall the telephone conversation with his boss Hawk, which took place shortly before this business trip.
  
  
  It sounded approximately like this:
  
  
  Hawk (in a velvety voice): - Haven't you decided that you're in for an easy water skiing trip, Nick?
  
  
  Carter (calmly): - Frankly, such a thought occurred to me, sir. After all, as you yourself said, it is up to the Swedes themselves to take care of the protection of their secret facility. My job is to infiltrate it, isn't it?
  
  
  Hawk (after a painful pause): “I want to know what the Chinese are up to.” Do you think they might be interested in a Swedish defense facility?
  
  
  Carter (coolly): - In your opinion, everything can be expected from communists, sir. Moreover, from the Chinese.
  
  
  Hawk (instructively): - Take this mission very seriously, Nick! The Chinese are not interested in what is going on in the Swedish underground city, but in our similar structures. The Swedes are about to develop protection against the Chinese laser, and I want no one to interfere with them. You understood me?
  
  
  Carter (clearly): - That's right, sir! The task is clear, sir!
  
  
  Hawk (with a grin in his voice): - And no blondes and drinks, Nick! Take action! I will be waiting for messages from you.
  
  
  Nick shook his head and turned away from the bluish corpse: contemplation of the unusual dead man did not help lift his spirits or develop a plan for further action.
  
  
  But as soon as he stepped towards the door, the light went out and the room plunged into darkness. Feeling for the handle of the heavy door, Nick pushed it, but it did not budge. Nick leaned on his shoulder - to no avail. Someone had locked the door from the outside with a key, and now the only way to open it was with a shot from an anti-tank rifle.
  
  
  Nick went to a corner and squatted down, expecting a sudden attack from any direction. Time passed, but no one pounced on him, and therefore the silence seemed to thicken, becoming heavier. Nick's brain was straining to piece together the facts. Who else knew that he would come to the dead room? Perhaps half of their security staff, including typists, if we assume that the Swedes are not much different from the Americans in terms of gossip. In the dim light coming through the cable hole in the refrigerator, Nick saw a naked man on the table, turning over on his side.
  
  
  Clutching the stiletto in his hand, Nick reached him in three silent leaps and grabbed him by the throat, putting the tip of the dagger to it. The man, however, did not even move: he was dead. Having calmed down slightly, Nick realized that the muscle of the corpse could have contracted under the influence of some internal processes or due to a change in the air temperature in the room. Twitching his head nervously, Carter looked at the glowing clock: the working day was over, so no one would come to the morgue until the morning. And it became more and more difficult to breathe every minute. He lay down on the cool floor, but that didn’t make it much easier. Soon his eyes began to close on their own, the cement floor seemed soft like a pillow, but Nick could not allow himself to fall asleep, because he knew that in such stuffiness he might not wake up, not to mention the fact that someone wanted to help him do so . Carter was not used to giving up without a fight. Gathering his remaining strength, he jumped to his feet and looked around. His gaze fell on the hole in the wall, almost under the ceiling. Why not use it, Nick thought, after all, air flows through it. Knocking the dead man off the table, who had caused him several unpleasant moments, he muttered an apology for treating him so discourteously and pulled the table up to the wall. Then he put it on its edge and climbed, resting his palms on the wall, to the top edge: now it was possible to breathe, stretching out to his full height and pressing his mouth to the hole in the wall.
  
  
  The fresh air invigorated Nick, and he shouted in a terrible voice:
  
  
  - Hey, you Swedish idiots! Let me out of here immediately, you bastards!
  
  
  But his desperate cry was answered only by a mocking echo.
  
  
  In vain he screamed and swore; no one rushed to his aid. Several hours passed, he could barely stand on his feet, almost unable to feel them, when suddenly the door creaked and began to open. Nick shuddered, lost his balance and crashed onto the floor with the table.
  
  
  - Who is there? - he heard a frightened, shrill exclamation and, rushing at him on weak legs, grabbed someone by the throat.
  
  
  - No! No need! I beg you, not this! — the stranger wheezed strangledly, but Nick continued to choke him, spewing streams of curses at the careless morgue employees who left the dead without proper supervision.
  
  
  - Let me go, sir! - moaned the man, barely alive from fear and lack of oxygen. - It’s not my fault... I just went on duty... I don’t know who locked you here! I was told that my colleague was sick yesterday and left early... You can check it yourself.
  
  
  Nick let him go and took a step back: the round face of the new morgue attendant did not look like the thin face of the guy who had let Nick into the mortuary that evening and locked him there.
  
  
  The unfortunate orderly blinked his reddened eyes desperately, still not getting rid of the feeling that he was attacked by a living dead man:
  
  
  Nick took him by the elbow and sat him down on a chair.
  
  
  - So this is not your doing? - he asked menacingly.
  
  
  - No, sir! - the morgue worker assured him. “I swear to you, I couldn’t do it!” I adore Americans and I speak English quite well myself! Listen, sir, you need to calm down. Come with me, I'll give you some medicine.
  
  
  “Calm down yourself,” Nick muttered. - Everything is fine with me. But don’t dare leave here for even a minute, stay by the phone. I may have to ask you a few questions. But first I will meet with the head of security. Take me to the phone, I urgently need to make a call.
  
  
  “If you want, I can give you my home phone number,” the helpful orderly offered, finally sighing with relief. - I live on Wasegaten in house number thirty-seven, it’s very close, my wife and I...
  
  
  “Okay, okay, if necessary, I’ll find you,” Nick assured him. - Now let’s not waste time, I need to quickly contact Vice Admiral Larson...
  
  
  Calling the head of Musco's security service on the internal telephone, Carter informed him that his employees, unfortunately, were not very diligent in fulfilling their official duties. Vice Admiral Larson invited Carter into his office for a conversation.
  
  
  A gray-haired elderly Swede with a mustache and sideburns measured the guest with a cold gaze of piercing blue eyes, chewed a cigar and pointed him to a low leather chair opposite him.
  
  
  “I was informed, Mr. Carter, that no one was on duty at the morgue that night,” after listening to Nick, he said and added ice cubes to his glass of whiskey.
  
  
  “In that case,” Carter said, holding out his hand to the bottle, “we will have to look for two of your employees, the one who locked me up and the one who let me out of the dead room.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid it won’t be easy to do,” Larson winced. “An hour ago, a mortuary worker was taken to the hospital with multiple bruises and wounds, and the poor guy died without regaining consciousness... By the way, I was on the phone with your boss, Mr. Hawk,” he added, taking a good sip. “And he expressed the wish that you continue your secret mission with us.” You will be given complete freedom of action, but first we will draw up a plan in general terms. I hope you understand that it's not just these mysterious murders that have been committed on the island lately that bother me. It seems that those who are methodically eliminating our best scientists are not satisfied with our progress in developing a new laser defense system. According to your boss, the enemy also has intentions to neutralize the air defense control center for all of North America in Colorado. What do you think of it!
  
  
  “I don’t exclude this possibility,” Carter agreed with him.
  
  
  “We think so too and will welcome cooperation with our respected American colleagues,” Larson said, putting his feet on the polished table.
  
  
  With the toe of his boot, he pushed the bottle of whiskey closer to his American colleague.
  
  
  “Fill your glass, my friend, and I will tell you what we know about the so-called “Teutonic Knights.” We easily found this Count von Stadi, he is now in Copenhagen. Lives in luxury that any maharajah would envy... Here's what I propose: you will work with one lady, a very attractive and extraordinary Swede. Plus, she's a scientist...
  
  
  Over the next few hours, Larson and Nick discussed a plan for further joint action. The vice admiral did most of the talking, while the American listened to him attentively and only occasionally asked questions. He liked the Swede's idea.
  
  
  Nick got out of the brand new Mercedes convertible, which he drove up to a nice house on the hill, and slowly walked along the path to its porch. Now he was no longer a super-agent of the special service, reporting only to Hawk himself, but Nicholas von Runstadt, a former military pilot, and now a “soldier of fortune” with a weakness for ladies and booze. His appearance had completely changed: his hairstyle, posture, manners and clothing, brought into line with his new role, made him unrecognizable. Perhaps Hawk himself would hardly have immediately recognized his best employee.
  
  
  Walking up the porch steps, he pressed the doorbell button and heard melodious trills echo through the house. He waited a little and called again, since no one answered the door for him. Nick pressed the button a third time, then a fourth, but to no avail. The American became worried.
  
  
  As far as he knew, the owner of the house, Astrid Lundgren, was a dangerous obstacle for anyone interested in the destruction of the Swedish underground defense structures. And the neo-Nazis, calling themselves “Teutonic Knights,” had a well-functioning and mobile organization. Having pulled the door handle, Nick decided not to waste time on picking the lock, but simply walked around the house and, finding an open window, quickly entered the room through it.
  
  
  An uneasy silence reigned in the house. Nick quickly examined all the rooms on the first floor, went up to the second, but found no one. Going downstairs, he noticed that the back door was slightly open. Nick pushed her and walked out onto the open terrace.
  
  
  A tall blonde with the figure of a movie star, standing with her back to him, was drying herself with a towel, apparently having just left the sauna, where another door led from the terrace. Nick involuntarily froze, admiring her long slender legs and blond hair flowing over her shoulders. Nick coughed, but the woman, as if not noticing him, calmly extended her hand to the toilet shelf and only then, continuing to dry herself with a towel, turned around.
  
  
  Two revolver shots rang out, and the bullets dug into the wood paneling above Nick's head.
  
  
  “This is so you know that I know how to handle weapons,” the woman said calmly, wrapping herself in a towel, but continuing to hold the intruder at gunpoint.
  
  
  “I’m looking for Dr. Lundgren, honey,” Nick said, appreciating her figure from a new angle. - Maybe you can tell me where I can find her!
  
  
  “Dr. Lundgren is me,” the woman answered. - May I know who I have the honor of talking to? “She asked, looking at him with emerald eyes suspiciously.
  
  
  Nick blinked in confusion: somehow he couldn’t believe that this woman not only read all the scientific books that he saw in her library, but also wrote several books herself.
  
  
  “Nicholas von Runstadt,” he bowed gracefully.
  
  
  — As far as I understand, you are American? - Astrid grinned. — And our mutual friend Larson sent you?
  
  
  - You guessed.
  
  
  - Well, I want to warn you right away: do not have any illusions about me, colleague. They talk all sorts of things about us Swedes, but this doesn’t apply to me. So only purely business relations are possible between us.
  
  
  “In that case,” said Nick, “I’ll get down to business right away.” Our plane leaves Stockholm in two hours.
  
  
  - How? — Astrid was sincerely amazed. - Aren't we leaving tomorrow? With these experiences I completely lost the sense of time. What day is today?
  
  
  With these words, the absent-minded Swedish scientist went upstairs to get dressed and pack her suitcase, and Nick sat down in a chair in her home library, sadly looking around at the volumes of works by Einstein, Fermi and Oppenheimer on the shelves.
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  The jet plane, taking off from a private airfield in Bavaria, quickly gained the required altitude and headed north to Copenhagen.
  
  
  Twenty minutes after takeoff, the Big Man decided to personally take the helm. Pilot Hans was silent, trying to guess his boss's mood before venturing into conversation. In the end he came to the conclusion that for a man who had lost five million dollars in one evening, Count von Stadi was in a fairly tolerable state of mind.
  
  
  A former German air force pilot, a gruff fellow and a big beer drinker, Hans enjoyed certain privileges from von Stadi, not so much as his personal pilot, but as a kind of court jester, which gave him the opportunity to be very frank with his boss.
  
  
  “I believe that in two hours we will be in Denmark,” von Stadi remarked with a satisfied grin. “So I’ll be at the hotel for dinner.”
  
  
  “I dare say, boss,” Hans corrected him carefully, “that allowance must be made for a strong headwind.” So we will need a little more time.
  
  
  “Yes, of course,” the count nodded, turning his face to stone. “I was wrong, it’s very stupid of me to forget about the head wind from the north.”
  
  
  Hans bit his tongue: the boss hated it when his mistakes were pointed out to him. Deep wrinkles appeared on the count’s thin, tired face; he even gritted his teeth, as it seemed to Hans. Yes, a brilliant mind, but bad nerves, the pilot thought. This brilliant man will either rule the world in the next five years or die from overexertion. It’s not for nothing that his portrait was featured three times on the cover of Der Spiegel magazine! He would fly across Germany several times to meet with various financial and industrial magnates on the same day, give a speech, and sign an agreement. The pharmaceutical factories he owned, worth many millions of dollars, played an important role in the flourishing of the German economy, as former Chancellor Erhardt himself said. Von Stadi was on friendly terms with all the largest Ruhr industrialists, was on the board of five major banks, but at the same time continued to engage in surgical practice. Hans was better informed about this side of his multifaceted activity than the Count would have liked. Fortunately, he had no idea about this, as well as about many other things.
  
  
  The silence of the cabin was broken by the crackling of the radio.
  
  
  “Message from our surveillance service, chief,” Hans said.
  
  
  “Very good,” the boss nodded. - Let's listen.
  
  
  Copenhagen reported that von Runstadt and Lundgren were under constant surveillance. They safely reached the capital of Denmark, where, as expected, agents of the Swedish security service followed them. However, in the second half, von Rundstadt managed to outwit them and get away from the “tail,” which suggests that tonight he, as agreed, will deliver the woman he is interested in to the count.
  
  
  “Well, I’m pleased,” said von Stadi.
  
  
  “It’s a brilliant idea, boss, to promise a reward for this lady,” Hans remarked in an obsequious tone. “And I had already decided that we wasted five million in vain when news arrived about the failure of the secret operation in Sweden.”
  
  
  “Have you ever wondered, Hans,” von Stadi said insinuatingly, “why you still remained an airplane pilot after thirty years of service?” No? Let me then express my thoughts on this matter. Firstly, I want to note that these petty criminals, from whom this von Runstadt was not far removed, despite all his brilliant military past, got involved in a stupid and dangerous undertaking. It was impossible to take such a risk. Secondly, I must tell you that our allies, who are currently the Chinese, would prefer to receive from us the information they are interested in about Musco without unnecessary fuss, in order to be able to give the United States a surprise. And finally, if you were more attentive, you would know that three days ago I gave the order to cancel this operation in Sweden, but these fools, out of their own stupidity, stayed in the cave. However, I personally would have shot them even if they had survived. Now do me a favor and take control of the plane. I need to discuss something with our friend Lin Tiao. And one more thing, Hans: get it into your head that dominance over North America costs much more than some measly five million dollars. Is everything clear to you?
  
  
  “That’s right, chief,” the pilot wheezed, nervously chewing a stub of a cigar. “I should have guessed it myself.” But you always calculate everything many moves ahead. How can I keep up with you?
  
  
  As soon as the Count left the plane's cabin, a completely new expression appeared in Hans's little eyes: intense work of thought and mental pain. He knew that the count had lied when he claimed that he had ordered the curtailment of the Swedish operation. He was simply caught by surprise with his pants down, and he tried to wriggle out. He had never lied to Hans before, and his unusual bragging only confirmed the experienced pilot’s worst fears: the boss was clearly losing control of himself. Hans knew very well that this would be followed by a breakdown, so that a small Armageddon would have to be endured[1]. Hans's eyes flashed slyly: he knew how to benefit from the mistakes of a boss who had lost his composure.
  
  
  The familiar outlines of the Jutland Peninsula appeared under the wing of the plane. Having slightly corrected the course, Hans began to descend over Copenhagen.
  
  
  At least half an hour had passed since the start of the performance at the Royal Danish Theater when Count von Stadi and his retinue finally went into the darkened box, where Nick was enjoying the magnificent spectacle alone. As befits a true aristocrat, von Runstadt did not even turn in his direction, maintaining imperturbable calm. And only when the lights came on during intermission did Nick deign to look at his belated knife neighbors.
  
  
  Without much difficulty he determined which of them was von Stadi. His companions looked exactly as all the clingers and hangers-on who follow an influential person should look like: their obsequious faces expressed varying degrees of pompous importance and poorly concealed trickery. Frankly, von Stadi amazed Nick; he expected to see a typical inveterate Nazi, with the inevitable round head on a bull’s neck, a kind of swaggering fat Prussian.
  
  
  Instead, he saw an elegant man in a formal evening suit, looking like both a Marine commander and a saint from one of El Greco's paintings. Nick realized that despite his thinness, the count had remarkable physical strength, as evidenced by the healthy color of the skin of his face and the sparkle of his lively, slightly sunken eyes.
  
  
  The Count finished exchanging pleasantries with the lady sitting next to him and turned to Nick.
  
  
  - Good evening, Mr. von Runstadt! - he said. “I am extremely glad that you were able to take up my offer.” But I sent you two tickets, and you are here alone!
  
  
  Nick detected a mocking note in his well-trained voice.
  
  
  “I left my lady at home,” Nick answered dryly. “I thought it would be better for her not to hear us haggling over her.”
  
  
  “I never bargain, my friend,” the count grinned. - You have already been informed about the amount of the reward, so either agree, or we will stop this conversation. Still, it's a pity that Dr. Lundgren is not here with us today, because I don't like to buy a pig in a poke, so to speak.
  
  
  - A pig in a poke? - Nick chuckled. “I know how important it is for you to get her!” So don't skimp!
  
  
  - Indeed? Very interesting! - The count raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  “Yes,” Nick continued with an important look. “I know very well that it is worth much more than the five hundred thousand West German marks you are offering for it.”
  
  
  “And how much do you think I’m willing to give you for it?” - von Stadi asked insinuatingly, but Nick was not so stupid as not to detect the threat in his voice.
  
  
  - I'm not a greedy person, Count! - Nick exclaimed with excessive sincerity in his gaze. - Money doesn't interest me. When the Swedes discover that she has disappeared, they will unleash all their hounds on me. I believe that the intelligence services of other NATO member countries, including West Germany, will also join the hunt for me. I will be a man without a future, Count. It’s already not easy for a true German patriot...
  
  
  “You’re right,” von Stadi sighed, inviting his interlocutor with his whole appearance to develop his interesting idea.
  
  
  “I want to get a job in your organization,” Nick breathed, deciding to take the bull by the horns. “You need a man like me, von Stadi.” I have a lot of combat experience.
  
  
  “But I told you that protection will be provided to you,” the count shook his head. “My people will arrange everything as if she was kidnapped from you.” And soon after that she would be found dead. But they can no longer blame you for this.
  
  
  “And yet I want to get a job,” Nick stubbornly stood his ground. - If there is no work, there will be no Swede.
  
  
  The Count lowered his eyes thoughtfully, lost in thought. Meanwhile, Nick looked with curiosity
  
  
  A woman sitting next to him. She was too young to be the count's mistress: he had long since passed forty, and she was hardly even twenty years old. She had a vicious face, soft white skin and dark stripes, like the Irish women Nick had known. Nick winked at her and smiled widely, receiving a promising smile in return. Deciding to immediately develop his success, Nick took a silver flask from his jacket pocket and gallantly invited the lady to take the first sip. Taken aback by such a rapid onslaught, she blinked her dark blue eyes in confusion.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she finally said. - That is, danke shen.
  
  
  I'll be damned, Nick thought, if she's not American!
  
  
  Von Stadi looked accusingly at the girl when she returned the flask to Nick, and almost indignantly rejected his offer to also cheer up a little. Nick shrugged and took a hefty sip with pleasure.
  
  
  “It helps a lot to overcome the vicissitudes of fate,” he noted, putting the flask in his pocket.
  
  
  “I thought about your proposal and made a decision,” the count said with an important look, letting the joke fall on deaf ears. — A person with your experience can certainly be used in our organization. But even I cannot disrupt the order of admission into it. I will present your candidacy to the board, but you will still be subject to a thorough background check, just as you would when joining any military organization. I want to warn you right away: some of the tests may seem unusual to you.
  
  
  “I understand,” Carter nodded, well aware that you couldn’t trust a single word of a dangerous enemy.
  
  
  Von Stadi, meanwhile, took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Nick.
  
  
  “The instructions for our operation are written in ink that quickly disappears from a sheet of paper,” he said. “So read them now, and if you have questions, ask them.” There shouldn't be any mistakes tomorrow night!
  
  
  Having scanned the text three times, Nick returned the piece of paper to the count with the words:
  
  
  - No questions.
  
  
  Nodding in satisfaction, von Stadi handed him another envelope. Nick counted the Judas money owed to him and also nodded his head.
  
  
  “And here’s another thing,” said von Stadi. “I think we shouldn’t immediately disappear from the city, so as not to arouse suspicion among the authorities.” After all, the police won’t have any evidence against us anyway.
  
  
  Nick agreed with this argument. Having waited until the Count's retinue left the box, he left the theater through the service exit, so as not to raise doubts among von Stadi's people who were watching him that he was keeping a secret. Walking along the cobblestone street past the brick houses of Copenhagen, Nick worriedly thought that if he made a mistake tomorrow, this villain with a hot gaze and wet, sensual lips would force Astrid to speak. Preoccupied with these gloomy thoughts, he finally reached the hotel, where he found the goddess sleeping peacefully. True to their agreement, her protector undressed and lay down on the other bed with a heavy sigh.
  
  
  In an empty seaside park, an orchestra played a slow waltz on the shore.
  
  
  - Come closer, ladies and gentlemen! - the dwarf beckoned to the audience. - Look at the stars! A rare sight - Frank Sinatra, Yves Montand, Louis Armstrong! All of them are ready to perform for you for a purely symbolic fee!
  
  
  The stars, of course, were not real: the dwarf invited spectators to a performance of his puppet theater. But there was a light rain, and there were no people willing to get wet under it at this late hour, perhaps also because the booth was located in a rather remote corner. Only one couple - a tall man and a woman in a cloak - watched what was happening from afar, hiding from the dwarf between the trees, from the leaves of which heavy drops dripped onto their heads.
  
  
  Nick looked at his watch: it was exactly eight, so anything could happen at any minute. He stood closer to Astrid, which was not only much more romantic, but also safer: von Stadi’s people would hardly take the risk now. Shoot him. That evening Nick had one task: to survive.
  
  
  A drop of rain fell on the tip of Astrid's nose, and Nick kissed it, touching her body unnoticed by those watching and testing the miniature high-frequency radio transmitter that the Swedish security service had provided Astrid with just in case.
  
  
  - How are you? - he asked. — Cheerful?
  
  
  - Wonderful! - she smiled. - I'm not scared at all.
  
  
  “Naturally,” Nick said in the same tone. “After all, you know that the vice admiral’s people are ready to come to your aid at any moment.”
  
  
  “Frankly, I rely more on your protection,” Astrid said in a low voice, snuggling closer to Carter.
  
  
  “Come closer, don’t be shy,” the dwarf continued to invite the audience. “And you will see a whole constellation of brilliant talents and world celebrities...” his voice resembled a hoarse dog barking.
  
  
  “I see a true connoisseur of true talents!” - Noticing the couple in love, the dwarf shouted joyfully. - Come here quickly! You will get real pleasure!
  
  
  The dwarf directed the spotlight directly at Nick, blinding him. Astrid was completely petrified with fright. The fog-shrouded park suddenly laughed like a madman. Nick thought that although the Swedish agents had cordoned off the park, it was better to try to get away.
  
  
  A shot rang out, and the dwarf began to laugh even louder. Having put his arm around Astrid's shoulders, Nick fell face down to the ground with her and snarled at random from his Lugger. Someone groaned, but the ring around them quickly narrowed.
  
  
  “We need to get out of here quickly,” Nick said to Astrid.
  
  
  - Am I against it? — she whispered, without raising her head, right into his ear.
  
  
  Dragging the girl along with him with one hand, and clutching a pistol in the other, Nick, firing back, rushed towards the trees. A man appeared on the slippery path of the alley with a rifle in his hands, but Nick managed to hit him with a well-aimed shot as soon as he took aim. Astrid screamed.
  
  
  “These are the harsh rules of the game,” Nick muttered. “Either we are him, or he is us.” Try not to shout in the future, so as not to make the enemy’s task easier.
  
  
  “I don’t like this game at all,” Astrid said.
  
  
  “As one joker said,” Nick grinned, “unfortunately, there are no other entertainments in our city.”
  
  
  Luckily for them, the boat station on the small lake was empty on this stormy evening. Sliding along the wet dock, Nick and Astrid ran to the nearest boat and climbed into it, urged on by the screams of the chase. Using the oars with all his might, Nick drove the boat away from the shore, hoping to hide from his pursuers in the fog.
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Finally they found themselves under an impenetrable curtain of rain and fog. The darkness deepened, the lights of the park completely dimmed. Nick and Astrid sat in silence, intently listening to the oppressive silence of the lake, broken only by the splashing of the waves against the sides of their boat. It seemed that their pursuers had accepted their failure.
  
  
  Suddenly the creaking of the rowlocks of another boat was heard, approaching the middle of the lake.
  
  
  “No matter what happens, stay calm,” Nick whispered, squeezing Astrid’s elbow.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. - I don't need to tell you twice. Are they looking for us?
  
  
  “Yes,” said Nick. - They're over there, on the left. Get down to the bottom.
  
  
  The girl obediently followed his advice, and Nick, taking one oar out of the rowlock, began to row quietly, steering the boat to a darker place, to where trees hung over the water. The creaking of the rowlocks of the approaching boat became louder. Nick quickly took off his clothes.
  
  
  - Are these Germans? - Astrid whispered.
  
  
  “I think it’s them,” Nick said. - Or maybe the police did too: after all, I killed someone in the alley. Now I'll find out everything.
  
  
  With these words he slipped into the water and dived. Surfacing at the side of the approaching boat, he heard one of the Germans say to the other:
  
  
  - Achtung! There, Walter, in front! Just don’t hit the woman, she’s a very valuable commodity!
  
  
  The man with the carbine standing at the bow knelt down, taking aim, and muttered:
  
  
  - Damn fog! I can not see anything!
  
  
  Nick grabbed the side of the boat and rocked it.
  
  
  - Don't rock the boat, buddy! — the shooter hissed angrily. “Sit still and don’t fidget, you Silesian blockhead!”
  
  
  Having contrived, Nick pulled the carbine by the barrel, and the German flew into the water, without even having time to scream. His friend turned out to be quicker; he managed to hit Nick on the shoulder with an oar, tearing off the skin on his head near his ear. Nick went under the water, almost choking, but he still grabbed the oar and began to pull himself up, moving his hands. The stubborn German, not wanting to let him out, thereby helped Nick climb into the boat.
  
  
  Finally he realized that he had made a mistake, but it was too late: Nick squeezed his throat with his hands and dragged him along with him. They both plunged into the water, the German desperately resisted, but Nick clenched his fingers more and more. The second German came and hurried to his aid. Nick let go of the Silesian's throat for a moment and hit the shooter on the bridge of his nose with the edge of his palm. Without making a sound, he sank like a stone.
  
  
  Having failed to surface and breathe air, his Silesian friend stopped resisting. Nick held him under the water a little longer and unclenched his hands. The second soldier of von Stadi's army followed the first to the bottom of the lake.
  
  
  Not a bad start, Nick thought, but it won’t end there, the rest are waiting for us on the shore. He swam to his boat and, pulling himself up, fell over the side.
  
  
  “I heard the shot,” Astrid whispered chokedly, “and I thought that...
  
  
  “Think less, your head won’t hurt,” Nick laughed quietly, leaning on the oars. It seemed as if an agent of the count with a gun was hiding behind every bush. Nick was the first to jump ashore, extended his hand to the girl, and they ran along the slippery path to the park.
  
  
  Somewhere behind the thick bushes and trees the evil laughter of a dwarf was heard. Nick thought that he had imagined it: that disgusting, sinister laugh was so deeply ingrained in his head. Perhaps the insidious little killer deliberately burst into wild laughter, paralyzing the will of his victim.
  
  
  Astrid opened her mouth convulsively in fear, but immediately covered it with her palm, remembering Nick’s instructions. There was animal fear in her wide eyes, and the hand she extended to Nick was cold, like a dead man's.
  
  
  At the risk of running into a bullet from the freak crouched in ambush, the fugitives climbed up the slope and froze in place, intensely peering and listening into the darkness. There was no shot, but disgusting laughter, like a goblin, sounded now behind them, now in front.
  
  
  Suddenly there was deathly silence.
  
  
  Nick froze, expecting a trick, and his sensitive hearing caught the clang of metal a second before a new explosion of mad laughter, followed by a light machine gun rumbled out of the wisps of fog, spitting lead and flame. Nick knocked Astrid into the mud, covering her with his body, and the line went over their heads. The shooting stopped, and a narrow beam of light jumped through the bushes. Nick fired at the flashlight from the Lugger, the beam disappeared, but the air was again filled with disgusting laughter. The dwarf was somewhere very close.
  
  
  Astrid began to shake as if in a fit of fever.
  
  
  “I can’t hear this laughter anymore!” - she whispered, breathing heavily. “It scares me more than a machine gun.” Do something!
  
  
  “Stay here,” Nick said, “and I’ll do some reconnaissance.” Maybe I can discourage this joker from laughing.
  
  
  Bending low, he crossed the alley and, hiding behind a tree, fired at random at the bushes. The dwarf snarled with a burst from a machine gun, threatening the red tongue of flame from the barrel, like a moray eel defending its hole. Wet branches, leaves and pieces of bark fell on Nick's head. He ran to another tree, changed the clip and opened fire again. The dwarf may have been mad, but he was not without ingenuity; he understood that on rough terrain he could not win a mortal duel with a dangerous opponent. The sound of short bursts of his machine gun began to recede: the little cunning man quickly retreated, luring Nick out of the thicket into the open space.
  
  
  Having figured out his plan, Nick decided that the vile midget had calmed down for a while, and returned to Astrid.
  
  
  “It seems they really really need you,” he exclaimed, out of breath from running. — Von Stadi was lucky with the weather: if it weren’t for the fog, you would have been home in Sweden long ago, and the Vice Admiral’s people would have come to our aid. But don’t worry, we ourselves will get out of this trap the Count has laid for us.
  
  
  “It looks like he’s willing to pay dearly to get me out of his way,” Astrid grinned. “For the free world, my death would be a real disaster.”
  
  
  Nick put the gun in his jacket pocket and they headed towards the attractions, hoping to get out onto the street, where they would be met by Swedish security agents. But for now, all responsibility for Astrid’s life lay with Nick, and he understood this: major victories cannot be won without risk, and he was used to taking risks.
  
  
  The rain scared away the audience that evening, and a lone heavy-set man sitting at a table in an outdoor cafe could not help but attract their attention. Noticing Nick and Astrid, he said something into the walkie-talkie and stood up from the table. From his unkind face and black leather cloak, it was not difficult to guess that this was one of the Teutonic Knights.
  
  
  The fugitives quickened their pace, but suddenly a whole group of short-haired men in identical raincoats appeared ahead. There were still several hundred steps left before going out onto the street. Nick thought with alarm that they might not be allowed to make them: von Stadi could well have supplied his assistants with pistols with a silencer.
  
  
  Turning to their pursuers as they ran, Nick and Astrid ran back, but three more fellows from the Count’s team rushed to cut them off. But then Nick saw people coming out of the gate of the fence of the attraction called “Air Flight”. Without thinking for a long time, he dragged the girl with him to the usher, groping for Danish money in his pocket with his other hand.
  
  
  Unfortunately for them, the old man selling tickets turned out to be talkative:
  
  
  — The seats on the plane are wet, gentlemen! - he considered it necessary to warn them. “Perhaps it would be better for you to come to us with your charming lady another time, sir?” We are closing soon...
  
  
  — My bride has long dreamed of such a flight! - Nick interrupted him. “Give us a few tickets right away to make her happy.” - And he handed the old man a pack of crumpled banknotes, without even counting them.
  
  
  Holding the ticket tape in his hand, Nick desperately waved it to the ticket inspector, who was already closing the gate. He let them onto the landing platform, and they plopped down on the empty seats between teenagers and tipsy Norwegian sailors. A cheerful melody sounded, and the gondola on a long metal boom soared into the night sky above Copenhagen. Looking down, Nick chuckled with satisfaction: the types in black cloaks who had lost them were huddled in one group in the middle of the central alley, turning their heads.
  
  
  However, when the plane descended, two thugs were already standing on the platform.
  
  
  “Guten tag, Herr von Runstadt,” one of them boomed. - Shall we fly together for a bit, yavol? And then I will treat you to schnapps! Do not you mind? Ha ha ha!
  
  
  Nick smiled kindly, glancing at his bulging pocket, and stood up, as if intending to let the Germans pass him. The goon took a step and Nick punched him in the nose. Blood spurted out of him, like from an overripe tomato, and ran down his chin. The big guy swayed, the plane took off, but the second German managed to push his friend into the last booth and at the last moment jumped into it himself. The creaking mechanism raised the gondola above the treetops again, and Nick heard the angry fat man yell:
  
  
  - I'll shoot this pig immediately!
  
  
  - Don't talk nonsense, Karl! - his prudent partner admonished him. - The Count will not forgive us for this! All that was missing was getting caught by the Danish police and losing the girl. You will still have the opportunity to settle scores with him. Finally use your brains. Or is your stupid Bavarian head only suitable as a punching bag?
  
  
  - No! I will finish him off right now, and you too, if you bother me! - the Bavarian growled. - It's a matter of honor!
  
  
  “We’re going down,” his friend restrained him. “They can’t get away from us!”
  
  
  And indeed, three more stern men in black leather cloaks stood on the platform. Behind him, Nick heard some fuss and turned around: the Germans in the last booth were struggling, risking falling from a height. Nick jumped up and punched the Bavarian in the back of the head. He staggered, dropping his pistol, and fell out of the gondola onto the platform. The crowd gasped and screamed.
  
  
  “That’s not very wise of you, Herr von Runstadt,” said the second German. - If you try to run, I will shoot you. So calmly exit the cabin and slowly walk towards the exit.
  
  
  “I’ll definitely do that,” Nick said and jumped onto the platform. Falling, he hurt himself painfully, but this did not stop him from jumping to his feet and firing from the Lugger at the black raincoats. Two of the big men fell dead, the third hid behind the mechanic's booth. The audience began to run away screaming in all directions, the mechanic turned off the engine as soon as the instructions required, and the gondola hovered in the air a few feet from the platform.
  
  
  - Jump, Astrid! - Nick shouted to the girl, noticing that the German’s hand was reaching for her cloak. Astrid jumped straight into Nick's arms and they fell to the deck together. Nick shot at the back wall of the German's cabin, helped the girl get up, and they ran to the exit.
  
  
  The sounds of a police siren could be heard from afar. Having got out through the service entrance from the attraction site, they walked along narrow paths to the summer variety theater and, passing empty rows of folding chairs, found themselves on a plank stage behind the scenes.
  
  
  Suddenly one of the spotlights flashed. Nick shot him, and darkness reigned all around again. The dwarf's creepy laughter sounded especially disgusting in her, and Astrid groaned, clutching Nick's hand and falling onto the platform. Nick swore quietly and, squatting down next to the unconscious girl, began patting her on the cheeks, bringing her to her senses.
  
  
  Finally she woke up and sat up, brushing her hair out of her face.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect this myself,” she said.
  
  
  - Quiet! - He pressed his finger to her lips. - Wait for me here.
  
  
  Climbing the stairs to the lighting system walkways, Nick began to carefully make his way past the cables and ropes hanging from the ceiling. But he had not walked even ten steps when a strangled sigh was heard and the stage was filled with bright light, as if the entire corps de ballet troupe was about to flutter out from behind the scenes. Nick froze in place, expecting a bullet, but the dwarf’s laughter brought him to his senses a moment before a knife flashed in the air. Having fallen onto the bridge, Nick managed to throw his stiletto at the insidious monster.
  
  
  The thin blade pierced the dwarf's shoulder under the collarbone, and he flew down. However, there was no dull thud of a falling body: with the agility of a monkey, the dwarf grabbed the rope and began to climb along it to the fire escape leading to the roof. Nick rushed after him, but the experienced acrobat had already disappeared into the darkness. Soon his laughter died down in the darkness of the night somewhere on the roof. Nick decided not to wait for the bright lights to attract the attention of the police, and quickly went down to the stage. Now it was necessary to save the girl, and not take revenge on the impudent dwarf, he would still receive in full for all his treachery, but later, Nick thought.
  
  
  Leaving through the service entrance of the summer theater, they soon found themselves in a narrow alley that led them to the busy Vesterborgade street. Car tires rustled on the wet asphalt and horses' shoes quietly clicked, echoing the measured creaking of the carriages' springs. Astrid sent a radio signal to the Swedish Secret Service agents, and Nick looked around just in case. Fortunately, there were no black cloaks nearby.
  
  
  Finally, a canvas-covered wagon pulled by a draft horse pulled up to them, and the familiar gray mustache of Vice Admiral Larson appeared from under the canopy.
  
  
  “You made me worry, Mr. Carter,” he said reproachfully. How is our Madame Curie feeling?
  
  
  “She and I took a little boat ride on the lake,” Nick explained vaguely, “and now she feels much better.” So sign for receipt, as they say, sir!
  
  
  Larson gave way to the girl, and the cart moved off again. The driver puffed phlegmatically on his pipe, as if he was carrying a consignment of cases of beer, and not an important scientist from a secret laboratory, which a special Swedish Air Force plane was already waiting for at a military airfield.
  
  
  Ignoring the light rain, Nick took out a pack of cigarettes and lit it with pleasure for the first time in several hours. The Vice Admiral watched him sullenly, his hands in his coat pockets.
  
  
  “Von Stadi’s bonebreakers could show up here at any minute,” Nick finally realized. - We need to leave here. But where could we talk calmly? I don't know the city well. The count probably has his own agents everywhere; we wouldn’t want anyone to notice us or overhear our conversation.
  
  
  “I know one reliable place,” Larson said and led Nick along the alleys to the canal.
  
  
  Numerous jazz clubs and bars with jukeboxes settled in the basements and semi-basements of houses overlooking the embankment. On this stormy evening they were crowded with visitors, mostly young people, ready to dance and have fun until dawn.
  
  
  After taking a couple of sips of his favorite Carlsberg beer, Nick said thoughtfully:
  
  
  - Well, we can say that everything turned out quite successfully. The Count and I lightly probed each other. And it’s good that your people didn’t get involved in this game: von Stadi is now sure that I’m a free shooter, working alone or, at worst, with several assistants.
  
  
  “But I got more gray hairs when I saw the Danish police cars near the park,” Larson said.
  
  
  “Grey hair suits you, Admiral,” Nick grinned. “Tomorrow I want to pay the count a courtesy visit.” But I will need your support. The Count is a strong opponent, and I have not yet studied all his connections and opportunities in this country.
  
  
  For about half an hour they discussed the plan for further joint actions, after which they left the bar and went in different directions. Raising the collar of his jacket, Nick slowly walked along the deserted embankment of the canal to his hotel, glancing absent-mindedly over the leaden surface of the water and thinking that if he made the slightest mistake tomorrow, his corpse would end up on the muddy bottom of this dirty reservoir. And even the thought of the bright ideas and security of America, for which he would die in the prime of his life, consoled him little at this late hour.
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  The gray ribbon of highway ran between bare fields and low wooded hills. Dense low clouds hanging over the thatched roofs of peasant houses and a gloomy sky only emphasized the wretchedness of this dull landscape, evoking melancholy.
  
  
  But the man sitting in the old Jaguar opposite the roadside tavern did not become despondent, but waited patiently. Finally a dark spot appeared on the highway. It grew quickly, approaching, and took on the outline of a motorcycle. Dressed in a black leather motorcycle suit, he crouched like a jockey to the steering wheel of a BMW, squeezing everything possible out of the powerful engine.
  
  
  - You're late, Boots! — the man sitting in the Jaguar muttered, grinning, and pulled a knitted cap with a hole for the eyes over his head, looking like an ancient Aztec priest in a mask. Then he pulled out onto the road and chased the dashing motorcyclist.
  
  
  The flat stretch of highway ended, and the needle on the motorcycle's speedometer trembled at 120 miles per hour. The motorcyclist, still unaware that someone was following him, reluctantly slowed down and straightened up in the saddle, realizing that even a pile of manure on his way was now fraught with mortal danger for him, not to mention a wagon with hay. The motorcyclist's chapped lips curled into a grin: with God's help, Ricky will soon finish her business in this country of butter, cheese and eggs, and it will be possible to say goodbye to her forever.
  
  
  Once upon a time, she, Boots Delaney, rode a motorcycle with dashing guys in leather jackets through the towns of Southern California and Nevada, terrifying the local population and forcing the inhabitants, trembling with fear, to call the police and the territorial army to calm down their gang. Now she was nervous about a pile of cow shit on the road. And all this thanks to Ricky!
  
  
  Remembering her lover, Boots even shuddered from the voluptuous trembling that ran through her body. She had dealt with many guys who were far from perfect in behavior, but of all the criminal types she knew, Ricky, or Count Ulrich von Stadi, was the coolest and luckiest. Avoiding conflicts with the law and authorities, he managed to pull off major scams, having at his disposal an obedient army of thugs who were ready to do anything for money.
  
  
  The roar and rain of a powerful motorcycle intensified the pleasant memories that washed over the girl about her lover and his muscular body. Busy with these thrills, she did not attach any importance to the sports car that had been following her at high speed for quite some time: she was now much more worried about the upcoming meeting with Ricky in a special room in his castle. Count von Stadi constantly trained, strengthening his body and spirit, and therefore was powerful and strong, like a rock. Touching his iron muscles, Boots always thrilled with pleasure, anticipating the rapturous plantings in his strong embrace. She didn’t even pay attention to other men, but recently the count stopped pampering her with carnal pleasures, explaining that they weaken a man’s will. Ricky idolized discipline and asceticism and sought to forge himself as a true leader. The count found a rather unique use for the unquenched bodily passion of his girlfriend: he forced her to whip him with a whip and burn his body with a hot iron. The walls of their bedroom were now decorated with instruments of torture. Ricky's strange inclination scared Boots, but she tried not to show that she would prefer to limit herself to good old spanking and pinching.
  
  
  These specific nightly training sessions gave the Count great pleasure, which led to the logical conclusion that Boots was gaining a certain amount of power over her lover. And yet, her life experience told her that all these strange fun could one day turn into serious trouble for her...
  
  
  The Jaguar finally caught up with Boots and began to push her motorcycle to the side of the road. The driver, who looked like an alien in his stupid mask, gave her signs to stop.
  
  
  - The hell with it, buddy! - Boots shouted to him and, making an expressive sign with her hand, turned the throttle to full. The motorcycle rushed forward like a restive horse, and the speedometer needle quickly crept up the scale. Farmers' houses soon merged with the trees and fields into one blurry spot. Shuddering over the steering wheel, Boots feverishly wondered what all this could mean.
  
  
  Ricky was thoroughly involved in dangerous business, and like any big businessman, he had many envious people and rivals. Everyone knew that Boots was his mistress, so through her the Count’s enemies could well try to put pressure on him. Boots knew that von Stadi did not like to make mistakes, and she understood perfectly well that he would blame her for all the troubles.
  
  
  She looked in the rearview mirror: a sports car was not far behind, apparently an experienced driver was behind the wheel. Boots rode along this highway often and got to know the surrounding area quite well. Ahead, on the hill to the right of the road, the roofs of houses appeared, ten meters from which a country road ran through the forest to a pond, along which peasants drove their cattle to water. Boots decided to use an old motorcyclist trick and turned sharply from the asphalt onto a broken country road, hoping that the Jaguar would pass by. However, the very next second she realized that she had made a serious miscalculation: the wheels of her BMW began to spin in the sea clay.
  
  
  Turning back, she saw to her horror that she had failed to deceive the masked man: he easily turned behind her and quickly caught up with her. Boots looked ahead and froze: huge pine logs lay across the road. The way to escape on a motorcycle was cut off. Boots begged him and tried to hide in the forest.
  
  
  The Jaguar's engine stopped running, the door slammed, and the masked man took off after her at a run. Boots' heavy boots sank into the mud, and for the first time in her life she thought sadly that she would gladly call the police for help. But do they even exist in this damned country?
  
  
  Walking down the hillside into a plowed field, she ran toward haystacks surrounded by sleepy cows. The heavy steps of her pursuer were heard closer and closer. Pretending that she had tripped, Boots bent down and grabbed a long knife from her left boot.
  
  
  - Well, come closer and try to get what you are owed! - turning around, she screamed, waving a knife at the level of his stomach. “Don’t be afraid, stallion, what you can take is all yours!”
  
  
  With the speed of a rattlesnake, the stranger dived under her hand and, grabbing her wrist, pressed hard on the painful point. The knife fell from her hand, and the next moment the masked man deftly pressed a rag soaked in chloroform to Boots' face. Everything swam before her eyes, and she plunged into blackness.
  
  
  ...Boots woke up on a wide bed in an unfamiliar room. The windows were covered with thick curtains, and near the huge fireplace, half the length of the wall, sat with his back to her, stirring the coals with a poker, a broad-shouldered man. From his athletic figure and cat-like movements, Boots guessed that this was her kidnapper. Without thinking twice, she jumped up and rushed to the door. It turned out to be locked. Turning around, trembling with rage, Boots saw that the man she hated was smiling mockingly. With a wild cry, she pounced on him, ready to tear the offender into pieces with her teeth and nails, remembering that her lover would not forgive her for allowing herself to be taken hostage, and would rather leave her to the mercy of fate than rush to her rescue. or pay a ransom for it. Boots has been in various troubles and knows how to stand up for herself. But this time she was clearly unlucky; the enemy was not timid.
  
  
  Without visible effort, the stranger lifted her into the air and threw her onto the bed, which springed beneath her like a trampoline under an acrobat.
  
  
  After waiting until her stream of curses and curses addressed to him dried up, the gray-eyed big man with an ironic smile informed Boots that the count himself should soon appear.
  
  
  “Your lover has put together a good gang,” he added with a slight British accent, characteristic of educated Germans who learned English before 1939. “I had to run quite a bit from his guys while I took you here in a roundabout way.” But now we can finally calmly enjoy the cozy warmth of this hearth.
  
  
  “I know you,” Boots said. “You are the same German soldier of fortune with whom Ricky spoke in the theater.” Von Runstadt, if my memory serves me correctly.
  
  
  The man nodded and again began stirring the coals in the fireplace with a poker. Boots made herself more comfortable on the bed.
  
  
  “Rikki will kill you, baby,” she finally said in an emotionless tone.
  
  
  Nick Carter laughed.
  
  
  - He already tried to do this. But what's even worse is that he wanted to deceive me. Now I stole something from him, so we're even.
  
  
  “Don’t forget, kid, that von Stadi doesn’t like it when someone steals something from him, much less his beloved cat.” “You just can’t imagine what opportunities he has,” Boots snorted, both offended and intrigued by the ease with which this impudent man had debunked her idol.
  
  
  “Curious,” Nick shook his head. “I had no idea that cats occupy such a clear place in the count’s life.” In my opinion, he has other, more important concerns.
  
  
  The light blush that appeared on the girl’s cheeks confirmed the truth of his words. Boots frowned angrily and asked defiantly:
  
  
  —Have you heard anything about the Teutonic Knights?
  
  
  “I’ll show you my cards, baby,” Nick grinned even wider. “It was no accident that I took you hostage.” The fact is that the count deprived me of a sure sum, so now I am forced to give him a choice: either he pays a ransom for you, or he will never see you again. He will give the answer in the morning, but for now we could have a little fun with you.
  
  
  “Tomorrow morning you will be dead,” she confidently predicted.
  
  
  “We’re all going to die someday, honey,” Nick said philosophically. - But until this happens yet, there is no need to waste time. Take off your leather armor, baby, I want to make sure you don't have another knife hidden.
  
  
  - I advise you not to joke with me like that, mister! - Boots croaked in a voice trembling with anger. - When Ricky gets to you, a lot will depend on my word, take it in and go.
  
  
  “Don’t make me tell you twice, Boots,” Nick said, lighting a cigarette. - Take off your clothes!
  
  
  “Try to undress me yourself if you can,” said the impudent girl, staring at the ceiling, stretched out on the bed. “Just remember that Ricky can send you to his hospital, where he conducts very funny experiments on huge stallions like you.”
  
  
  Nick reluctantly stood up and approached her. Suddenly the girl twisted on the bed like a wild cat and jumped up sharply. A knife blade flashed in her convulsively clenched fist. Nick hit her wrist with the edge of his hand, and the knife fell to the floor. Boots' arm hung like a whip along her body, but she was already reaching with her left hand into one of her countless zippered pockets. Nick grabbed her by the lapels of her leather jacket and, lifting her to the floor, began to shake her until she lost the desire to remove dangerous objects from her pockets. After that, he threw her on the bed and, holding her nose and mouth with one hand to prevent her from kicking, pulled off her jacket and boots with the other hand. Leaving the girl in panties and a bra on the bed, Nick moved to the couch and began to inspect her clothes. Boots watched him with hatred.
  
  
  He found brass knuckles in the inner pocket, and a straight razor was hidden in the secret pocket of his boots.
  
  
  “There must be a hand grenade hidden around here somewhere,” Nick remarked thoughtfully, feeling his jacket. “But since I didn’t find it, I can only assume that you hid it in a more secure place.” Well, you can keep it to yourself.
  
  
  Nick tossed her the shirt.
  
  
  “I won’t wear your shirt,” Boots snorted.
  
  
  “Okay, then put on your favorite jacket,” he took pity on her.
  
  
  Having put on her jacket, Boots sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and lit a cigarette. Nick went to the kitchen and brought sandwiches, fruit and beer. Having broken down a little for the sake of decency, the girl greedily attacked the food, washing it down with cold Danish beer. Nick also kept up with her, devouring sandwiches with the appetite of a man who honestly earned his bread.
  
  
  - What do you intend to do with me if the count does not agree to satisfy your demands? - Boots asked.
  
  
  “I’ll send you for an internship at some private school for girls in the States,” Nick snapped angrily.
  
  
  Nick looked at his watch: these endless threats and praises of the incomparable Count von Stadi were beginning to irritate him. He needed to think about rest: he had a hard day ahead of him. After making his bed on the couch, he turned off the light.
  
  
  “Herr von Runstadt,” he heard Boots’ voice, sounding unusually quiet and gentle. “Perhaps I got a little excited.” Forgive me...” She jumped off the bed and walked barefoot to his couch. In the glow of the fireplace flame she seemed small and fragile. Her hair fell over her shoulders. Nick noticed that she had managed to take off her panties and bra, and now only a leather jacket covered her young body. Nick felt hot and a shiver ran through his body.
  
  
  “Why do we absolutely have to remain enemies,” she said, extending her hand to him, with a smile.
  
  
  Nick raised his eyebrows, not knowing how to answer this question. And at that moment the girl rushed to the fireplace and with a victorious cry grabbed the poker. Nick mentally swore, cursing himself for the offensive mistake, and barely had time to jump to his feet and dodge the hot iron aimed at his groin.
  
  
  - Don't like it, mister? — the girl grinned, flashing her sharp teeth. “Let's see what you can do when I have this thing in my hands.” You can take the knife if you want us to be on equal terms.
  
  
  “That’s very kind of you, baby,” Nick muttered, running behind the table.
  
  
  -Are you sweating yet? - Boots asked, wielding the poker like a sword.
  
  
  “Don’t count on it, honey,” Nick said, dodging the poker. “Don’t be offended if I’m not as kind as you, but not even a minute will pass before I take your toy away from you.” I advise you to put it in place yourself.
  
  
  “If I don’t get out of here in five minutes, I’ll shove it in you you know where,” the girl retorted.
  
  
  Nick emerged from the table, a two-hundred-pound athlete, lithe and agile as a panther, and stood in front of her, swaying slightly from side to side on springy legs. The girl was slightly confused at the sight of this mountain of muscles.
  
  
  “Give me the poker,” Nick corrected her in an insinuating voice. - I'm not kidding, baby. Give it back kindly.
  
  
  Boots's eyes sparkled strangely, and she suddenly giggled, slowly stepping back. Nick felt the excitement of a hunter who had cornered an animal. Boots was clearly nervous, knowing from experience how quickly Nick attacked, and backed behind the couch. The poker described fiery circles in the air. Suddenly Nick realized that this was a kind of barrier that he needed to overcome in order to finally break the resistance of the girl who was ready to surrender. If he disarms her, she will forget about her former idol and surrender to the winner. But if she managed to wound him or break his head, Count von Stadi would retain his power over her.
  
  
  Nick grinned. To his surprise, she smiled back at him with her big Irish smile.
  
  
  - Well, be brave! “she said in a chesty voice, and Nick sensed in his tone not only an invitation from a woman, but also a challenge from a female. With a slight movement of her hand, she opened her jacket, exposing her stomach and chest. Her body, tender as fresh cream, beckoned him, but the red-hot poker in her hand forced him to reckon with himself.
  
  
  Suddenly Nick rushed, bending low, under the poker raised above his head and, deftly dodging it, knocked this dangerous weapon out of Boots' hand. She tried to free herself and pick him up from the floor, but Nick seemed to pin her to the bed. Boots desperately resisted for another moment, then suddenly began to laugh with a thick, chesty laugh and grabbed his back with her nails, pressing him to her.
  
  
  Nick's hands grabbed her naked young body, writhing beneath him with wild passion, slid along her hips and over her elastic small breasts. Boots's legs spread, yielding to the pressure of his steely male flesh, and she let out a long, voluptuous moan as she felt it.
  
  
  She gave herself to him unbridled and fiercely, amazing with her endurance and insatiability, tirelessly offering herself to him in different positions, begging him to continue this race again and again, until they were both finally burned by the last squall of this crazy storm and they, shuddering in a convulsion of rapture of the moment, didn't loosen their embrace.
  
  
  Then they lay silently next to each other in the dark, stroking each other and feeling how desire filled them again.
  
  
  And unable to resist the call of nature, they again surrendered to the pleasure of free flight, but this time performing its dizzying somersaults more gracefully and sophisticatedly. The long fall into the abyss of passion relaxed Boots so much that she burst into a flood of memories - about her crazy youth on the outskirts of California, where she got involved with a gang of rabid geeks, about frenzied motorcycle races, about how she met the Count and how they started novel. Nick listened to her incoherent chatter without interrupting, only occasionally inserting an innocent question or a humorous remark.
  
  
  And just falling asleep, she suddenly said in a sleepy voice:
  
  
  “Still, I’ll get even with you for making me look like a fool.” Boots Delaney is used to paying back debts. Although, maybe I won’t rush into it...
  
  
  Nick just laughed in response to her in the darkness.
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Bright torches cast flickering reflections on the massive walls of the ancient castle. The crowd of brave-faced young men filling the cobblestone square roared with a thousand throats, bawling songs and shouting obscenities. Exposing his face, wet with salty sweat, to the cool wind from the canal, Nick grinned: Boots was mistaken when she prophesied a painful death for him at the hands of von Stadi. The count acted differently - he agreed to the demands of the kidnapper of his mistress and gave him a job, or rather, the opportunity to get one. And although Nick himself insisted on this, now he doubted that he had done the right thing: the Teutonic Knights had a very peculiar tradition of baptism of fire for newcomers.
  
  
  The enthusiastic roar of the audience disrupted his train of thought. His opponent, a renowned master of fist fighting named Heinrich, entered the ring. Nick's seconds, two smiling German athletes, began massaging his shoulders.
  
  
  “Be brave, Herr von Runstadt,” one of them told him, “you only need to hold out for one round.”
  
  
  Nick looked at his opponent: he was a mountain of a man, a former European champion among professional wrestlers, stripped of his title after he killed one opponent and maimed several others. A giant with coal eyes and a black bushy mustache jumped around the ring, exchanging jokes with enthusiastic spectators who had no doubt about the outcome of the upcoming fight.
  
  
  “Allow me to congratulate you on your wonderful results in all competitions,” said Count von Stadi’s voice behind Nick. In the presence of his officers and Boots, who behaved arrogantly and unapproachably in her loose dress, the Count tried to seem like a model of gallantry. “Perhaps such competitions in dexterity and strength may seem childish to you, but wasn’t the Duke of Wellington right when he said that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton?” You have set a magnificent example for our glorious youth. However, I must admit, I didn’t expect anything else from a combat officer.
  
  
  “Danke,” Nick reservedly thanked him for the compliment. He had no desire to exchange pleasantries after the grueling competition he had been participating in since early morning. He ran, jumped, shot and performed many other tasks, confirming his readiness to become an officer of the elite unit of the order. Now he faced the final test - a fight with a martial arts champion, after which he would turn into a Teutonic Knight.
  
  
  “My advice to you,” the count patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t put up too stubborn resistance to our Henry, he may become furious.” His last opponent lasted for six whole rounds, but unfortunately, the poor guy could not be useful to our movement afterwards: Heinrich broke his back. Therefore, I recommend giving up in the second round. Personally, I survived three, but it seems to me now that it was not very wise on my part.
  
  
  The officers surrounding the count laughed obsequiously, and Nick guessed that it was a joke. But it also contained a clear hint: von Stadi did not want Nick to break his personal record in front of his followers. The gong sounded and the seconds pushed Nick into the middle of the ring. There was no judge, for the simple reason that there were no rules.
  
  
  Feeling the leaden weight in his tired legs, Nick began to slowly circle around the grinning giant. He advanced on him, bending over and lowering his hands low. Nick hit the giant in the massive chin, but he only winced and, grabbing his opponent by the waist, drove his knees into his groin. The audience grumbled with displeasure, demanding a sufficiently long spectacle. Dodging the fatal blow, Nick smashed Heinrich’s scarred nose with his fist. The giant grunted with displeasure, opening his mouth wide, and immediately received a blow to the throat with the edge of his palm. Anyone else would have fallen after that, but Heinrich only irritably cleared his throat and spat out the blood.
  
  
  Nick bounced away from the invulnerable wrestler and launched a series of kicks. However, Heinrich continued to reach out with his hands to the impudent opponent, and while Nick was wondering what technique he should best use on this pile of meat, the German deftly grabbed him with his tentacles and threw him through the rope directly onto the bellies of the spectators, swollen from beer.
  
  
  Someone splashed a beer mug in Nick's face, strong arms grabbed him and pushed him back into the ring.
  
  
  - Look, our prodigy is back! - Heinrich growled. - He wants to continue the fight!
  
  
  - That's right, you fat pig! - Nick confirmed, licking blood from his upper lip. “I’ll put you down like a wild boar and ask the cadets to shave off your mustache: I don’t like it at all.”
  
  
  Cursing dirty, Heinrich threw his huge fist into Nick’s face. Nick offered his shoulder, but could not stand on his feet and fell. The German jumped and fell with his entire mass on his back, almost breaking his spine: apparently, this was his signature finishing move. Nick woke up because the giant began to furiously bang his head on the platform. The seconds shouted to him from the corner that he had one minute left to hold out, but Nick could not believe that this nightmare lasted only two minutes. The thought flashed through his darkened mind that if he died during the battle, all the efforts expended to penetrate the neo-Nazi organization would be in vain. Gathering all his will into a fist, he took a deep breath and, with monstrous force, kneed Heinrich in the face. Without allowing him to come to his senses, he jumped up and with a direct blow turned the giant’s long-suffering nose into a bloody mess. Gasping for air, he fell backwards, hitting the back of his head on the platform. Nick grabbed him by the ears and drove his knee to his chin. Choking on blood, Heinrich shook his head and, with an inhuman roar, launched a decisive attack. The audience froze: they did not expect such a rapid turn in the fight. Nick's strength was exhausted, he understood that the denouement would come now. Sharply kicking Heinrich in the shin, so that he crouched in pain, he grabbed his head with his hand and ran his forehead against the corner post. The shocked giant lost consciousness and stretched out in the ring, arms and legs outstretched.
  
  
  Spectators jumped up from their seats and rushed to congratulate the winner. Satisfied with the outcome of the fight, the seconds carefully dried him with a towel, cheerfully patting him on his lathered back. Someone handed the champion a mug of beer, shouting that he should definitely be nominated in the elections as a candidate for the post of Chancellor of Germany. The hero himself, clutching the rope with his hands shaking from overexertion, looked out for the count’s retinue in the crowd. So he noticed Boots, forgetting about the rules of decency, she screamed and jumped with delight along with everyone else. But the gloomy face of the count himself did not bode well for Nick, and his eyes, full of evil envy, were ready to incinerate him like a sworn enemy.
  
  
  Suddenly von Stadi jumped up and, running into the middle of the platform, loudly demanded silence, waving his arms. Noticing that several young cadets surrounded the defeated giant and were trying to shave off his mustache, the count dispersed them with kicks and, drowning out the roar of the crowd with his voice, yelled furiously:
  
  
  - Be silent, you insignificant brutes! Quiet, you swine! You have become like a crowd of sheep bleating at the sight of a shepherd with a whip! What are you happy about, donkeys? What amused you so much! We need to respect honored fighters, and not make fun of them! You are not the flower of German youth, but stupid puppies! Are you really capable of getting even with our enemies for all the humiliations of the nation?
  
  
  The crowd fell silent, ashamed of their Fuhrer, whose booming voice boomed throughout the ancient campus. Hanging on the ropes, Nick silently watched as the doctors carried their former idol off the platform on a stretcher. Von Stadi continued to rage, promising to tighten the regime and daily drills for his knights. Finally he got tired, left the ring and got into his Mercedes, which rushed him home.
  
  
  With the Count's departure, the crowd's rejoicing flared up with redoubled force. The winner of the tournament was carried in his arms to the main gate, a triumphant torchlight procession spilled out onto the embankment. Forged boots rumbled along the paving stones, the reflections of torches danced across the dark surface of the water, and Nick felt as if he had been transported to Germany in 1937. Singing songs, fans carried him to the Deutschland Uber Alles tavern and arranged a real feast there in his honor. Flushed and sweaty, they came up to him and called him “comrade”, hugging him with their hairy arms. Nick patiently endured this whole stupid farce and tried not to get drunk, focusing on the busty waitresses in low-cut peasant blouses. Suddenly a familiar face flashed through the crowd. Yes, there could be no doubt, it was the same pop-eyed man with a short haircut who locked him in a morgue in Sweden, forcing him to spend the night in the company of the blue corpse of a scientist from a secret laboratory. Only now this guy was serving beer to the youngsters feasting at the long tables. Nick quickly jumped to his feet.
  
  
  - Please excuse me, comrades! - he roared, pretending to be drunk. “But I urgently need to return some of the good Bavarian beer to the good Bavarian land to make room for a new portion!” “Freeing himself from the embrace of the tipsy Germans, he headed towards the little waiter. Seeing him, he blinked his eyes in fear and, out of excitement, dropped the tray with mugs into the lap of the huge cadet. Nick quickened his pace, and the goggle-eyed man rushed to the exit. Nick managed to catch up with him only near the humpbacked stone bridge. Grabbing the fugitive by the collar, he smashed him against the parapet.
  
  
  - No! No! - he babbled. - This is a misunderstanding!
  
  
  “Of course,” Nick nodded. - Now you will explain everything to me.
  
  
  “It happened completely by accident, I swear to you!”
  
  
  “It was completely by chance that I stayed alive, you probably want to say,” Nick corrected him, peering inquisitively into the horror-filled eyes of the shabby subject. If he told the Count that Nick moved in high government circles in Sweden, then the whole operation to infiltrate the Teutonic Knights must be put to rest. The last opportunity to find out who is trying to disrupt the activities of the Swedish underground town and hack the American air defense system will be lost. A stiletto appeared in Nick's hand.
  
  
  - I didn't lock the door! — The waiter squealed on a high note. “I was no less scared then than I am now when I suddenly ran into you in the dark.”
  
  
  Nick put the tip of the stiletto to the throat of the man trembling with fear.
  
  
  - Who killed the real morgue worker?
  
  
  - I do not know this!
  
  
  “Wrong answer,” Nick sighed. - It could cost you your life. “He put his hand over the waiter’s mouth. His sad, frozen eyes widened and blinked rapidly, and the little man grabbed Nick’s sleeve. Nick removed his paw from his mouth for a second.
  
  
  “I bet you remembered something,” he growled.
  
  
  “Okay, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything,” the frail man said in a sad voice. “He was killed by one of von Stadi’s henchmen, Lieutenant Müller.
  
  
  - For what? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “You can stab me, but I don’t know,” the little man shrugged, straightening his shoulders.
  
  
  - Why the hell did you end up there? - Nick grabbed him by the throat. - Maybe he wanted to insure the life of the unfortunate orderly before your friends killed him?
  
  
  “Listen, my name is Gustav Lang,” the waiter suddenly said, sighing heavily, in a completely calm tone. — I am a reporter for the magazine Der Spiegel, I have a special editorial assignment. I've been assigned to do a series of reports on neo-Nazis in modern Germany, which is why I've been following Count von Stadi for several months now. If you have relevant connections, you can check this with the editorial office. But keep in mind: they won’t just tell you anything there.
  
  
  Nick nodded understandingly: checking the journalist’s words was not particularly difficult for him.
  
  
  - So what happened to the morgue worker? - he repeated his question.
  
  
  “Having learned that von Stadi was up to something in Sweden, I decided to go there too,” said the reporter. “After following Müller and his people and talking with some of my Swedish colleagues, I found out that this story involves some mysterious rays that are interfering with the successful development of a system for protecting against laser weapons. And when I learned that one of the leading scientists working in this field had died under mysterious circumstances, I realized that it was time for me to visit this laboratory myself. When I entered the morgue, that worker was already dead. I changed into his clothes to get a better look around. My action may seem cynical and cruel to you, but I have studied von Stadi’s habits too well. You know, he has very long arms, he has his people everywhere. And then I unexpectedly ran into you there... I had no choice but to run away from there.
  
  
  Nick thought about it. The silence was broken only by the measured splash of waves in the canal. Finally he lit a cigarette and offered one to the reporter.
  
  
  “We will need to meet in the coming days and talk in more detail,” he said. - But now I don’t have time. I need to get back to the pub. However, answer me just one question, Gustav. Why does von Stadi take such an interest in defense sites in Sweden? After all, this country was neutral during the war.
  
  
  “I heard something in the tavern, so let me make some assumptions,” the reporter replied. - The point, in my opinion, is this. As soon as von Stadi comes to power, NATO will immediately remove all its nuclear weapons from Germany. If the Count manages to prevent the Swedes from creating protection against Chinese laser weapons, the Chinese will provide him with a small number of atomic bombs and warheads and primitive delivery vehicles as a reward. But this will be quite enough for him to rule over all of Europe. And judging by how one after another the leading Swedish researchers turn blue and die, he will reach America. Do you like Wiener schnitzel?
  
  
  “No,” said Nick. - How soon can this happen?
  
  
  “As soon as he has a reason,” the reporter shrugged. “For example, if the government once again faces significant difficulties. Thanks to his father, the count has extensive connections in industrial and military circles. They believe him, but I doubt that the States and France will believe him. Without the Chinese atomic bomb, he will not be able to achieve anything.
  
  
  “It seems to me that such material is of interest not only for the magazine,” Nick noted. - Even such a reputable one as Der Spiegel.
  
  
  “It’s good if I manage to publish at least one tenth of what I learned,” the journalist said quietly. — In the meantime, Europe may end up in the hands of a madman, and the United States in the hands of the Chinese. And my editor-in-chief is in the dock.
  
  
  Nick grinned, thinking that there was no need to report everything he heard to Washington. All the same, Hawk would have sent him, Nick Carter, to find out the situation on the spot. And he's already here. But, unfortunately, without a single idea where to start.
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  Covered with a blanket up to his chest, Nick smoked, looking thoughtfully out the window. During the day, it offered a rather pleasant view of the lawns and flower beds in the castle courtyard, but now it was illuminated only by the dim light of the moon, cold and hostile. If things didn't turn out the way Nick hoped, he wouldn't be able to escape from here. The count's castle was guarded by vicious killer dogs, and the nearest highway was at least two hours away if you walked. During this time, he will be caught by the same cheerful guys with whom he feasted just a few hours ago. In addition, the forest surrounding the castle is stuffed with traps that shoot ampoules of deadly poison, and it was possible to fall into one of them at night without taking even two steps.
  
  
  However, after reflection, Nick decided to still try to inform Washington about Count von Stadi’s intention to carry out a coup d’etat, and to use the same reporter as a courier, because he is free to travel at his discretion, and the extra money certainly won’t hurt him.
  
  
  Putrid damp air wafted from under the door, and Nick pulled the blanket over his bare chest. Who could be walking around the castle at such an hour? Could it be that the ghost of Hermann Goering himself came to visit the count?
  
  
  Nick felt for the handle of the stiletto and swung his legs out of bed onto the cold stone floor. Footsteps approached along the corridor towards his room. Here one could expect any surprise - from a grenade under the door and a machine gun burst to a jet of poisonous gas through the keyhole. The iron-lined door creaked, there was a draft, and a figure appeared on the path of moonlight. Sneaking up behind the uninvited night guest, Nick squeezed his throat with his hand and pressed a stiletto to the carotid artery under his ear.
  
  
  - Oh my God, Nikki! - Boots screamed strangledly, trying to free herself from the grip of his strong hands. - Do you ever sleep?
  
  
  “Depending on the circumstances,” Nick avoided a direct answer, releasing the girl. -What the hell do you want here?
  
  
  — I came to congratulate the winner! - she exclaimed. “I think you deserve a special reward.”
  
  
  Nick scratched the back of his head with his stiletto, looking incredulously at the smiling harlot.
  
  
  “What if the count wakes up and finds that you are not in bed next to him?” - he asked. “Or maybe he himself sent you to slowly strangle me while I’m sleeping?” After all, he can’t come to terms with the fact that I broke his record.
  
  
  - Oh, shut up now! - Boots exclaimed. “You know why I came.”
  
  
  She unzipped the back and the silk dress fell to the floor at her feet. With a quick movement, Boots unclasped her bra and took off her panties. In the eerie moonlight, her pale face and large eyes looked like a witch's mask. Naked, she took a step forward and pressed herself against him. Her slender hands closed on his back, and her hot, wet lips pressed against his. Nick picked her up and started to carry her towards the bed, but she twisted around and pulled him along with her onto the hard, cold slabs.
  
  
  “Here, on the stones, I will feel you more keenly,” she whispered, shuddering with merciless fury with her whole fragile body between his hot male flesh and the old stone floor. When she finally stretched out in complete exhaustion, greedily gasping for damp air with her wide-open mouth, Nick picked her up and, laying her on the bed, lay down next to her. He hears her softly sobbing and moaning.
  
  
  “I adore him,” she muttered dully, “he’s so handsome and courageous.” But he despises me! For what? Tell me why? - She turned to him with a tear-stained face. “And tonight he outdid himself: he forced me to burn him with a hot iron, while he stared at the wall and smiled his creepy smile.” God, why am I so unhappy?
  
  
  Nick silently offered her a cigarette.
  
  
  “He says that now he must again pass all the tests for those joining his organization, supposedly confirming his right to be its leader. But who else could become it? Surely you won’t lead the Teutonic Knights with torches through the streets to the pub? I must admit, I simply cannot imagine this.
  
  
  “Me too,” Nick chuckled. “I am not fit to be a shepherd for a herd of pigs who only accept force and the whip.” One thing I know for sure: if I were the Fuhrer of the Teutonic Knights, I would come up with something smarter than killing and kidnapping some Swedish scientists.
  
  
  - Are you kidding? - Boots laughed. - Yes, this Swedish organization is not worth a damn compared to Ricky’s entire grandiose plan! If it comes true, the count will become the ruler of not only Europe, but also America. I'll tell you what, kid: don't forget that Ricky is a doctor, and one of the best specialists in his field. He is a great scientist. It was he himself who came up with this blue death, which all Swedish newspapers are now writing about.
  
  
  Nick froze, struck by what he heard, like lightning.
  
  
  “Maybe your dear Ricky is a genius,” he grinned. “But how does he manage to suddenly make the kids who are several thousand miles away from him turn blue and give up their souls to God?” Don't talk nonsense, we'd better drink some cognac, I have one flask hidden in my suitcase.
  
  
  After a good sip of old cognac, the girl’s tongue finally loosened, and Nick could only listen and refill her glass.
  
  
  “You know, my big guy, all these Swedish scientific rats are not turning blue because of cosmic rays,” Boots said with difficulty pronouncing the words, looking lustfully at Nick. - Ricky did all this in his laboratory. And now he has improved the strain so much that not a single expert will guess that it is some unknown virus or something like that...
  
  
  “I know a little about viruses,” Nick said, taking the glass from him. “If he came up with something truly original, we could make good money on it.” I have friends who could offer Ricky a lot of money for his discovery.
  
  
  Boots grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her, giggling strangely as she did so.
  
  
  - My dear, Ricky has enough money of his own. And stop talking about these nasty bacteria, let's make love. When I drink, I’m always overcome by a terrible passion... There’s a tiny virus inside me,” she sang nasally, and immediately the silence of the corridor was broken by another terrible laugh, well known to Nick. He jumped out of bed, holding the stiletto in his hand, and rushed to the door. But the dwarf's laughter was already coming from the far end of the dark corridor.
  
  
  “This is Loki, the dwarf,” Boots laughed idiotically. “Don’t try to catch up with him, he knows the castle like the back of his hand.” Come to me, my giant, and help me pass this night.
  
  
  Nick turned around: Boots was lying with her legs open invitingly, humming something incoherently under her breath.
  
  
  “Loki is clever and clever, but he won’t help Bootsy, Bootsy needs a champion...” she muttered and immediately fell asleep.
  
  
  At dawn, Nick woke her up and sent her, sleepy and dissatisfied, to her room to get some sleep.
  
  
  Closing the door behind her, he went to the window and began to admire the sunrise. It was a long way from here to Washington, and it had to be admitted that there was a possibility that he would never get out of the castle. Even under the most successful set of circumstances, it will be possible to visit Gustav in the tavern only late in the evening. Hawk must be informed of what is happening in the ancient castle in the mountains of Bavaria in order to fully confront von Stadi and ensure the safety of the US air defense headquarters in the face of the new Chinese threat.
  
  
  And as if confirming the seriousness of the situation, at the very first rays of the sun the silence of the sleepy mountain peaks was broken by the sharp sound of a bugle: it was a detachment of well-armed soldiers of the von Stadi army, which regularly carried out maneuvers in the wooded valley, performing exercises. This once again spoke of the serious threat hanging over the current government of West Germany.
  
  
  But could von Stadi overthrow him single-handedly? Of course, he cannot do without the help of influential circles, but he has quite enough of his own strength. Such giants of thought as Luther, Hitler, Castro, Marx, Mohammed were able to dramatically change the course of history...
  
  
  Well, Nick could only hope that a little waiter with a military haircut named Gustav was working at the Deutschland Uber Alles tavern that evening.
  
  
  As soon as the first rays of the sun touched the walls of the campus, sleepy townspeople began to appear from the doors of the houses. Rubbing their eyes and yawning, they mounted their bicycles to head down the winding streets to work. And it’s unlikely that any of these hard workers cared about the lonely, silent figure standing inconspicuously near the door of the small cafe.
  
  
  Finally the door swung open and waiter Lang came out. He bent down to remove the lock from his bicycle, not yet noticing the stranger watching him.
  
  
  The animal eyes that watched him were cold, like the Arctic seas, and impassive, like those of a hungry wolf. A strange, wild creature in the guise of a man suddenly took off from his place and in several leaps covered the distance separating him and the victim. The waiter raised his head, saw the eerie creature looming over him, and rushed away with a heart-rending scream. He ran headlong, like a mouse scared to death, along a deserted street, hearing behind him the heavy patter of feet and a terrible laugh, more like a hungry growl. The poor fellow let out a final cry for help, and the next second a huge hand grabbed him by the shoulder, and the other grabbed his head with a death grip.
  
  
  Fortunately, none of the workers hurrying at this early hour had a chance to witness how a huge, stooped man caught up with another, small man who was running away from him, saving his life, broke his spine with one blow and then with one movement of a mighty hand, similar to animal paw, tore off the poor fellow's head.
  
  
  Gustav Lang's head rolled into someone's neat flower garden, and the giant killer lifted the headless body onto his shoulder and walked with it back to the porch of the house, near which the waiter's bicycle stood. Entering the door, he threw the corpse on the floor of the hallway and walked leisurely down the street, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his face and hands.
  
  
  Nick's arms were held, twisted behind his back, by a giant possessing superhuman strength. Compared to him, Henry was just a baby.
  
  
  Count von Stadi greeted Nick with a barely noticeable smile.
  
  
  “It turns out that you are not so invincible, Herr von Runstadt,” he said, not without gloating. - Let him go, Einar!
  
  
  Einar unclenched his steel paws and pushed Nick in the back with such force that he sprawled on the floor in front of the count.
  
  
  “I would like to know what you were doing near my laboratory, Herr von Runstadt,” he asked him.
  
  
  “I’m just lost,” Nick answered, getting to his feet. “And your monkey suddenly attacked me.”
  
  
  “Einar is not a monkey at all,” the count laughed. “He’s a real Viking, and he’s about a thousand years old.”
  
  
  Nick turned around and stared in amazement at the man who had just held him. A stern man of enormous stature silently looked at him with his bestial eyes. He was really not young, but he had the enviable health of an elderly fisherman, about fifty-six years old, no more. Nick looked at the Count incredulously.
  
  
  “I see, Herr von Runstadt, you don’t believe me,” he grinned. - So, here is a real Viking in front of you. He was discovered frozen in the Arctic ice shortly before the war by a German polar expedition. When my father sent me to Argentina in 1943, I managed to take the frozen Einar with me. In my laboratory, I revived it using my own technology. Look at him! Isn't this living evidence that I have become equal to God himself? However, I wanted to talk to you about something completely different, so let’s leave anthropology for now. For a number of reasons I cannot tell you why I need that Swedish learned lady so much, but I really need her badly. And with all due respect to your merits, I must confess that I intend to use you solely to get Astrid Lundgren. What do you say to this?
  
  
  “Well, I have nothing against it,” Nick smiled. “I’m ready to go to Stockholm for her right now.” True, for a small additional fee.
  
  
  “You misunderstood me, Herr von Runstadt,” the count grinned. “You won’t have to go anywhere, you will stay here in the castle.” I remember you told me that Astrid was in love with you and trusted you completely. If this is really the case, then sending her a letter will be enough. She knows your handwriting, doesn't she?
  
  
  Nick nodded, trying not to show his disappointment.
  
  
  “But you must admit, Count, it is rather naive to believe that we will be able to force Astrid to reveal to you the secrets of her scientific research.” She can only slightly change the formula, and you will not be able to catch her cheating even in a year. Understand that her equations are the highest achievement of mathematical science, and understanding them is not so easy,” he noted.
  
  
  “You know what, Herr von Runstadt,” von Stadi said, looking at him thoughtfully, “in order not to waste time, I’ll show you something now.”
  
  
  He pressed a button on the remote control and one of the wall panels moved aside to reveal a row of televisions. The screens lit up, and Nick saw eerie scenes reminiscent of some seventeenth-century madhouse, perhaps Bedlam itself. Some wretched creatures sat motionless in unimaginable positions on the floor in a completely empty room, without uttering a word.
  
  
  “Do you think that these are patients suffering from catatonic schizophrenia, Herr von Runstadt?” - asked the count. - Not at all. And now you will see this.
  
  
  He gave some orders over the phone, and the screen showed orderlies in white coats entering the ward with the patients. They attached electrodes to the head of one of the patients.
  
  
  And immediately all the other creatures, frozen without movement, fell into confusion, and an insane fire flared up in their empty dark eyes. Someone began to crawl on their knees at the feet of the orderlies, pleadingly stretching out their hands to them, the women began to take vulgar poses, apparently trying to seduce the men in hospital gowns. One of them said something sharply to the patients, and they recoiled from him in fear and huddled in a corner. Some even began making desperate attempts to climb up the bare wall.
  
  
  “You have just observed only the external manifestations of the reaction of my experimental guinea pigs to the threat of applying electrical impulses to them. You may know, Herr von Runstadt, that certain areas of the human brain seem to control pain and pleasure in his body. By stimulating them with electricity, you can deliver them to him. both unbearable suffering and extraordinary joy,” the count commented on this scene.
  
  
  “Unfortunately, such unearthly bliss has very sad consequences for the person who experiences it. Three seconds of such pleasure - and a person turns into a plant. I apply this method to my Einar, alternating pleasure with pain. But since he is dear to me, I limit myself to a procedure lasting one second, no more.
  
  
  - Who are these people? - Nick asked.
  
  
  The Count smiled:
  
  
  “These are guilty members of our community: some of them tried to betray us, others made a mistake and thereby harmed the order. Now they are being punished.
  
  
  - And in this way you hope to get the formula for protection against laser weapons from Dr. Lundgren?
  
  
  - You guessed.
  
  
  - What if, after your influence on her brain, she generally loses her memory and ability to think?
  
  
  “That shouldn’t worry you,” the count laughed. - In any case, as long as you follow the rules of the game, you have nothing to fear. But for your information, I will say that memory loss is not possible. After my influence, she will be only glad to remember everything, in the smallest detail, I dare to assure you.
  
  
  The Count looked at his watch.
  
  
  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I have urgent matters awaiting me.” Please take the trouble to drop a few lines to dear Miss Lundgren and bring me a note. I am forced to go to the city to meet with the authorities: in the morning a certain Gustav Lang, a cafe waiter, was killed, and I must assure the police that our organization has nothing to do with this.
  
  
  Count von Stadi stood up.
  
  
  “Goodbye, Herr von Runstadt,” he said in German. - I wish you a pleasant time.
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  Leaving the count's office, Nick headed towards the stables. So Gustav Lang was dead. With his death, the only opportunity to transmit important information to the center disappeared. Moreover, not even two days will pass before the legend on which he works will be revealed, if it has not already been revealed by this omnipresent dwarf Loki, following on his heels. What will happen when Astrid receives a letter from him? Larson, of course, will not allow her to go to Germany, von Stadi will go berserk, realizing that they tried to foist a pig in a poke on him, and Nick Carter will be killed without further ado, like an unfortunate reporter.
  
  
  The stable smelled tartly of hay, horse urine and manure.
  
  
  -Are you new? - the groom asked.
  
  
  “Yes,” Nick answered briefly.
  
  
  “I don’t advise you to turn off the paths into the forest: you will fall into a trap and kill your expensive horse.”
  
  
  “When I need the groom’s advice, I’ll ask him myself,” Nick answered, sitting on his horse, just like a Prussian.
  
  
  The mare was playful and tried to break into a gallop, but Nick held her back until he reached the forest.
  
  
  Everything in this mortal world has its turn. Now it's time for Nick Carter to escape from the castle. Nick had the ability to make important decisions quickly. He didn't go to his room to get his things, deciding to use the element of surprise. This happy thought occurred to him while still in von Stadi’s office. Either he will reach Sweden, or he will fall into the clutches of murderers serving the count.
  
  
  Finally finding herself in the forest, the mare became slightly nervous: the unusual sounds frightened her.
  
  
  “Calm down, baby,” Nick stroked her on the withers. “You still can’t avoid troubles, but why worry ahead of time.” So be smart and listen to me.
  
  
  A rabbit rushed past, and the mare, stumbling out of fright, almost threw him off. Nick burst out laughing.
  
  
  - God, you don’t understand English! Well, let's talk in a language you understand! “He switched to German, continuing to persuade the mare not to be nervous, while they were still on the path, feverishly thinking about a plan for further action. At the top of the hill he stopped his horse and looked back at the castle, mentally summing up the work done. It was not in vain that he visited the laboratory and managed to grab something from there before Einar grabbed him. Nick Carter himself knew absolutely nothing about viruses and bacteria, but he hoped that the test tube with a blue liquid, which he put in his pocket, would help scientists figure out what kind of new deadly weapon Count von Stadi was preparing for the world. In any case, the myth about blue rays unknown to science will be dispelled, and Astrid will be able to calmly continue working on laser protection.
  
  
  Nick pulled lightly on his right rein, guiding his horse toward the edge of the forest, beyond which lay the highway. Unaware of the traps with deadly ampoules, the mare briskly carried him through the thickets, rejoicing at the opportunity to gallop to her heart's content. Soon Nick saw a metal mesh fence ahead. Warning signs on boards placed along it every twenty-five feet read: “Warning! Private property! The intruder will be shot without warning!” Only fifty yards remained to be covered. Suddenly, a hare jumped out from under the mare’s hooves. The horse reared up, neighed in fear, and bolted. Nick could no longer hold her back, eyes wide and ears flattened, she rushed straight towards the metal mesh. Thirty yards to the fence, twenty yards, and he heard the pop of the trap.
  
  
  The mare neighed in pain and rushed forward even faster. Nick prudently released his legs from the stirrups and pressed himself closer to her back, making a few more leaps, the horse fell on its side, but Nick managed to jump off it and dodge the blows of her hooves. Soon the unfortunate animal calmed down: the potassium cyanide had done its job.
  
  
  Having reached the fence, Nick climbed over it, throwing his jacket over the barbed wire stretched along the top edge, and hid behind a bush, deciding to wait for a passing truck. It was sixty kilometers to the university town, and Nick only had thirty German marks left in his wallet.
  
  
  But he was lucky: he made half the journey on a garbage truck, and then he was picked up by two tipsy farmers driving into town in an old truck. All the way they took turns drinking a bottle of cognac and cursing the government. An hour later, the lights of the town appeared ahead, but then the farmers unanimously announced that they intended to stop and have a snack.
  
  
  - Come with us. And then we’ll take you to Frankfurt,” they persuaded the cheerful passenger they liked.
  
  
  Nick shook his head desperately: for some reason he didn’t want to appear at the Deutschland Uber Alles tavern.
  
  
  “Only schnapps helps with my indigestion!” — the peasants, patting him on the shoulder, almost pulled him out of the cabin. - Let's go have a drink and a good snack!
  
  
  But Nick was stubborn, and the farmers left him alone. Looking away, Nick hid in a dark corner and felt for a pistol in his pocket. He waited for his new friends for at least an hour, and during this time excited young guys with flushed faces ran past the truck several times.
  
  
  - Stop all strangers! - they shouted to each other. - Interrogate everyone suspicious!
  
  
  Nick guessed that the “knights” had staged a real raid in connection with the murder of a waiter from a cafe. Watching them from the cabin, he smoked one cigarette after another. What caused him particular concern was not the youngsters who were stunned by the game of chase, but the stern officers from the guard of Count von Stadi's castle with revolvers in holsters on their belts. Finally, the familiar figures of farmers appeared: judging by their gait, they were pretty pumped up on beer.
  
  
  Seeing that Nick was still waiting for them, one of the farmers exclaimed:
  
  
  - Listen, Herman, what should we do with this guy? Shall we take him to Frankfurt?
  
  
  - I think you're right, Karl! - another agreed with him.
  
  
  Having climbed into the cabin with some difficulty, they began to wash von Stadi’s bones, scolding him for throwing his people in search of the killer, instead of looking for traitors who sold honest Germans to the Russians and Americans.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Herman,” said Karl, who was sitting behind the wheel thoughtfully. “The Count will still get to them.” He knows how to teach those damn Yankees a lesson!
  
  
  Up ahead on the highway, someone was waving his arms, ordering the driver to stop. Karl cursed, braked sharply, and leaned out of the window. A tall blond man in a military uniform approached him and said sternly:
  
  
  “We have orders to check all trucks heading towards Frankfurt.
  
  
  - I wonder where you were, sucker, when we checked Russian tanks on the way to Stalingrad? — the red-faced driver breathed fumes in his face.
  
  
  - I am the captain of the army of the Teutonic Knights! — the offended young man flushed. - And I won’t allow...
  
  
  - Well, let's show this sucker and all his friends what else the good old guard is capable of! - Nick suggested in a drunken voice. - Let them know how we fought at Stalingrad!
  
  
  - Good idea! - Herman picked up. - Let them know how to stop honest taxpayers! One for all and all for one! Forward!
  
  
  The captain jumped off the step and shouted to his friends:
  
  
  - There are only three drunken farmers here! Let them through and let them go on their way.
  
  
  - Victory! - Herman exclaimed joyfully.
  
  
  - Without a single shot! - Karl picked up.
  
  
  - On this occasion we need to take another sip of cognac! - Nick noted.
  
  
  “Drink first,” said Karl generously. — When we drink, we all drink together.
  
  
  The truck roared and moved past the “knights” with their tails between their legs further along the highway, carrying Nick, sitting between two peasants who had been playing around, away from the dangerous place. Nick was jubilant, anticipating the successful completion of the journey on the Frankfurt - Copenhagen train.
  
  
  There were only a few kilometers left to the station when the farmers again decided to stop and eat at a small roadside restaurant. No matter how Nick resisted, this time they dragged him into the hall with them, even promising to pay for such a nice guy.
  
  
  Everything was going well until Nick looked up from his plate of sausages and cabbage and accidentally glanced at the man at the next table, who had his head buried in a newspaper. Half of the first page was taken up by Nick's face, and the other half was a photograph of the headless corpse of Gustav Lang. Nick didn't need to read the article to know that von Stadi was accusing him of murder.
  
  
  — How can I get to the Imperial Hotel? - he asked Karl, noticing that he was looking around, apparently hoping to find a newspaper forgotten by someone on the table. “I have a friend who lives in Frankfurt, but I haven’t been here since the war.”
  
  
  Herman looked up thoughtfully from his coffee, but Karl had already noticed the photo.
  
  
  - Look there, Herman! he yelled. “Our fellow traveler, it turns out, is the same killer whom the von Stadi guys were looking for!” How cleverly he fooled us!
  
  
  - Sorry guys, but I have to go! - Nick muttered, jumping up from the table.
  
  
  - This monster tore off the head of the unfortunate waiter! - Karl shouted to the whole hall and rushed at Nick. The experienced scout's right fist hit him squarely in the hollow of his chin, and the farmer collapsed with his entire body on the floor. At that moment, Herman hung on Nick’s back and began to call for help from the owner of the restaurant and the police. Dragging the heavy German on his back, Nick rushed towards the exit.
  
  
  - Don't let this beast get away! - Herman yelled. - Help for God's sake!
  
  
  - Carefully! - one of the visitors shouted. - He is armed and extremely dangerous!
  
  
  Along Nick's path, the figure of a chef grew: he held a huge cutting knife in his hand. Nick grabbed the chair and rushed straight at it, sticking the legs of the chair forward. The cook could not withstand the blow and dropped the knife, falling backwards. Jumping over him, Nick jumped through the doorway and ran out, already without Herman on his back: hitting his head on the ceiling, he collapsed next to the chef.
  
  
  Nick looked around: behind the restaurant there was a plowed field, followed by a black forest. Without hesitation for a second, Nick ran towards him, squinting from the West German sun beating into his eyes.
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  Helicopters buzzed overhead all day long, almost brushing the treetops. Dogs were barking from the direction of the field. Count von Stadi spared no expense to ensure that the murderer of Gustav Lang was caught. Nick could barely stand on his feet from fatigue, his eyes were drooping, but he stubbornly continued to wander north. Going out to the railroad, he traveled several kilometers in a freight car. Then I lay down for three hours in some swamp, then hid in a coal bunker. He already knew how many kilometers remained behind him when he sensed deep water below, at the foot of the hill. Descending down the slope, Nick saw a river with barges slowly sliding along its glossy surface, docks and cargo piers, along which warehouses stretched.
  
  
  Near the port warehouses there are always a lot of tramps and various dark personalities hanging around, among whom it was easy to get lost. Here Nick Carter could sleep peacefully in some corner without fear that someone would disturb his sleep in the middle of the night.
  
  
  But while the superspy was resting, recuperating after a hard day, his pursuer, Count von Stadi, was strengthening his body and spirit in a slightly different way. Naked to the waist, he stood in the middle of the white-walled room on the granite floor, breathing noisily and wincing with each new blow that Boots delivered to his bloody back. His chest was glistening with sweat.
  
  
  Finally the girl dropped the whip, and the count turned to her with a triumphant look.
  
  
  - I won again! - he exclaimed. “All my mistakes are washed away in blood.” Now I can command my people again! Self-improvement is a wonderful thing! “He patted Boots on the cheek condescendingly. “I knew you couldn’t stand it and would give up first, baby.” From now on, I will always be your master!
  
  
  “Rikki, it seems to me that you don’t quite understand...” Boots tried to object to him, but the count did not let her finish. He silently picked up the whip from the floor and handed it to her:
  
  
  - Hit!
  
  
  The girl lowered her eyes sadly.
  
  
  - Then be silent and obey! - said von Stadi and, looking at a piece of paper with a list of urgent matters, began dictating into the microphone built into the wall:
  
  
  “We continue to devote all our attention to the search for von Runstadt,” he said in an authoritative voice. - Notify all Teutonic Knights, all employees of my enterprises, including pharmaceutical factories, of the need to make every effort to capture this murderer, who poses an extreme danger to our organization. Involve the police and army in the search, using our people in the highest political circles for this. I will pay five hundred thousand German marks for the fugitive's head. His body doesn't interest me. As for other matters, please let the following companies know my answer: Krupp Industrial Group yes, Volkswagen no, and Lufthansa maybe. Everything else will wait for now.
  
  
  He turned off the microphone and began buttoning his shirt and tying his tie, watching Boots in the mirror.
  
  
  “By the way, baby,” he said, “I forgot to tell you one thing.” You will have to fly to Travenmunde: I think that our cunning friend will try to cross the border there. Can you hear me?
  
  
  Boots stared blankly at the bloody stains appearing on the silk of her shirt.
  
  
  “I can’t,” she finally said quietly.
  
  
  “I don’t have time to repeat it twice,” the count said, looking at his watch. “You gave away my secret to this bastard, and you will deliver his head to me.” Get ready to take off in forty-five minutes. Everything you need will be provided. You can act at your own discretion, but don’t forget the main thing: you must return here with his head. Good luck to you, my baby!
  
  
  With these words, the count put on his jacket and left the room, whistling a Bach fugue.
  
  
  The freight train was full of coal. For some reason, Nick has been lucky with coal cars lately. He had first reached the mouth of the river on a barge loaded with coal, and now he was jolting towards the Danish border on a train full of coal.
  
  
  The clank of wheels and the shouts of switchmen giving orders told Nick that the train was moving to the ferry. Then everything was quiet for a long time, and Nick felt a huge sea vessel rocking on the waves. He cautiously peered out from under the tarp, weighing his chances. How many days has he been on the run? Two? Three? Has the hunt for him stopped? Finally, he decided not to rack his brains, but to go up to the restaurant and eat. Having got out of the carriage, he began to make his way to the stairs.
  
  
  At this weekday afternoon, the great hall was almost empty. Walking to the corner table, Nick defiantly put money on the tablecloth and looked expressively at the waiter. He calmly poured cold water into his glass and, offering to study the menu, walked away importantly. Nick greedily drained his glass and immediately felt much better. He then scanned the menu, opted for steak, and, motioning to the waiter to come forward, dictated his order. While the waiter was doing it, Nick thought about the situation and made a decision: after having a hearty lunch, return to the freight car and sleep there until Copenhagen. In Denmark, the police are not looking for him, so you will only need to try to avoid meeting with von Stadi's agents, which will not be difficult. Then - a short flight to Stockholm, and back to business.
  
  
  Nick was brought out of his reverie by the unusual animation in the hall. He raised his head and saw that the excited passengers were animatedly discussing something, jumped up from their seats and crowded near the windows. Some people took pictures. Nick looked at the leaden surface of the water, shrouded in fog, shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment and began to eat his steak. However, the alarming sound of the siren did not allow him to finish lunch.
  
  
  The door to the restaurant swung open and several crew members rushed into the room. Nick looked out the window again and this time he understood what was causing the general confusion.
  
  
  At a height of twenty feet above the deck, an airship hovered, from which armed men were lowered along ropes. They were commanded, as I guessed at first glance from her slender figure in a leather suit, by Boots Delaney: with a mask on her face and with a machine gun in her hands, she gave orders in a sharp voice.
  
  
  Several masked people ran into the restaurant. Nick lowered his head and began to cut the half-eaten piece of meat. Masked people rushed through the hall and ran out the other door. As soon as she closed behind them, Nick coughed and hurriedly headed towards the toilet. His plan was simple: to gain time.
  
  
  Suddenly, the glass in the salon door shattered into thousands of pieces and the air above Nick’s head was pierced by a machine gun burst.
  
  
  - Freeze in place and don’t move, my dear! - he heard Boots' voice. - And put your hands on the back of your head, quickly!
  
  
  Nick turned around and exclaimed with a smile:
  
  
  “You’re simply irresistible, Boots, when you’re angry!”
  
  
  - Let's move, schnel! — without even smiling, she ordered. - We have little time.
  
  
  Nick did not argue and obediently went out onto the deck. At gunpoint, he was lifted into the airship cabin, where they pushed him into another corner and took away his pistol and dagger. Thirty seconds later the airship began to gain altitude. Looking out the window, Nick noticed a patrol boat approaching the ferry at high speed from the Danish coast. Unfortunately, he was exactly five minutes late.
  
  
  Boots took off the mask from her face and lit a cigarette.
  
  
  - What happened, baby? - Nick asked, winking at her. “What do I owe you for this unexpected meeting?” Did you miss me?
  
  
  “Don’t try to fool me,” Boots grinned. - Ricky wants to talk to you. Plus, you're wanted by the police for murder.
  
  
  “You know that the real killer is Einar,” Nick noted.
  
  
  - Shut up! - Boots snapped. “It seems to us all that there will be no time for jokes now.”
  
  
  Nick looked out the window and saw military jets approaching the airship. Four interceptors passed so close that he could see the NATO markings on the wings. The link rose up and moved away, turning into four dots. Then one of the cars separated from the rest and began to rapidly dive towards the balloon. Boots annoyedly threw the parachute to Nick.
  
  
  “Sometimes it seems to me that you are bewitched,” she exclaimed.
  
  
  - We're over East Germany! - the pilot shouted joyfully. “Here they won’t dare to shoot us down!” Look, they're leaving!
  
  
  “Thank you for your concern, baby,” Nick said, deciding that before his parachute was taken away, it was time to use the hidden gas bomb. Its deadly gas took effect almost instantly, but Nick could hold his breath for four minutes, thanks to special training, and he had no intention of staying in the cockpit any longer. Taking a deep breath, he opened the valve of the bomb and threw it at the feet of the German, who still held his stiletto and Lugger on his lap. He convulsively grabbed his throat, not understanding what was happening, Nick pushed Boots into the corner, took his weapon and, quickly putting on a parachute, jumped out of the hatch.
  
  
  The cold wind whistled in his ears, the ground was rapidly approaching, but he was in no hurry to pull the pull-cord ring: skillfully controlling his body in free flight, Nick tried to stay in the air flow as long as possible, carrying him to the border. For some reason he didn’t want to end up in East Germany. But finally a strip of plowed land and rows of barbed wire with guard towers appeared below, and dry shots were heard. Nick pulled the ring and felt a jerk, the parachute opened and smoothly carried him over the border. Having landed in the bushes, Nick threw off the lines and ran to the forest. There he caught his breath and looked back: a nylon dome was slowly descending on the eastern side of the border. It must have been Boots. Meanwhile, the airship rose higher and higher into the blue sky, carrying the team of the dead on its last flight. Well, thought Nick, to each his own.
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  Having reached Stockholm, a clean and quiet city on the islands where American Express and Diners Club cards are accepted and you can check into the hotel under your own name, Nick took a shower in the Bernadotte Hotel room and, calling the security chief Musco, made arrangements with him about the meeting.
  
  
  An hour later, he was already driving a rented car into the tunnel leading to the island, feeling an atavistic fear of a hostile dungeon. His only consolation was the thought that he was too old to have a panicky fear of enclosed spaces, and there were no more of exactly the same tunnels, underground parking areas, elevators, offices with curtained windows and dimly lit corridors in Musco than in New York.
  
  
  The officer on duty said that he was expected and led him to a special elevator, which took the visitor directly to Vice Admiral Larson's reception room. Nick's task was not an easy one: he had to convince him to send Astrid Lundgren to von Stadi's lair so that she could obtain evidence that no blue rays exist.
  
  
  Nick walked along the carpet past the secretary, pushed open the door to her boss's office and immediately stepped back in horror. Lying on the carpet with open, frozen eyes was the dead head of the security service, with a bright blue face.
  
  
  - Hey, miss! - Carter called his secretary. - Call a doctor and the police here immediately! “Snatching the Lugger, he rushed down the corridor, looking into every office.
  
  
  Meanwhile, his employees came running to the boss’s reception area. Finding no one else, Nick returned to the desk of the Vice Admiral's secretary. She cried quietly, clasping her head in her hands.
  
  
  “Get Dr. Astrid Lundgren here immediately,” Nick hissed, shaking her by the shoulders. — Every minute is precious.
  
  
  Continuing to cry, the secretary silently nodded her head at him and picked up the phone. Nick lit a cigarette and tried to assess the situation. He had no doubt that a thorough forensic examination would show that the Vice Admiral had been dispatched or strangled before he turned bright blue, just like the murdered scientists working on the laser defense. However, Nick could not prove this at the moment; no one would believe him, except, perhaps, Astrid Lundgren.
  
  
  “She’s not in the laboratory,” said the secretary.
  
  
  “Call home,” Nick suggested irritably.
  
  
  “The home phone is busy,” the secretary said a few seconds later. - Will you wait?
  
  
  “No,” said Carter, “I’ll go to her myself.” If you manage to get through to her, warn her that Nick Carter has come to see her. Let him not open the door to anyone before I arrive.
  
  
  Seized with an anxious feeling, he took the elevator down to the garage, continuing to analyze what had happened. The enemy violated one of the most important unwritten rules of espionage: do not touch the boss of the opposing side. Consequently, von Stadi lost his composure and was on the verge of a breakdown. No matter how popular the Teutonic Knights are in Germany, other powers will not tolerate such disrespect for generally accepted norms and will achieve the dissolution of this organization, and if necessary, even by force. But what if von Stadi was ready to challenge NATO and the Russians? If Chinese missiles with nuclear warheads have already been delivered to Albania for him? Then a serious complication of the international situation, fraught with crisis, cannot be avoided... The gloomy pictures of the coming apocalypse emerging in Nick's head forced him to press the accelerator pedal. The tires squealed desperately as they turned, the car flew off the asphalt onto the cobblestone driveway, and soon Astrid Lundgren's house appeared at the top of the hill. Nick took his breath away when he looked at it: half the cottage was a pile of smoking ruins. Drawing his gun, Carter rushed to the front door.
  
  
  The mistress of the house came out of the kitchen with a glass in her hands, pale as death.
  
  
  - Nick? - she exclaimed in amazement. - How did you end up here?
  
  
  “Vice Admiral Larson has been killed,” Nick breathed, taking her by the elbow. “I found him dead and blue in his office.”
  
  
  The glass fell out of the girl’s hand, and she recoiled in fear from the guest who brought the terrible news.
  
  
  - Whip! - she shouted. - Larson was killed!
  
  
  - Whip? - Nick asked alarmedly. - Is he here?
  
  
  - I am at your service, Sir! - he heard Knut’s voice and immediately fell on the carpet, a fraction of a second ahead of the shot. Rolling on the floor, he took cover behind the sofa, mentally cursing the modern Swedish furniture, which was completely unsuitable for protection from bullets.
  
  
  - Whip! Nick! What's happening? - Astrid screamed. “I don’t understand anything at all anymore!” Stop shooting in my house. It's already almost burned out.
  
  
  Two more shots rang out in the living room, Nick fired back, and Knut disappeared into the next room, from where he jumped out of the dilapidated house.
  
  
  - You are mistaken, Nick! - Astrid exclaimed. “All this is the work of that terrible dwarf whose laughter we heard in Copenhagen.” Shortly before the explosion, I heard him again, and only then Knut rushed here. He wanted to help me. In my opinion, he is too stupid to become a traitor.
  
  
  “He’s too stupid to realize that he could be set up,” Nick objected to her. “But he was smart enough to kill Larson and try to kidnap you.”
  
  
  - This is some kind of endless nightmare! Everyone around turns into monsters. Thank God he got away from here.
  
  
  - No, he's somewhere nearby. He can't let us live. Is there a back door here?
  
  
  “No, but he could have climbed up the tree on the other side of the house and climbed into the bedroom window,” Astrid said with concern in her voice.
  
  
  Nick, without saying a word, suddenly jumped up, crossed the room in a few steps, jumped and, grabbing the edge of the second floor balcony with his hands, pulled himself up and jumped over the balustrade. He had barely pressed his back against the wall when the bedroom door swung open and Knut came out onto the balcony.
  
  
  “This is your end, Special Agent Carter!” — he exclaimed with a victorious smile on his tanned face, looking for Nick in the living room.
  
  
  The smile never had time to fade when Nick put a bullet in the back of the blond's head and the crimson mess of his brains scattered across the wall. Knut fell over the railing and fell like a heap onto the living room floor.
  
  
  “Are you sure he’s a traitor?” - Astrid exclaimed, backing away in horror from the body stretched out on the carpet. - I can not believe this…
  
  
  - Who else locked me in the morgue? - Nick asked. “Besides Vice Admiral Larson and you, he’s the only one who knew I’d go there.”
  
  
  - What should we do now? - asked Astrid.
  
  
  “First of all, we should get out of here quickly,” Nick answered. “The neighbors have probably already called the police.” In any case, we'd better hide for now. Besides everything else, I urgently need to contact Washington: there is a smell of war in Europe.
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  The monotonous hum of the engines of an old military aircraft, shaking all over, and the flames escaping from the nozzle into the darkness of the night, brought sleep to Nick Carter, who was staring out the window. Astrid, sitting in the chair next to him, was dozing or pretending to be asleep, most likely cursing the day when she agreed to cooperate with the American special service. Her curvaceous form was now tightly fitted by a rubber suit, the type that divers wear when diving into cold water. Carter was wearing the same suit.
  
  
  When Nick told Astrid that she would have to make a night parachute jump into the domain of a man who intended to kill her, she only turned very pale, but did not say a word. Therefore, he could not now blame her for being taciturn.
  
  
  For him, jumping from an airplane at night was a common thing. As the French say on a similar occasion, the more you try to add variety to it, the greater the disappointment with the banal ending. Tense anticipation, languid anticipation of what will happen later on the ground, envy of the plane pilot returning to base - all this has been experienced more than once in his life by a seasoned agent, who, in his youth, was part of an intelligence group carrying out important missions in various cities of Germany.
  
  
  Nick remembered his conversation before the flight with Hawk, a frail elderly man who is America's eyes and ears, and sometimes, when the emergency arises, her punishing hand, clutching a dagger.
  
  
  “Don’t get me wrong, boss,” Nick gave him his reasons, “but I wouldn’t want to take a bottle of ink with me from his laboratory again instead of a test tube with a virus.” I don't know anything about bacteria, but I'm sure that the so-called blue death is the brainchild of the Count, and I must prove it. That's why I need Astrid.
  
  
  Hawk did not answer immediately: the risk of Nick’s plan was too great.
  
  
  —Are you sure that von Stadi can come to power in Germany? - he finally asked. — According to the CIA, his army is not that big.
  
  
  “He has extensive connections among the military,” Nick answered. “And if he uses them skillfully, he will not encounter serious resistance, I dare to assure you.” And the first thing he will do, becoming the head of the new government, is to conclude a military treaty with the Chinese.
  
  
  “And how do you think he intends to carry out this coup?”
  
  
  “It seems to me that first he will create some artificial obstacles to the normal functioning of the government in Bonn, then he will start a rebellion in West Berlin, where the disgruntled population will support him. We will be forced to remove our atomic weapons, and then the newly-minted Fuhrer will turn to China for help, using as a trump card his successes in undermining Swedish research work to neutralize the Chinese laser. Maybe he'll even present a dead blonde to prove his words.
  
  
  “I think you have too much imagination, Carter,” Hawk chuckled. - But there is a grain of common sense in your reasoning, so continue to develop it, I would like to hear your conclusion.
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick sighed. “So, it seems to me that even if the Chinese don’t believe him, they will still give him these missiles, because they are interested in an ally who will keep Europe at bay. And when such an odious militarist as von Stadi gains nuclear weapons in addition to power, other European countries are unlikely to wait for him to press the trigger button. You can easily imagine what a glorious mess will begin.
  
  
  “I think we could send a couple of divisions to West Berlin,” Hawk said thoughtfully. “However, our “friends” in the eastern sector will not sit idly by either. No, that won't do. Here's the thing, Carter: keep going and get evidence of von Stadi's involvement in the murders of citizens of other European countries. This would allow the West German government to arrest the Count before he came to power. By the way, photographs taken from a reconnaissance aircraft indicate that the Chinese have already deployed powerful missiles in Albania. Now it is clear to me that they are most likely intended for von Stadi. Keep in mind, son, if that son of a bitch gets his hands on you, he can use this as evidence of American interference in Germany.
  
  
  “I’m dexterous and evasive, like a cunning fox, boss,” Nick reassured him with a grin. “It’s not that easy to hold me.”
  
  
  “It’s all youthful arrogance,” Hawk sighed. - Okay, I bless you for this operation. But remember: this girl is the key to our success in the field of air defense. Without it, the Chinese can overtake us. So you better not start anything that the US government can't finish.
  
  
  The pilot's voice brought Nick back to reality.
  
  
  “We are approaching the landing area,” he announced over the intercom. - You have five more minutes.
  
  
  Nick stood up and checked his gear and radios again. The plane was rapidly descending over the pine forests of Bavaria. A few minutes later, Nick was already parachuted into the domain of the most dangerous criminal in Europe since Hitler. At some distance from it, indifferent stars illuminated another dome.
  
  
  By noon the next day, Nick and Astrid reached the outskirts of the castle. Conveniently sitting in a secluded corner under the shade of Bavarian pines, Nick, using special portable equipment, listened to conversations in the stronghold of Count von Stadi, where he had prudently left radio bookmarks.
  
  
  Puffing on a cigarette, Nick enjoyed the cozy peace of a warm spring day and the clean air, rich in the aroma of pine trees, fighting the urge to take off his headphones and join Astrid, swimming in a small pool near the waterfall. However, the time for the count’s radio operator to go on the air was approaching, and a sense of duty prevailed over temptation. The hasty voice of a German radio operator was finally heard in the headphones, and Nick began to listen intently to his address to all participants in the conspiracy in Germany. Half an hour later, he took off his headphones and put them aside: now he knew everything he needed, the end of the message would be recorded on tape and, among other evidence, presented to the court. The main thing that Nick understood for himself was that it was necessary to penetrate the count’s secret laboratory that night. Consequently, there was little time left to prepare for the operation, and the risk of falling into one of the traps increased.
  
  
  At the very culmination of the intense work of his thoughts, Astrid appeared from the side of the waterfall - her healthy body was wrapped in a long terry towel, but this did not make it any less seductive.
  
  
  “Miss Lundgren,” Nick remarked with a smile as Astrid approached him. — Do you know that you are irresistible without glasses?
  
  
  “I'm glad you think so, Mr. Carter,” she laughed loosely. - Treat me to a cigarette.
  
  
  Lighting a cigarette, the girl bent over slightly, and the towel slid off her lush, firm breasts, revealing soft pink nipples. Nick caught himself thinking that it was time to run around the castle a couple of times or take a dip in the cold pool.
  
  
  “Von Stadi is ready to act,” he said, rubbing his forehead with concern. “So we must carry out our operation this night.” They intend to stage some kind of provocation against the US government and eliminate the chancellor in three days. At the same time, rumors about an uprising in the army and air force will be spread, and von Stadi will seize power on the sly to restore order in the country. Therefore, we must immediately obtain evidence of his participation in the murder of people. I hope the task is clear?
  
  
  “That’s why we’re here,” Astrid grinned. “I knew that I was not going for a walk in the Alps at the expense of the Swedish government. “What a wonderful day it turned out to be,” she noted, looking back at the pine trees pierced by sunlight. - It's nice to die on such a day!
  
  
  The towel fell even lower, revealing her smooth, firm belly. Her green eyes looked at Nick with open challenge:
  
  
  “If you weren’t such a nice girl,” he said thoughtfully, “I would think that you were trying to seduce me.”
  
  
  She smiled and leaned over, kissing him on the lips.
  
  
  “You can’t deny your powers of observation, Agent Carter,” she exclaimed, finally throwing off her towel. The sight of her gorgeous white body, with impressive curves but not an ounce of excess fat, took Nick's breath away. She leaned back with one knee bent, ready to give herself to him.
  
  
  “I must admit that at first I mistook you for one of those brainless, self-confident impudents who consider themselves to be among the golden youth,” she laughed. “Unfortunately, I discovered that I was mistaken only today, when I may have to die.
  
  
  “But you won’t die,” Nick said. - I promise you this.
  
  
  He hugged her, and she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt:
  
  
  - Prove it to me! Before night falls, I want us to catch up so that I have something to remember in the last moments before I die.
  
  
  “Don’t say that,” Nick reassured her, pulling off his clothes, “everything will work out in the best possible way.” “And although his voice sounded confident, the thought of a possible unfavorable outcome of his plan did not leave him for a minute. And this dual feeling of joy and tragic at the same time fading spring day, which gave them both these moments of bliss, gave a special poignancy to what was happening, prompting them to caress each other with extraordinary tenderness and consideration. When she quietly screamed and moaned softly, voluptuously closing her eyes and throwing her head back, Nick's concentrated face softened with a smile, and he sighed deeply, thinking that if all soldiers were given the opportunity to enjoy love in the same way on a warm, wonderful day before battle, then war would never stop. For nothing intoxicates you more than the rapture of sex, and makes you forget about danger.
  
  
  “More, Nick, more,” Astrid moaned through clenched teeth, “I beg you, don’t stop!” I feel everything so acutely... Please, Nick...
  
  
  And again, two magnificent bodies merged under the mountain pines in the ecstasy of the last journey into the land of mind-blowing pleasure, jealously guarded by the gods, bestowed on mortals along with the pain of childbirth and the piercing horror of death. They were transported to another, mysterious world, accessible only to the two of them in these moments of love, but never revealing all its secrets.
  
  
  Finally, Nick leaned back, and both of them silently contemplated the pure beauty of this mountain region under a clear sky for a long time, letting their passions subside. They didn’t need words now; they understood each other perfectly without them. Gradually the shadows became longer and the air colder, but they were warm under the old army blanket and did not want to get out from under it, again and again they poured out their feelings in the language of the movements of their bodies, because there was still a lot to say before dark.
  
  
  But then night finally came, and a crescent moon appeared above the tops of the pines. They dressed in silence and checked their equipment and weapons.
  
  
  — Don’t you carry an ampoule of poison just in case? - she asked quietly.
  
  
  “No,” he grinned. “I don’t think suicide is the best way out.” And you?
  
  
  “Me too, darling,” she laughed.
  
  
  Nick kissed Astrid, and they began to descend into the gloomy valley.
  
  
  Chapter fourteen
  
  
  The hands on the luminous dial of Nick's watch showed ten minutes past midnight, when in the dim moonlight the outlines of a castle appeared in front of them, as if straight out of a Dali painting. Having penetrated into its inner confines along a pre-developed route, the scouts split up: Astrid went alone to the laboratory, and Nick remained waiting for her outside, intensely peering and listening into the treacherous darkness. Time passed painfully slowly, Nick struggled with the desire to go and check if Astrid was alright, but the laws of intelligence that he had firmly grasped kept him from this rash act.
  
  
  Finally, Nick's keen ears caught the sound of careful steps on the grass. Looking through the night vision device, he smiled: Astrid was approaching him with the stealthy step of an experienced burglar. A minute later she was standing next to him behind the squat power plant building.
  
  
  - Everything is fine? - Nick asked.
  
  
  She nodded, breaking into a joyful smile, as if she had just been awarded a state prize.
  
  
  “I’m almost sure that this blue substance was used in the murder of our scientists,” she whispered, showing him two test tubes with samples. “In addition, I was able to look at copies of documents concerning Chinese plans to use laser weapons. They have not progressed as far as I expected in their research. And in two months I will finish work on anti-laser protection.
  
  
  “Wonderful,” Nick exclaimed in German from excess of joy. “Now let’s get out of here: God forbid, the patrol discovers the sleeping dogs.”
  
  
  Just in case, taking one of the test tubes from Astrid, Nick took her hand and pulled her away from the laboratory, thinking as he walked that they would have made a wonderful couple of criminals if they had chosen a different path in life. So far everything was going smoothly according to his carefully calibrated plan.
  
  
  Astrid patted him softly on the back, and he froze in place, peering into the darkness. The back of one of the count’s huge watchdogs appeared on the path. Nick's finger rested on the trigger of a pistol that fired tranquilizer bullets: it was impossible to kill animals, so as not to leave traces of his visit. Fortunately, the dog did not smell them and ran past. Taking a breath, Nick and Astrid plotted their careful retreat from enemy territory. This time they had to saddle not horses at its final stage, but two light motorcycles hidden in a safe place in the forest.
  
  
  Suddenly Astrid patted him on the back twice. Nick froze: this signal meant that a person was hiding somewhere nearby. He turned on the night vision device and leaned towards the eyepieces. A few steps away from them stood Einar, the Viking revived by Count von Stadi a thousand years after he was immured alive in a block of ice. Einar's bestial face left no doubt that he had sensed them with his keen, dog-like scent, and was preparing for a fight. The Viking slowly stepped towards them. It was impossible to shoot at him; the whole castle would have come running at the sound of a shot.
  
  
  “He noticed us,” Nick whispered. “There’s no point in both of them falling into their clutches.” I'll stop him, and you run. You know the route.
  
  
  “No, Nick,” Astrid said decisively, turning white as chalk. “I won’t allow you to be captured.”
  
  
  “We're not playing croquet here, dear lady,” Nick growled. “Get out of here immediately and don’t stop until you find yourself abroad!” That's an order. See you in Stockholm, dear,” he added with his usual smile.
  
  
  Nick ran out of the darkness onto the moonlit lawn and quietly called out to the giant:
  
  
  - Hey, old man! I'm here!
  
  
  Describing circles around Einar, he gradually led him away from Astrid. The Viking took off and rushed after him. They both ran across the lawn, but soon Einar began to fall behind. His hand slid to his belt, and with a terrible battle cry, he swung and threw a short battle ax at Nick. A wild echo spread this terrifying roar of the ancient Scandinavian throughout the castle. Nick barely had time to dodge the wide shiny blade and rush into the shadows when the lights began to come on and the dogs began to bark angrily. Nick decided not to give himself away yet by firing a machine gun, but to hide in the bushes and wait until the general excitement subsided.
  
  
  The tone of the dog's barking changed sharply, the pack took the trail and rushed in pursuit, but not after him, but after Astrid. Hoarse guttural voices were heard giving commands. Nick could only pray to God that she would not go astray and fall into one of the deadly traps. He did not imagine that a worse fate awaited him that night.
  
  
  The beam of a powerful searchlight mounted on an approaching jeep snatched a depressing picture from the darkness: two hefty dogs rushed at Astrid, who was crouched in fear, and two men in boots drove them away with rifle butts.
  
  
  Nick cursed quietly. His task was now absolutely clear. They managed to capture Astrid, but they still don’t know that he is somewhere nearby. Only Einar could see him, but he could not speak. In such a situation, a professional spy with his experience had a good chance of breaking away from his pursuers and going abroad. His official instructions obliged him to do the same.
  
  
  Nick swore again: I don’t care about the instructions, they still can’t provide for all life situations. Before Astrid visited the laboratory, she was still an ordinary agent with certain technical qualifications. But now, after she saw with her own eyes secret documents concerning the Chinese intentions to destroy the air defense systems of Sweden and the United States, Astrid has become too important a person to sacrifice.
  
  
  In helpless despair, Nick watched the patrol return to the castle with the girl. He could suddenly attack her convoy and destroy it, but accidentally kill the captive herself. This means that this option for her release was no longer available.
  
  
  Silently, like a nocturnal predator, Nick crept past the guards closer to the castle. It was necessary to act quickly, before the inhabitants of the castle cooled down after the spontaneous chase. It also played into Nick’s hands that most of von Stadi’s officers went to prepare the government coup he had planned.
  
  
  However, the count himself was still in his citadel, and it was hardly worth hoping that when he saw Astrid, he would not realize that Nick was somewhere nearby.
  
  
  A quarter of an hour later, Carter reached the main gate.
  
  
  Behind the bridge over the moat, near the guard booths, there were two sentries with machine guns. A little further away there was a jeep with a coaxial heavy machine gun and shooters. An inner voice told Nick that it was pointless to break through here. But Nick once again acted differently.
  
  
  Jumping out of his hiding place, he rushed across the bridge straight towards the sentries. At the sight of the madman running towards them, they were at first dumbfounded, but then they nevertheless took their machine guns at the ready. But even a second of their confusion was enough for Nick to drop both of them onto the paving stones with two shots from the hip.
  
  
  Alarmed by the shots, one of the soldiers in the jeep rushed to the machine gun and fired a long burst. Nick fell face down on the cobblestones of the bridge, and tracer bullets whizzed past his head, sending showers of sparks from the parapet. Nick threw a grenade. Having described an arc in the air, it exploded exactly in the jeep, smashing everyone sitting in it to pieces across the pavement.
  
  
  After this there was complete silence. Shaking off the momentary stupor and casting aside doubts, Nick jumped to his feet and ran to the door leading to the main tower: it was there that he expected to find von Stadi and Astrid.
  
  
  The huge baronial hall, where the officers of the Order of the Teutonic Knights usually feasted, was now empty. Or rather, almost empty: Count von Stadi was lounging at a long table with his feet on it. Opposite, at the other end of the table, sat the dwarf Loki.
  
  
  In the middle of the table lay unconscious, topless Astrid, the wires attached to her head and chest were connected to the control panel standing on the table in front of the Count.
  
  
  Hearing Nick's approaching steps, von Stadi moved his head, but did not move. Nick leaned his back against the wall and pointed the machine gun at him.
  
  
  The dwarf laughed vilely.
  
  
  “Put down the machine gun, super agent Carter,” the count said with a grin. - You lose.
  
  
  “The hell with it,” Nick growled in response.
  
  
  The Count poured champagne into a glass and took a sip.
  
  
  “I won, Herr Carter,” the count repeated. “At any second I can influence the pleasure and pain centers in Miss Lundgren’s brain.” What would you like to see more - her extraordinary joy or unbearable torment?
  
  
  Only now did Nick notice that he was completely drunk.
  
  
  “And at any second I can fire a burst from my machine gun on your brains, Count von Stadi,” Nick remarked with a smile, feeling a chill run down his spine.
  
  
  “That’s enough for you, Herr Carter,” the count smiled wryly. “We both understand that the United States fears the Chinese nuclear threat much more than the revival of militarism in Germany.” So as long as Miss Lundgren is alive, you won't kill anyone.
  
  
  The Count shouted something loudly in the Old Norse dialect, and as if from under the ground, the huge figure of Einar rose in front of Nick. He tore the machine gun out of his hands with such force that he almost broke them, and tore grenades from his belt like apples.
  
  
  The dwarf clapped his hands and laughed.
  
  
  “You approve of Einar’s action, Loki,” the count noted with satisfaction. “And you applaud my triumph.”
  
  
  The dwarf jumped from his chair and walked around the hall, trying to please the count even more. He watched his acrobatic stunts with an absent-minded gaze and a sluggish smile on his face. But the smile faded as soon as the dwarf, tired of acrobatics, suddenly jumped onto the table next to Astrid and, leaning over her, began shamelessly stroking her seductive body with both hands.
  
  
  Nick rushed forward, but the Count shook his finger at him warningly, nodding meaningfully at the remote control.
  
  
  - Calm, Herr Carter! — he said with a subtle smile. “Your knightly feelings are worthy of all praise.” Frankly, I am sorry that you are not a member of our order. And all this because of your decadent views!
  
  
  The dwarf again fell to Astrid's naked bust, and Nick, unable to restrain himself, grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the far corner of the hall. The dwarf squealed in a shrill female voice, and Count von Stadi burst out laughing.
  
  
  — Enough, Herr Carter! - he said, having calmed down. “One more step from you and I will destroy this magnificent brain.” In three seconds, this beauty will turn into a brainless fool, ready to satisfy my every whim at the first sign and trembling with fear as soon as I frown.
  
  
  The Count lowered his feet from the table to the floor and stood up, staggering.
  
  
  “But it’s already late,” he said. - Duty calls. I will decide what to do with you both when I return. In the meantime, Einar will look after you. Goodbye, Herr Carter. Let's go, Loki!
  
  
  Nick pretended to believe this ruse. Approaching the door at the end of the hall, the count turned around and added, holding his finger on the button in the wall:
  
  
  “You may be a little surprised that I am celebrating my triumph alone.” So, in three days I will become the master of all of Germany, and very soon - of all of Europe. And who knows, it may happen that one fine day I will take America into my hands... But I am alone today because you seduced Miss Delaney. So I’m kind of in your debt, and in less than ten minutes we’ll be even, Herr Carter. The castle will fly into the air, and the public will be notified that the explosion at the headquarters of our patriotic organization is the work of American saboteurs. Make no mistake: I will come to power on the crest of the greatest wave of anti-American sentiment since the last World War. And don’t try to escape, Herr Carter, he grinned, already opening the door. “Einar won’t allow this.” So happy to stay. Auf Wiedersein!
  
  
  Suddenly the lights in the hall went out, and Nick heard the clang of the lock of the heavy iron door. Without thinking for a second, he first ran to the table and tore the electrodes off Astrid.
  
  
  So, they had less than ten minutes at their disposal. They could try to blow up the door with grenades. Nick got down on all fours and began groping around the floor with his hands, trying to feel them. Suddenly he heard someone's heavy breathing next to him, and the next moment a huge paw squeezed his wrist. The Viking must have seen in the dark like a cat.
  
  
  With his free hand, Nick hit his face with the edge of his palm with such force that an ordinary person’s head would probably split in two, like a dry log from an ax blow. But the Viking only growled like an animal, and Nick hastened to grab his dagger.
  
  
  From outside came the muffled rumble of an engine and the characteristic sound of a helicopter rotor taking off above the castle. This means that an explosion could happen at any minute, Nick thought, all he had to do was send a radio signal to the count, and everyone remaining in the building would be buried alive under its ruins.
  
  
  He drove his knee into the Viking's groin as hard as he could. He screamed wildly and grabbed Nick by the throat with iron hands. A red veil clouded his eyes, and almost losing consciousness, Nick, with the last of his strength, stuck the stiletto into the giant’s throat. Einar wheezed, staggering back, but still managed to hit Nick on the head with his fist. Both simultaneously collapsed onto the stone floor...
  
  
  When Nick woke up, he found himself lying in a pool of blood. Nearby, with his arms outstretched, lay a lifeless Viking, his ugly face was distorted by a strange grin, and his battle ax was sticking out of his head. Apparently, when first confronted with a person capable of fighting back, Einar instinctively preferred to commit suicide and preserve his honor rather than be defeated by a mere mortal or continue to drag out a slave existence. Von Stadi was never able to completely destroy his brain and subjugate it to his will. At a critical second, the ancient warrior instantly made his choice...
  
  
  One grenade was enough to blow up the door. Pulling Astrid onto his shoulder, Nick ran through the tunnel into the yard. Luckily for him, he managed to start the jeep's engine on the first try.
  
  
  The fugitives were already ten miles from the castle when the inhabitants of the valley were awakened by a roar of such extraordinary force that they probably woken up and decided that a spring thunderstorm, not yet seen in these places, had broken out over Bavaria.
  
  
  Chapter fifteen
  
  
  The night was unseasonably cold: fifteen degrees below zero with a gusty wind of twenty knots from the northeast. In the cabin of a powerful all-terrain vehicle, slowly, as if by touch, making its way through the impenetrable darkness of the night, two men sat. One of them, in an unbuttoned parka, long uncut and unshaven, was intently watching the compass: under the slippery icy crust of snow, crunching under the four pairs of all-terrain vehicle wheels, deep crevasses could be hidden, a fall into which would mean an inevitable painful death.
  
  
  Somewhere to the east of them, Count von Stadi hid in his last bastion, fenced off from the whole world by the cold Greenland Sea. In the summer, ships went there and it was possible to bring in food and equipment, which allowed the movement of the Teutonic Knights to maintain its existence, albeit pitiful, like that of the old Viking Einar, but still not yet losing the signs of life, so that, like a deadly bacterium, it would again regain its former activity when more favorable conditions.
  
  
  “Listen, Nick,” a chubby, high-cheeked Eskimo named Joe Shue, who was sitting next to him, elbowed the stern driver in the side. “It will be important for us to keep the machine guns in the cockpit until the last moment.” As the sun rises, the air temperature will rise, but not much; if the machine guns get cold, we'll have to use hunting knives. You understood me? - And leaning back in his seat, he leaned his elbows on the box with plastic explosives and calmly spooned another portion of canned stew from the can into his mouth.
  
  
  Nick Carter nodded: he knew that Joe Shue would not waste his time wagging his tongue, his advice was worth listening to. Here, in the ice of Greenland, completely unfamiliar to him, his life depended entirely on the wisdom of the man sitting with him in the cabin. Nick did not have time to prepare and train before the operation in unusual conditions; he learned about the Greenland den only three days ago from an intercepted radiogram from one of the count’s radio operators.
  
  
  “It seems to me that we are approaching the sea,” Nick remarked. - According to my calculations, in any case, it should be so.
  
  
  “It may very well be,” Joe Shue shrugged. “I’ve only ever been to these parts twice, and even then in my youth. We'll see soon, won't we, Nick? “He smiled, and his black eyes sparkled: “Tomorrow morning there will be thick fog, mark my words!”
  
  
  Nick looked through the frost-patterned window at the cloudless sky and shook his head:
  
  
  “I’m not sure about that, although you, of course, know better.”
  
  
  “No, there will definitely be fog,” the Eskimo repeated confidently. “It’s good that we’ll approach the camp from the leeward side.”
  
  
  Nick felt his heart pounding: an experienced warrior, he perfectly understood how important it was to get close to the German camp at dawn undetected, this would solve a good half of their problems.
  
  
  The powerful all-terrain vehicle steadily covered the endless dark space, bringing the hunters closer and closer to the beast hidden in the lair.
  
  
  The fog silently enveloped the land, as the Eskimo had predicted, shortly before dawn, so that they were able to take refuge behind the moraine that covered the Earl's camp at the foot of the huge Reinhart glacier on Cape Desolation. Through the patches of fog, gradually dissipating under the rays of the sun, the headquarters of Count von Stadi, carved into the ice and reinforced with wooden structures, were visible, at some distance from which there were barracks, various services, generator booths and a runway on a steel base. Nick intended to blow all this up.
  
  
  “Listen, Nick,” said Joe Shue, wrapping himself in a warm jacket and dragging on a cigarette. — Ice is an insidious thing, unpredictable. It remains to be seen how the glacier will behave when everything here starts to fly into the air. I've never had to make such big explosions before.
  
  
  Nick nodded absently, not thinking about the meaning of his words. He didn't care much about what would happen after they started fighting and disabled von Stadi's radio equipment, making it impossible for him to contact the conspirators in Germany.
  
  
  - Is it time to start, Nick? asked Joe Shue. “We can’t let these birds fly away.”
  
  
  -What's the matter with you, old man? — Carter looked at the Eskimo with curiosity. “I thought that for you this little business was nothing more than an original way to pass the time before the seal hunting season began.”
  
  
  - To the devil with these seals! - Joe Shu chuckled. — I am Danish and remember the war well. The Germans killed my father. So I'm ready to take revenge on them for this.
  
  
  Nick nodded and looked at his watch.
  
  
  “Let's wait a little longer, Joe,” he said.
  
  
  The two-seater plane standing on the runway suddenly came to life: the pilot began to warm up the engines. A group of people in the parks walked out of the doors of the central building and headed towards the plane. Nick brought the binoculars to his eyes, examining the strange delegation. Joe Shue readied his machine gun for battle.
  
  
  - Is it time, Nick? he asked impatiently.
  
  
  “We’ll wait until these Eskimos leave,” Nick said. “We won’t kill Danish citizens, even if they do some business with this nit.”
  
  
  “But they’re not Eskimos, buddy,” Joe Shue grinned.
  
  
  So, these are the Chinese, Nick finally guessed. Whatever von Stadi conspired about on the day of the coup, it did not bode well for America and the NATO countries.
  
  
  “Aim well, Joseph,” Nick said. - And shoot for sure.
  
  
  The next moment, the silence of the Arctic morning was broken by the roar of machine guns. The Chinese rushed in confusion along the runway, some fell into the snow, others rushed back to the office of von Stadi's headquarters, carved into the thickness of the glacier.
  
  
  “We’ll deal with the guests and take on the owners,” the Eskimo commented, pouring lead on the group running towards the plane. “I will not tolerate any Chinese communists in my native Greenland.” And the head-headed Germans too. Get it, lousy walruses, here's to all of you!
  
  
  The machine gun in his hands shook angrily, spitting hissing brass cartridges into the snow. Nick looked anxiously towards the rams. What happened to those damn fuses? Did the clock devices not work because of the frost? Several people had already jumped out of the barracks, but Joe laid them down on the snow as soon as they managed to take a couple of steps. Suddenly the buildings shook and immediately exploded into a thousand pieces.
  
  
  “The reinforcements are over,” Nick noted with satisfaction. - Forward!
  
  
  The Eskimo was already shouldering the flamethrower.
  
  
  “What I love about Americans,” he said with a smile, “is because they are well equipped.”
  
  
  They ran to the entrance to the von Stadi ice palace, involuntarily shuddering and crouching at the next explosion that shook the ground under their feet. At the door they were met by sporadic rifle fire. Firing twice in response from a grenade launcher, Nick and Joe burst into the lobby and, stepping over the corpses, carefully moved along a long corridor deep into the glacier.
  
  
  From somewhere far away came the familiar laughter of the dwarf Loki.
  
  
  “Go ahead, Joe,” Nick commanded furiously. - Keep the flamethrower ready.
  
  
  Suddenly there was a loud roar, not like an explosion, and Joe Shue turned to Nick with concern:
  
  
  - It's ice, old man! It seems that soon this entire glacier will collapse into the sea. We better hurry up.
  
  
  “Get back to the rover, Joe,” Nick said. “I’ll deal with the Count alone.”
  
  
  - No, that will not do! - The round-faced Eskimo squinted slyly. “I will stay with you until the end, otherwise I will not see gratitude from the American government.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick agreed. - Then let's get to work!
  
  
  Once again he felt as if he had stepped into the world of science fiction. It seemed like there would be no end to the maze of tunnels. The mocking laughter of the damned dwarf led them further and further into the thickness of the blue-green ice, and death awaited them around every corner. And every time the ice began to move under their feet, they began to feel a sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs. The count's guards retreated, snarling from time to time with fire from carbines and pistols, but the flame of the flamethrower immediately discouraged them from resisting for long. One after another, the “Teutonic knights” fell onto the melting ice and turned into ice.
  
  
  They found the Count behind boxes of frozen fish. As his two bodyguards turned into living torches, he emerged from his hiding place with his hands raised and hummed:
  
  
  - Have mercy! I give up!
  
  
  - Don't move until I search you! - Nick ordered him.
  
  
  Now the count did not look at all like the ruler of the world. The stubble on his cheeks and chin turned frosty, and the fear and despair of a defeated man lurked in his eyes.
  
  
  Suddenly, somewhere above their heads, the dwarf’s laughter was heard again.
  
  
  - Carter! - the count begged. “I beg you, give me at least half a day more, and I’ll make you rich!” Please, for God's sake, please! We are both soldiers...
  
  
  He almost made Nick feel sorry for him, but at that moment the dwarf laughed again. Nick turned around and saw Loki crouched on a horizontal beam twenty feet above the ceiling. The dwarf chuckled and threw a hand grenade below. She jumped up and rolled into the corner of the room, Carter fell face down on the icy floor, covering his head with his hands, and the next moment the dwarf’s scream merged with the roar of an exploding grenade.
  
  
  The Count was the first to come to his senses after the explosion and, with the fury of a madman, grabbed Nick’s throat with both hands. Nick hit him sharply with his forehead on the bridge of his nose and felt blood gushing down his own face.
  
  
  - Well, what about you, Count! - Nick teased the stunned von Stadi. “Show me that you can fight like a wolf!” Fight for your life!
  
  
  The Count threw his fist forward, Nick ducked under the blow, grabbed the Count's hand and threw him over his head into the corner of the room. Slamming heavily on the ice, he shook his head and stared at Nick with a dull gaze.
  
  
  “This is the road to Berlin,” Nick said with an ominous grin, pointing at the tunnel. “Why are you sitting here, Count von Stadi?” It's time to hurry up.
  
  
  The Count pulled a long knife from under his parka and slowly rose to his feet.
  
  
  A bluish stiletto blade flashed in Nick's hand. The Count turned pale, his eyes became bloodshot, and he attacked Nick. The opponents grappled like two cats, and the count collapsed to the floor with his throat cut. Nick carefully wiped his stiletto on the fur of his jacket and kicked him into the corner with disgust.
  
  
  “Not a bad job,” he heard Joe Shue say.
  
  
  Nick even shuddered in surprise: he completely forgot about both the Eskimo and the dwarf. But he sighed again when, turning around, he saw the headless body of a disgusting freak at the feet of a smiling Joe. Loki's head lay on the floor a few steps from his body, staring with small eyes at the icy ceiling.
  
  
  “Don’t think that Eskimos are bloodthirsty savages,” Joe shrugged. “He fell right at me, and I used my hunting knife. The American flamethrower is a useful thing, but a knife is more reliable when things get serious.
  
  
  - Damn it! - Nick exclaimed in his hearts. - You deprived me of pleasure!
  
  
  He silently stared at the lifeless bodies of the dwarf and superman, who, by a strange coincidence, ended their lives in the same way. Nick would not wish such a death on himself.
  
  
  - Don't be upset, Nick! - The Eskimo pulled him by the sleeve. “They got what they deserved.”
  
  
  “That's not what I'm thinking,” Carter said. “I regret that I did not interrogate the count and force him to reveal the names of his accomplices: by doing this I could have saved many lives and prevented trouble in Berlin tonight.” The count himself did not risk anything; if the coup failed, he would simply sit down for a long time in this icy hole of his.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t say you had a choice,” Joe said, raising his eyebrows. “This is all very interesting, of course, Nick, but it seems to me that it’s time for us to get out of here before it’s too late.”
  
  
  Nick did not argue: the icy floor of the cave was already shaking underfoot, like the bottom of a fragile boat on the huge waves of an angry ocean. Taking a last look at the bodies frozen to the floor, he ran after the Eskimo to the exit of the cave.
  
  
  Chapter sixteen
  
  
  In the bar of the Bernadotte Hotel, Nick was caught by the button of his jacket by an old American reporter.
  
  
  -We haven't met before, buddy? — he asked, peering inquisitively into his face.
  
  
  “No, you must have confused me with someone,” Nick answered politely, looking around worriedly. Unfortunately for him, the journalist turned out to have a good memory.
  
  
  “Well, of course, of course,” he muttered. “Your last name is Carter, and as far as I remember, you are from the CIA or something like that.”
  
  
  Nick silently furrowed his eyebrows, deciding not to discuss this issue: in the end, let him think what he wants.
  
  
  “You work for Hawk, don’t you?” — the reporter did not let up. - I've heard a lot about you.
  
  
  “I’m just a technical expert,” Carter lied with an innocent smile. — Doing some minor work.
  
  
  “Let it be to you,” the journalist clapped him on the shoulder. - You can’t hide an sew in a bag! All furloughs have been canceled for US troops in Germany. Two squadrons of B-52 bombers were transferred to Iceland, and an entire air regiment flew to England from California. Three high-ranking German officers have been relieved of their duties overnight, there are military patrols everywhere on the motorways, and border checkpoint Charlie is closed indefinitely...
  
  
  “It seems to me that you should have been in Berlin, not here,” Nick remarked.
  
  
  “However, for some reason, experienced people believe that the answers to these mysterious events should be sought not in Germany, but in Sweden,” the reporter objected. - But personally, I have the feeling that at the last moment someone played a call in this game. They wanted to arrange a second Pearl Harbor, but then the dive bombers were recalled. “He looked questioningly at his interlocutor.
  
  
  - Why should I know? - Nick shrugged. — I myself have just returned from Greenland.
  
  
  “Oh, that’s it,” the journalist drawled, losing interest in him.
  
  
  Nick excused himself and went up to his room. There, a video phone installed by Swedish specialists was waiting for him. At exactly the appointed time, the screen flashed and the well-known thin face of Hawk appeared in front of Nick.
  
  
  -Have you read my report? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “I read it all night and couldn’t put it down. It's time to make a film based on it. There’s something I’d like to clarify,” Hawk said.
  
  
  - I’m listening to you, boss.
  
  
  “It was quite risky to let von Stadi go to Greenland and then hunt him there alone, wasn’t it?” After all, if you failed, he could lead the coup from there, and when his people took Berlin, he could fly by plane. And as a result, we would have Greater Germany again, but with Chinese missiles aimed at Paris and London. You were playing a dangerous game, Nikki!
  
  
  “Of course, we could send our bombers to Cape Despair,” Nick answered thoughtfully. “But only by that time the putsch in Berlin could have already begun.”
  
  
  Hawk chuckled vaguely in response, paused and asked:
  
  
  “Remember those guys you stumbled upon in the abandoned mine in Musco?” So, the FBI arrested a group of Chinese specialists who were collecting rock samples in the same mountain range in Colorado where the air defense control center is located. It seems that the narrow-eyed communists have made significant progress in developing their laser, but I think that they will soon abandon this idea, because we have almost ready protection.
  
  
  They discussed some more professional matters, after which Hawk expressed his gratitude to Nick, in his usual stingy manner, and disappeared from the screen.
  
  
  Nick sank into a chair and thought. Before his mind's eye he again saw the healthy young faces of German boys bawling songs in the streets of the ancient university town, intoxicated by von Stadi's soothing tales of glory and duty, which were much more pleasant and easier to understand than the mentally demanding intricacies of real life. In the end, Nick came to the conclusion that he was very lucky. After all, it is rarely possible to accurately determine the source of evil and destroy it. More often than not, evil begets new evil, and this continues ad infinitum. Immersed in these thoughts, he even forgot about the glass of Scotch whiskey standing on the table in front of him.
  
  
  Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Nick unlocked it, holding his gun at the ready, but the person of unmemorable appearance standing in the corridor turned out to be an ordinary messenger.
  
  
  “There’s a package for you, Mr. Carter,” he said.
  
  
  Looking at him with an inquisitive glance. Nick took from him a small box, wrapped in thick brown paper and tied very casually with rope. Stepping carefully, he carried the package into the room, placed it on the sofa, went into the bathroom and turned on the water. After that, he returned to the room and examined the package more carefully. His name and address were written absolutely correctly in a sweeping feminine handwriting. In the upper left corner there was a note: “From the United States Secret Service. Urgently. Open immediately upon receipt and respond."
  
  
  Nick smiled after reading this and went into the bathroom to laugh heartily, and at the same time carefully lower the package into the water. After that, he returned to the room, raised his glass and solemnly said:
  
  
  - Thank you, Boots, wherever you are now. I haven't laughed like that for a month. May God help you!
  
  
  He drained his glass and called the miners by phone. But as soon as he hung up, the phone rang.
  
  
  A low female voice asked in a serious tone whether he had finished all his endless meetings and reports.
  
  
  “I’ve been on vacation for twenty minutes now,” Nick answered.
  
  
  “Me too,” Astrid said. - That is, I also have a vacation. They gave me three whole weeks, can you imagine that? I haven't had this much free time at my disposal for a long time, honey, and I have absolutely no idea what to do. I'm so lonely! Even the workers abandoned me. You know, they finished remodeling my bedroom this morning. “Don’t go anywhere,” Nick laughed. - I will come soon. “I thought you’d say exactly that,” Astrid giggled happily. “That’s why I told them to renovate my bedroom first, and then come back three weeks later and finish the rest of the house.”
  
  
  
  
  
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  I
  
  
  The man sat motionless on the shore of a small pond and watched with bated breath. He was a large man with a slightly plump waist, short-cropped hair and a heavy, wrinkled face. But like any of the Indians living in the jungle, he could sit patiently and quietly for hours. Only his eyes lived and moved, instantly recording any vibration in the thickets of marsh grass and reeds. Giant grasshoppers jumped from stem to stem, gadflies and larvae swarmed on the surface of the water. But the man was watching another frozen creature, preparing to jump from a water hyacinth leaf: its heavy black wings were tightly folded behind its back, powerful claw-shaped jaws crowned its eight-inch body. A person has already seen these giant beetles in action, seen how they easily broke a pencil with their strong jaws, capable of biting a human finger to the bone. No wonder they were called titan beetles; they were the titans in the world of insects, destroying victims much larger than themselves.
  
  
  Perspiration ran down the man's thick neck in a trickle, but he did not move. “Eternal heat,” he grumbled to himself, “eternal damned oppressive heat, eternal sticky sweat.” He had never gotten used to the heat, although he had been stuck in this threshold of hell for almost twenty years.
  
  
  Suddenly his eyes narrowed: a huge green frog with a whitish belly was crossing the pond, approaching the water hyacinth. She moved in short jerks, diving to the surface to grab a dragonfly or aquatic larva.
  
  
  The man watched the frog swim closer and closer, fat, with a full belly, completely absorbed in its occupation. She had already reached the water hyacinth, went under water for a moment, then emerged again to the surface and slowly swam in the thickets of weakly swaying leaves. The titan beetle flashed through the air like lightning, as if shooting out its strong hind legs. Sharp claw-like jaws pierced the frog's body just below the neck. The frog, almost three times larger than the beetle, rushed back. Her soft flesh was still shaking from the impact. Having plunged into the water, she darted several times, jumped out of the water again, but she was unable to throw off the enemy. In pain, the frog again flew into the air, almost covering the distance to the shore in a jump, but the bite-like jaws of the giant beetle sank into it even deeper.
  
  
  It was all over in an instant; the frog's body, still alive, twitched convulsively, and the beetle had already begun to shred its victim.
  
  
  The man slapped his knee, uttering either a cry or a laugh, and pushed his small palm leaf hat onto the back of his head. This is how it will be, he told himself, rising to his feet and smiling a heavy, cruel smile. Yes, that’s exactly how it will be, he repeated, wiping the sweat from his neck. Like this titan beetle, he will only sit quietly and wait. They will definitely come, he has every reason to be sure of it. If THIS is as important as he thinks, the Americans should show up any minute. He can only wait, wait until they themselves fall at his feet. And if they don’t come... then everything loses its meaning, it’s not worth the days, or maybe weeks of waiting in this God-damned, greedy, omnivorous jungle.
  
  
  On the way home, as he wandered back to the village, a poisonous black and yellow coral snake slithered onto the path. He spat at her, and she disappeared into the tangled bushes. He rubbed the sweat on his forehead with his palm and smacked a midge on his neck, attracted by the smell of sweat. Damn hot, he grumbled angrily. There was no escape from it anywhere, day and night, in the rainy and dry seasons - it was always there. Of course, he shouldn’t have gone on a drinking binge, but on the other hand, he drank to at least forget a little from this oppressive heat.
  
  
  In the village, a man walked past the low walls of the old Catholic mission buildings, walked to a small hut and sat down on the top step of a wooden veranda. Almost instantly, a woman appeared in the dimness of the doorway with hanging flat breasts below the waist, wrapped in something resembling a skirt.
  
  
  “Gin, damn you,” the man growled angrily, raising his heavy, thick hand, “haven’t you learned yet?!”
  
  
  The woman recoiled, disappeared into the twilight, and the next moment reappeared with a bottle filled with a transparent liquid. The man took the bottle, watching her return to the house.
  
  
  ...He bought it five years ago from an Indian tribe. Now he was thinking about bringing her back. She became nothing to him, an empty place. He took possession of her last night, relieved himself, but she remained nothing, an insensitive body. Now it gave him no pleasure even to beat her.
  
  
  He took a long sip of his gin and sat back, idly wondering if anyone else had found out about THIS and if others would show up. However, this did not matter, except that it once again emphasized the importance of what had happened. They will all be helpless, like babies, here in the country of Amapa, they will grope like blind people, they will twitch like a fish on a hook. Even he, Kolben, could not say with certainty that he knew the jungle, but he knew it better than anyone, with the exception of those tribes that somehow managed to live in these remote places, not marked on any map.
  
  
  He licked his thick, saggy lips in anticipation of the imminent moment of triumph. In the end, this is his only chance, the opportunity to get out of this stinking hell hole, to have money, and therefore everything else. He laughed again, a rough, harsh laugh, remembering the titan beetle and the frog. Yes, all he can do is wait.
  
  
  They will come, and he, Kolben, will be ready to meet.
  
  
  At the same time, almost five thousand miles away, in the center of Washington, D.C., another man was waiting with the same excitement, looking impatiently out the window at the tangle of cars and buses rushing through Dupont Square.
  
  
  “He should already be here,” muttered the man, glancing at the large wall clock, “where the devils are.”
  
  
  The man leaned his angular, thin body forward, peering at the cars racing around the ring. His eyes were darkened by metal-framed glasses. How many hours had he already lost trying to find his main agent... David Hawk impatiently tossed the unlit cigar in his mouth. He almost groaned, remembering how it all happened. The disappearance was discovered within minutes of the agent's routine 12-hour call to headquarters. They immediately tried to locate him by calling the apartment, but there was no one there. Several later calls did not bring any clarity, so all he could do was wait until he contacted them himself. Be that as it may, the only obvious thing was that Agent Number 3 was in Virginia, not far from the headquarters. He was on a mission that in professional jargon was called a “fox hunt.” If he really was still fox hunting. Hawk groaned again and shook his head. His ever-wary eyes glared at the small blue Triumph that emerged from the traffic. He saw a tall, handsome man get out of the car, a blond head reaching out to him for a kiss, a thin hand waving after him. The figure of a man with a tweed jacket slung over his arm walked away with large, confident steps. Hawk followed her with his gaze until she disappeared from his field of vision. Then he returned to his place at the table and waited.
  
  
  A minute later the man was already in the office. The next moment, his well-built, muscular figure was already sitting comfortably in the chair.
  
  
  “She insisted on giving me a ride,” Nick Carter said, “besides, it’s her car.”
  
  
  “There is no doubt that this is her property,” Hawk responded politely.
  
  
  “That’s right,” Nick agreed.
  
  
  - And her horses.
  
  
  - It is truth too.
  
  
  “Perhaps the foxes are hers too?”
  
  
  - Maybe.
  
  
  - How was the hunt? — Gray steel eyes were impenetrable.
  
  
  “Unfortunate,” Nick answered just as dispassionately, “if you’re talking about a fox.”
  
  
  - Naturally.
  
  
  Hawk leaned back and glared sharply at his top agent, Nick Carter, officially Number 3, one of the most inscrutable of all to bear the title of "professional assassin." Paradoxically, this title was given to those who know not only how and when to kill, but also in the name of what. Number 3 could do everything. Good God, he proved it every time. But at the same time, this was a man ready to pull out the most unthinkable trick at any moment, and Hawk asked himself why all this manifested itself not in someone else, but in such an experienced and civilized agent as Nick Carter.
  
  
  Dimrest, who spent years in the Zambezi, could, of course, help, but he was sick, and everyone around him seemed to have gone crazy, asking for something to be done immediately: the army, the air force, a laboratory for the development of new weapons ... now there was also NASA. They all piled in at once, not counting those who were still getting ready.
  
  
  He looked at Nick, who was patiently waiting for the conversation to continue.
  
  
  “We lost something,” he began. - And we know where. All you need to do is find what you lost and bring it here.
  
  
  Nick smiled. He already knew that when Hawk throws the ball out so casually, as if by accident, it means that the situation is extremely unpleasant and ticklish.
  
  
  “Sounds simple,” Nick responded. — Why not involve the Main Directorate for Delivery?
  
  
  Hawk moved his unlit cigar and ignored these words.
  
  
  “I want to say that this is not such a difficult task, Number 3,” he began again. - Everything is simple and difficult, depending on how you approach it.
  
  
  “Tell me about the part of it that you called “not easy,” Nick answered, smiling. “This is exactly what always fascinates me most.”
  
  
  Hawk coughed, clearing his throat.
  
  
  “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said. “The New Weapons Lab has created something of great importance for America—an electronic brain that weighs only two pounds. It fits almost anywhere, can be easily moved, and can be used to do work that would require several bulky computers. At the moment, it can turn the entire principle of missile defense upside down. As you know, such protection is now based primarily on the principle of heat sensitivity; at the same time, the missile defense system captures heat from the enemy missile. This same electronic brain will be more efficient and effective, more flexible: it will not depend on thermal sensitivity, which can be masked or distorted by interference, since it is based on a lightning-fast calculation of the course of an invading enemy missile.
  
  
  Nick raised an eyebrow, indicating that he appreciated the device.
  
  
  “Such a thing can hardly be lost,” he commented.
  
  
  “Hardly,” Hawk agreed. “She wasn’t lost.” The electronic brain was on board the plane, where it was tested on the influence of temperature differences in different parts of the planet. After completing the first series of tests, the aircraft headed for Antarctica and flew over South America. At this time, this crazy distress signal came from the pilot. Something suddenly happened, we don’t know exactly what. The pilot only managed to convey that he had dropped the electronic brain by parachute and give the exact coordinates of the crash site. Then the plane exploded and that was that. He dropped an electronic brain over the Brazilian territory of Amapa.
  
  
  Nick frowned for a moment, remembering.
  
  
  “Amapa,” he said thoughtfully. — It's north of the Amazon delta. It is quite likely that this is one of the wettest places in the world, an area completely unexplored and uncharted.
  
  
  “That’s right,” Hawk responded. “Roughly, it’s a hundred miles north of the equator.” “He stood up, pulled down a large map from the drawer, and it silently lowered, like a movie screen.
  
  
  “It’s here somewhere,” he said, tracing a small square area on the map. — The nearest settlement is Serra do Navio, a town marking the beginning of the section. There is a jungle around it, where only a few people dared to go, but none of them returned.
  
  
  “I get the point,” Nick replied. “But it still makes sense to conduct a thorough search, even in the wettest impenetrable jungle, especially since there are fairly accurate coordinates of the crash site.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah, that's all right,” Hawk said, returning the map to its place.
  
  
  “But we have something else.” As you know, this game has some really important secrets. The Russians know that we are conducting some mysterious tests, and they have an idea of what it could be. There is no doubt that they were “flying” our plane and that they heard the information transmitted by the pilot. You can be sure they'll send a team to find the electronic brain. According to our data, our plane could also be flown by the Chinese. You have to not only find him, but at the same time get ahead of everyone. And of course, don’t let it fall into the wrong hands. With the help of this thing we will be ten years ahead.
  
  
  “It’s like hunting for carrion, and in the company of real scavengers,” Nick thought out loud. “If this jungle doesn't kill us, we will kill each other.”
  
  
  “We have a surprise for you, Number 3,” Hawk said. “We have a guide who knows this jungle. No one will have this. You need to meet Father Austin at the Serra do Navio Catholic Mission. Several years ago, the leader of an Indian tribe brought his little daughter to the mission. She was dying, but Father Austin cured her with penicillin and other modern miracle drugs. Through Father Austin we agreed that the chief's daughter would be your guide. The old leader had obviously been waiting all these years for the moment to repay his debt to Father Austin.
  
  
  “Thank you, but it’s better to drop this question,” Nick replied.
  
  
  - Why? Hawk bristled. - We have the opportunity to create a certain advantage for you!
  
  
  - Advantage?! - Nick began to list: - Playing snotty nanny with some dirty stuffed native who has a hole in her lip, in bird English?! Or, better yet, in sign language?! This is an additional burden, not an advantage! I just sleep and see how I have to wait for her while she calls the spirit of the jungle to consult with him, or how she runs at the sound of my Wilhelmina's shot while I try to get her back. No, thank you, but I’ll find my own guide.
  
  
  “I advise you, Number 3, to still contact Father Austin and act according to the plan,” Hawk said coldly. Nick grinned, imagining what "advice" given in such a tone might mean.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” he said. - Everything will be as you want, at least at first.
  
  
  “I contacted the Special Equipment Laboratory,” Hawk said, standing up. - Of course, Stuart had a little time to prepare everything for you. But I want to make sure that at least in terms of equipment there will be no difficulties with you.
  
  
  Nick followed the chief past closed doors along a long corridor, at the end of which there was a room where the head of the Special Equipment Laboratory was already waiting for them. He nodded to Nick with a serious expression. Of course, the special devices supplied by the laboratory had already helped Nick many times in extreme situations, but he could never resist teasing his colleagues, especially Stuart: they were too adamant and damn serious.
  
  
  “We really don’t have much for you, old man,” Stuart began. “We don’t know what you’ll face.” This is not the case when we need to prepare a spectacular exit from the game for you.
  
  
  “We’ll settle on a bottle of mosquito repellent,” Nick said cheerfully, “or some repellent in case I decide to stay in the jungle.”
  
  
  Hawk gave him a stern look, and Nick stopped short. Stuart handed Nick a nice white safari jacket.
  
  
  “Special purpose,” he said proudly, “waterproof, and almost weightless.” In his left pocket are several objects that look like firecrackers. These are very strong substances. If they are exploded in the air, the insects will receive severe irritation and will prefer to immediately move away. On the right side there is a first aid package. These are mainly antidotes and injection needles. And, of course, we have first-class guns and ropes for you... and I'm afraid that's all.
  
  
  “Let’s move quickly to what’s really important, Stuart,” Hawk said harshly, “I think Nick is already familiar with Fulton’s return system?”
  
  
  Nick nodded. The Fulton system was originally used by the Air Force to rescue people who had landed in jungle or wooded areas. She mainly practiced in Vietnam. It was then adapted to lift dropped bales and equipment. The landing pilot either already had one, or a special balloon with long cords filled with helium was additionally dropped on him. The balloon lifted him up, where he was picked up by an NS-130 rescue plane. The NS-130 aircraft had a special, scissor-like nose consisting of two arrows that diverged when it was necessary to hook cords attached to an object. Once the cords were engaged, the arrows connected and rotated to reel in the object. Stuart handed Nick a small square plastic bag with a loop at the end.
  
  
  “There’s a self-inflating helium balloon with cords,” he explained, “and also a small transistor transmitter.” It's tuned to the right frequency, so you can send us a message as soon as you find the electronic brain.
  
  
  Hawk intervened, speaking quickly, harshly, emphasizing every detail of the special equipment, including Fulton's system. Nick smiled. “Not bad,” he thought. If things really get tough at the finish line, then in the end he will be able to save at least the electronic brain. In this case, the system would no longer bring him any benefit, and then - Nick realized this - he would never be able to return. He will remain there, highly valued, recognized, but - alas - forever outside the game.
  
  
  Once Nick had placed the guns in their hand cases, Hawk finished his brief briefing.
  
  
  “Gather everything you need,” he said, “an Air Force plane will take you to a small airfield near Macapa.” From there you will travel by jeep to Serra do Navio. And then - myself. Good luck, Number 3.
  
  
  “Thank you, sir,” Nick answered and immediately decided to take advantage of the sincere warmth of this moment. “Is the old leader’s daughter still in the plan?”
  
  
  “Contact Father Austin as planned,” Hawk’s gaze immediately became icy. When he gets like that, there's no point in arguing with him—Nick knew that. And he retreated again.
  
  
  “It will be done, sir,” he said, already heading towards the elevator.
  II
  
  
  It was already late morning when Nick reached Serra do Navio, and the sun had not yet burned through the dense fog that covered the jungle from above with a heavy white veil. The town itself, through which Nick slowly walked, resembled a moisture-saturated oasis carved out of the jungle, the last outpost on the road to nowhere: it was not so much a town, but most of all a challenge to the tropics. The main street was wide and unpaved, lined on both sides by a collection of wooden buildings in varying degrees of disrepair. Pigs, geese, half-naked Amazonian Indians and hordes of naked children formed a mass moving randomly along the street. Nick looked at all the buildings, trying to find a hotel among them. To his surprise, there was a sign on it. And then he saw that he was far from the only guest who had arrived in Serra do Navio. In the depths of the shabby, faded hall stood a group of—Nick quickly counted—six people. Stocky, square men with crew cuts, white shirts and wide trousers - they all bore the stamp of Mother Russia. Nick counted them again and smiled to himself. Regular expeditionary force. They will get stuck in the first swamp with all their food supplies, he thought.
  
  
  The receptionist behind the counter was an elderly man with tired eyes, with traces of his once upright, proud bearing.
  
  
  An ex-colonialist, Nick summed up to himself, living out the rest of his life here in the eternal fear of coming face to face with a new world alien to him.
  
  
  - A lot of work? Nick asked as he checked in.
  
  
  “Exactly so,” replied the clerk. — Group of mineralogists. It seems they are Russian. And another group of Chinese geologists who arrived the night before. Marvelous.
  
  
  — Mineralogists and geologists? - Nick could no longer contain his wide smile. -What could this mean?
  
  
  - And you, sir? - the old man finally dared.
  
  
  - I? “I’ll just pick up the parcel from here,” Nick answered and noticed that the confused old man was looking after him disapprovingly.
  
  
  ...He walked slowly down the street, trying to find the building of the Catholic mission, and suddenly felt that he was being watched. The animal instinct, which is one with all his other senses, immediately made him wary. He turned around, trying to determine the source of this alarm, and saw a man standing on the steps of a wooden hut, or rather, a miserable shack. In response to the man's piercing gaze, Nick looked at him coldly. He was a large, strong man, his arms resembled stunted trees, his face was permanently red from constant drinking of gin, and his small eyes were cold and piercing. They were surprisingly combined with the motionless, hard mouth. Nick noticed a faint sign on a shack behind the man:
  HIDS - CONDUCTOR - TRADE
  H. COLBEN
  
  
  The man's greedy gaze meant more than curiosity towards the newcomer. Nick had met this type of people: mostly deserters, fugitives hiding from the whole world, people who live only where no one asks questions and expects no answers.
  
  
  Nick continued to walk, feeling with all his senses the presence of danger, inexplicable, incomprehensible and unaccountable, but undeniable. This instinct spoke in him again, this ability to see danger before it manifests itself, an instinct that had saved him more than once in the past. He stopped in front of an Indian woman, fat and squat; her hanging breasts jiggled every time she sat down at the street fruit stand. Half turning around, he quickly looked again at the man named Kolben and saw that he had already been joined by another, black-haired, dark-skinned, with a huge nose. This second one was also watching Nick, while Kolben was quietly saying something to him. Nick turned away and walked on, a living subject of discussion, along the long, low wall that surrounded the mission buildings. At the end of the plastered wall was a tiny gate under an arch; Nick pushed her and found himself in a small, cool garden.
  
  
  In front of him, beyond a gravel alley, the main mission building rose, then the path turned sharply and disappeared behind a house where a small flower garden was planted. In addition to this large house, there was also a smaller wooden building, on the platform in front of which children played. Two white-robed priests stood among the children, watching them, while a gray-haired woman checked names off a list. Apparently there was also a school at the mission where the missionaries worked.
  
  
  Nick walked along the gravel alley to the doors of the main building. Inside there was a large, cool vestibule, the end of which was occupied by an old, heavy wooden pulpit. A girl was sitting on the lectern, perched on top of it, lazily looking through a magazine. She raised her eyes, greeting the newcomer, and Nick was dumbfounded, as if at the sight of something unexpectedly beautiful. He was struck by her eyes: deep, dark pools, affectionate and inviting. The girl's skin, a delicate reddish-brown color, had a slightly pink tint, giving her a special warmth and tenderness. She was wearing a short blouson dress of a soft pink color, and Nick glanced quickly at her legs, long, with finely defined calves. She slid off the podium, and he could now see her all, slender, with a narrow waist, high breasts, elastically stretching her pink dress. The girl's hair, flowing in a shiny black stream, was curled at the back of her head and revealed a long, graceful neck. Damn good, Nick concluded. Here in the Serra do Navio she looked like a diamond in a puddle of mud.
  
  
  - Can I help you? - she said in a lively and ringing voice with the sweet, abrupt intonation of an English schoolgirl. “Perhaps she is one of the teachers at the missionary school,” Nick thought and felt a burning desire to become a student again.
  
  
  “I need to see Father Austin,” he said. The deep liquid pools glowed warmly.
  
  
  - May I ask who you are? - she responded politely.
  
  
  “Nick Carter,” he answered, and it seemed to him that her gaze became harder.
  
  
  “The first door is down the corridor,” she answered in her wonderful voice.
  
  
  Nick walked in the indicated direction and, reaching the open door, looked back: she was sitting in her place as if nothing had happened and continued to lazily leaf through the magazine.
  
  
  “Come in, Mister Carter,” someone’s voice called, and Nick entered a small room, a little larger than a cell. But his trained eye immediately noted a bookcase, a small work table, a chair and books scattered in disarray everywhere, even on top of the cot standing against the wall. A priest in a white robe greeted him.
  
  
  “No miracle, Mister Carter,” he said. “It’s just that you can hear all the voices in the lobby well here.” I've been waiting for you. Your opponents have already arrived and will be heading into the jungle any minute.
  
  
  “I know, I saw them,” Nick answered. - In any case, I saw the Russian team. There are too many of them and too much baggage. I want to go light - alone.
  
  
  “And your guide,” said Father Austin. “She will be your main advantage over your rivals, but even with her it’s a risky business.” You may not get out, and you are even less likely to find an electronic device.
  
  
  “I see my boss was already in touch with you,” Nick grumbled. So trust the old fox. Hawk always proceeded from the belief that Nick could charm and bewitch even a cobra, and did not leave him the slightest chance.
  
  
  “Yes,” continued Father Austin. “He told me your views and asked me to remind you of the instructions.”
  
  
  “In that case, I have no way to get rid of her,” Nick said sadly. “But if she runs away from me when we move into the jungle, then I’m not responsible for her.” I assume you can communicate with her? At least in bird's English?
  
  
  “She won’t run away,” answered the priest. “She agreed to this only out of a sense of duty to her father and her fellow tribesmen. But it seems strange to me that you doubt her knowledge of English, because you have already communicated with her.
  
  
  The priest smiled subtly, meaningfully, and a chuckle danced in his eyes. Nick felt his jaw drop.
  
  
  “You are laughing at me,” he said.
  
  
  “Not at all,” Father Austin answered, getting up and heading towards the door. “Tarita,” he called, “come here, please.”
  
  
  A girl entered, beautifully arching her long legs, gliding flexibly like a willow twig. Nick let out a deep sigh as Father Austin introduced her.
  
  
  “Meet this Tarita,” said the priest. Nick looked into her bottomless brown eyes, in which fire was now splashing. She smiled, but there was ice in her perfect accent:
  
  
  “I’m deeply sorry to disappoint you so much, Mr. Carter.”
  
  
  Nick frowned.
  
  
  - I'm not sure I understand you.
  
  
  “I mean, I don’t have a hole in my lip, clumps of dirt, or charming birdlike English.”
  
  
  “Now I understand,” Nick winced.
  
  
  “Perhaps I can do something with bird English,” she said affectionately. - You, big fellow, the jungle has a duty and duty to leave. Is that better, Mr. Carter?
  
  
  “I think I’m a really big stupid guy,” Nick chuckled. The fire in her bottomless eyes burst out and she burst into laughter that seemed to light up the entire room.
  
  
  “My apologies,” Nick said. “To tell the truth, you do not at all correspond to the image that was painted of me.”
  
  
  “Nick is right,” Father Austin intervened. “It would be dishonest not to pump him up to full.” But, of course, Tarita is hardly an ordinary ordinary daughter of a tribal leader. Perhaps she would never have been like that. You see, after her recovery, she showed such ability and intelligence that we sent her to study in Switzerland, where she received her education and upbringing. She returns here only to spend the holidays with her fellow tribesmen.
  
  
  While listening to the priest, Nick constantly felt the girl’s gaze on him. He looked at her. Their gazes met, and he read satisfaction in her eyes.
  
  
  “A product of two worlds,” he said. - Tarita. Beautiful name.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she smiled mysteriously. - This is just one of my names. The good sisters of the Sainte-Michel school in Lausanne gave me the Christian name Teresa upon arrival. Now they don't call me by my name Tarita anywhere except the Amazon. But I love them both.
  
  
  “I’ll call you Tarita,” Nick said. “At least the name is more appropriate here.”
  
  
  “You, of course, will stay with us to have dinner and sleep,” said Father Austin. - Here you can talk with Tarita without interference and discuss your further actions.
  
  
  “I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Nick explained. “Besides, I’ve already rented a room at the hotel.”
  
  
  - This shack? - Father Austin snorted. - Sign out of it. We have many rooms. “He took a short breath and explained:
  
  
  — The rooms, as you can see, are small, but excellently equipped; In addition, you will find one significant advantage with us,” he pointed to a long siphon with seltzer water. “There’s a bottle like this for every room.” In this crazy heat, only sparkling water can invigorate you. In addition, it is safe, it does not contain impurities that pollute all the local water. And, of course, you can always mix it with something.
  
  
  “You convinced me, father,” Nick answered. - I'll go back to the hotel and pack my things - there aren't many of them.
  
  
  Tarita nodded in response, and he went out onto the sweltering street. A few hours in the local climate had already taught Nick to walk slowly. He passed a wooden hut, next to which the old big man was still standing. The black-haired owner of a huge nose was sitting on the steps, talking with two small, undersized men. Judging by their bare-chested figures, rough trousers cut off at the bottom and cropped hair, they were Indians. They exchanged glances as Nick walked past.
  
  
  The hall was quiet, the large fan rotated lazily, barely dispersing the hot air. Nick noticed that one of the Russians sat down at the table on which the chess set was placed. Nick slowly approached him. This was not a situation that required special secrecy. In fact, a small dose of psychological confrontation may even help.
  
  
  “Hello,” Nick said in Russian. - I'm Carter, Nick Carter.
  
  
  The Russian's eyes opened wide, surprised and confused by Nick's frankness. Finally he nodded and smiled:
  
  
  “Yasnovich,” he answered. - Colonel Yasnovich.
  
  
  The Russian sat on the side of the black pieces. Nick sat on the white side.
  
  
  “The great game of chess,” he said, moving the king’s pawn two squares forward. The Russian also moved his king's pawn two squares.
  
  
  — As I guess, a mineralogical expedition? - said Nick. — Are you hoping to find a rare gem? “He moved his knight towards the king’s bishop.
  
  
  “Yes,” the Russian grumbled, moving his queen two squares.
  
  
  “Perhaps not,” said Nick, having eaten the king’s pawn with his knight. The Russian took a counter action by capturing Nick's king's pawn with his queen's pawn.
  
  
  - We'll see about that later, won't we? - he retorted. Nick had to put up a knight's pawn to help his bishop.
  
  
  “We’ll meet again,” he said and stood up. As he left the hotel a few minutes later, he noticed that Colonel Yasnovich had been joined by his partner, and they were immersed in the game. Nick hurried across the hall, carrying a duffel bag and sheathed guns, but at the door he was confronted by two Chinese men entering. The Chinese gave no sign that they had noticed him, but exchanged quick glances.
  
  
  The young priest was already waiting for Nick at the mission and led him into a small, clean room with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the garden. Another wall of the main mission building was visible from the window. Nick placed the covered guns in the corner of the room. The Special Equipment Laboratory supplied him with a Magnum 375 pistol, custom-made by Griffin and Howe, and a Remington 721 rifle with a Weaver K-4 optical sight. Both were excellent marksmen, and Nick even regretted that he was not hunting.
  
  
  He hung his safari vest on a hook. Fulton's system was attached to a belt next to a 9mm Luger, affectionately nicknamed "Wilhelmina." The Hugo, a thin sheathed stiletto, was strapped to his right forearm. Nick washed himself and changed his shirt to a light linen jacket.
  
  
  Before dinner they were served two very dry and cold martinis prepared by Father Austin. He himself appeared for dinner in a formal white suit with a Roman collar. Nick was glad to himself that he had decided to wear a jacket.
  
  
  “Before, before my arrival in these parts, I could not understand why the inhabitants of the colonies dressed this way for meals. “Now I know,” said Father Austin.
  
  
  “A sign of belonging to civilization,” Nick picked up.
  
  
  “Yes, and a little more,” continued the priest. “This is a kind of challenge to the tropics, their oppressive heat, all these insects, the jungle, the general atmosphere of laziness and apathy. This is like a retaliatory strike from a civilized person, a sign of his steadfastness.
  
  
  Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Tarita, who, in her bright yellow silk dress with a pale blue sari-like cape, seemed to Nick to be an iridescent golden ray of sunshine. Black flowing hair gathered at the back of her head and a long graceful neck gave her an almost unearthly charm. The gentle mounds (slightly rising under the silk of the dress) reminded Nick that this was not a vision - they and the deep, moist brown eyes, in which the reflection of hidden passion was visible. During dinner, sitting at one end of the long dining table, designed for much more people, Nick mentioned a man he saw at the threshold of the hut.
  
  
  “Kolben,” Father Austin said, and Nick noticed the grimace of disgust on Tarita’s face. - A cruel person, an extremely unpleasant character. He lives by catching animals and skinning them in his spare time, sometimes hiring himself as a guide on expeditions. This is a ruthless and unscrupulous person. I saw him deceive the Indians, exchanging valuable skins for trinkets. There are rumors that on occasion he sold some dubious products to one Indian tribe, and they all got poisoned. Why are you asking about him?
  
  
  “He was watching me too closely,” Nick replied.
  
  
  “He probably knows what you’re here for,” Father Austin said, and Nick’s eyebrows went up in surprise.
  
  
  “Besides our mission, the only person in Serra do Navio who has a high-frequency receiver is Kolben. More than a year ago, a young engineer fell ill and died in the jungle. Kolben somehow managed to return with all his equipment.
  
  
  “In that case, he could have heard information about the crash of the test plane,” Nick began to think out loud. “This means that four sides are coming into play: the Russians, the Chinese, Kolben and us.”
  
  
  Nick quickly assessed this new balance of power. Of course, they were all equally dangerous, but Nick realized that the most dangerous of them would be Kolben. They will not stop at physically destroying Nick, but even here Kolben will be the most insidious and sophisticated. If he manages to find the electronic brain, he will no doubt demand a staggering sum or auction it off to the highest bidder.
  
  
  The item they were looking for had a different meaning for each of them. For Nick, for America, he was vital. For the Russians and Chinese, this was simply an unexpected opportunity that they desperately wanted to take advantage of. For Kolben, this was the last chance, the last attempt to escape from this hell. He will stop at nothing.
  
  
  Nick looked at Tarita and thought that she might not even realize what she had gotten herself into.
  
  
  The dinner ended with a glass of excellent cognac. Nick and Tarita stayed behind to discuss the dispatch plan. It was decided that they would not live in the jungle, but would take only the essentials there. Tarita turned out to be a pleasant conversationalist, sophisticated, witty, and informed. Studying her, Nick doubted whether she would now be able to engage in battle with the jungle. Has she already gone too far into another world that is alien to her?
  
  
  Perhaps, due to various reasons, his initial hostility will be justified, who knows? Well, soon everything will fall into place.
  
  
  When she finally wished him goodnight, her bottomless brown eyes smiled at him so intimately, as if she knew what he was thinking all along. He watched her walk down the corridor, soft and round at the back, with her head proudly rising. Nick went into his room, stripped down to his boxers, and poured himself a glass of seltzer. The sound of the gurgling stream from the siphon was cooling in itself, and he found the sparkling water to really quench his thirst. He placed the siphon on the table behind the bed and walked to the window.
  
  
  Diagonally from his room, behind the blackness of the courtyard, another window shone. He could only see part of the room and on the wall the shadow of a figure taking off her dress. The light was turned off, and with it the shadow disappeared; Nick moved away from the window. The heat was so heavy and oppressive that it seemed that the body was screaming for relief. He lay down on the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep eluded him in this sticky, enervating atmosphere.
  
  
  He made another attempt to fall asleep, this time with the help of yoga: he mentally relaxed his muscles and put his body into a semi-trance. He lay quietly in the darkness, feeling his body completely relax, when he suddenly heard the faint sound of footsteps on gravel.
  
  
  One moment - and Nick turned into a wild cat: he jumped onto the low windowsill with lightning speed, bent down as if before a jump, his eyes narrowed, peering into the darkness. He only managed to catch a glimpse of someone's dark figure slipping into Tarita's room. Nick jumped over the window sill and quickly crossed the space, flashing like a light shadow in the darkness. Suddenly the silhouette of a man appeared again in the window; he deftly jumped down, and Nick found himself nose to nose with him. He rushed to grab the black figure in front of him, but the man dodged. His hand shot up, pulling out some object, and Nick felt rather than saw the blade of a knife. He squatted down sharply, grabbed the hand with the knife when it was already falling on his head, and bent it with force.
  
  
  The man fell and Nick heard him hit the gravel of the path with a thud. He smiled contentedly at the thought that the sharp little pebbles had forcefully dug into his opponent’s face. He somersaulted and jumped to his feet, but Nick was now ready to repel the next blow of the knife. Instead, the man ran to the low wall surrounding the mission and jumped over it.
  
  
  Everything that happened took no more than a few seconds; for another second Nick hesitated whether to catch up with the uninvited guest or check on Tarita. The man quickly left the girl's room - too quickly. Nick abandoned the idea of pursuit, softly jumped onto the windowsill of Tarita's room and found himself in dark silence, walking silently with his bare feet. He stood silently, breathing heavily, until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
  
  
  Tarita was lying face down on the bed, her long narrow back was bare, and she was covered from the waist down with a light sheet. Nick carefully examined the room, wondering why the night visitor left it so quickly. There was nothing unusual in the room, so, having searched it with his eyes, Nick again stopped at the sleeping girl.
  
  
  ... He did not immediately see its long, ugly silhouette crouched on Tarita’s back, two curved disgusting claws, a multi-tiered tail curved upward over the body - the unmistakable appearance of a scorpion. It is clear that a poisonous insect was planted. While it lay motionless, but at any second it could move: then the girl would move, make some kind of, even the most insignificant, slight turn - and this would be enough for the deadly sting to plunge into her back. The poison, which is fatal in almost all cases, will act even faster than usual, traveling along the spinal cord to the head. And her death will be regarded as another ridiculous accident.
  
  
  Nick's thoughts raced quickly. An attempt to wake the girl will be fatal for her. She will move - and this is exactly what is enough for Scorpio. If he tries to grab the insect, he risks being bitten on the hand himself, or the awakened scorpion will still manage to prick Tarita. Nick knew that the insect attacked at the slightest sign of danger, obeying the first signal from its sensitive antennae. In despair, Nick looked around the room: every moment brought the girl closer to death. Suddenly he saw the scorpion raise its front legs. Now he will move. Nick frantically searched for at least some weapon, at least something suitable at hand! Perhaps he can brush off the little killer with the girl's dress? He dismissed the thought almost immediately, knowing that the poisonous sting would strike before he could get his hand close enough.
  
  
  Suddenly his eyes fell on a long siphon of sparkling water standing on the bedside table. The hand slowly, carefully reached out and touched the bottle. This was a chance! - the only one! A jet of carbonated water will hit quite hard at close range. Just how accurate?
  
  
  Nick said a short prayer, and his strong hand gripped the siphon lever tightly. He sat down, finding himself level with the bed and the back of the sleeping girl. He would only have one try—Nick knew that. The stream of water should hit the scorpion and wash it away with one precise, strong impulse. Of course, when a cold stream of water hits your back, Tarita will immediately jump up; therefore the insect must be washed away in a single moment before she awakens.
  
  
  Nick felt his body become sticky with sweat. He brought the siphon spout as close as possible, holding the heavy bottle motionless. Tarita stirred. Nick saw the scorpion's tail immediately bend forward to strike. He pressed the lever.
  
  
  Like a miniature fire extinguisher, a stream of charged water hit the insect, hitting it like a target. The scorpion somersaulted in the air, and the girl screamed and rolled over in bed. Nick caught a glimpse of round, firm breasts. He quickly circled the bed, scanning the floor with his eyes, and found the insect against the opposite wall, slightly stunned, with its stinger raised, and with force he lowered the bottom of the siphon onto the poisonous killer.
  
  
  When he looked up, it turned out that Tarita had slipped out of the cape that she had been wearing at dinner. She was kneeling on the bed, looking like a Playboy scan. Only the unaccountable fear in the eyes brought dissonance to this picture. Nick quickly explained what had happened, and the girl fell onto the bed, letting out a deep sigh. Nick walked to the window, dropping a small bottle as he did so, and picked it up.
  
  
  “Your unexpected guest arrived in it,” he commented gloomily, looking at Tarita. A sheet wrapped around her legs, a silk cape covered her completely, her long neck leaned against the wall - she sat as if posing for a portrait. Only deep, intermittent breathing betrayed the confusion behind the external calm. She looked with wide eyes at Nick. In the almost pitch darkness, he felt her gaze.
  
  
  “You saved my life,” she said simply and sincerely. — Now I have two unpaid debts.
  
  
  - Do you want to retreat? - Nick asked calmly. - I will understand you. Everything will be much more serious than I thought. You're not meant for this.
  
  
  The girl got out of bed in front of him, completely wrapped in a cape. Only now did it occur to him that he was standing in front of her wearing only his underpants. Nick felt the touch of her hand on his chest, smooth and warm.
  
  
  “Only an extraordinary man could save my life today,” the girl said quietly, “unusually resourceful and unusually gifted.” I will show you my resourcefulness and talent. We will be the first to find this electronic device of yours. Here is my answer to your proposal.
  
  
  Nick couldn't help but smile. He swung his long leg over the window sill and jumped off. As he crossed the courtyard with long strides, he felt her gaze following his tall, strong figure.
  
  
  Finding himself in his room, Nick realized that he would not be able to fall asleep quickly. His head was haunted by thoughts of the man who had slipped the scorpion into Tarita's room. Apparently, rumors had already spread around the town that she was going to help the American.
  
  
  He pulled on his trousers, slipped into the empty mission lobby, and out into the night.
  
  
  The main street of the town was dark and silent, except for the buzzing of hordes of various insects and the barking of stray dogs rummaging through the piles of garbage along the street. Suddenly, ahead, Nick saw a strip of light, barely breaking through the curtained window. As he got closer, he realized that he was outside Kolben's hut, and the light was coming through a broken window shutter. Inside the shack, Nick saw this scene.
  
  
  On a stool in the middle of the room sat a black-haired man with a huge nose; A half-naked Indian woman stood in front of him and applied a wet rag to his face, on the side along which droplets of blood were oozing from a dozen scratches. Kolben stood right there, next to two short, short-haired men, and watched. At the sight of these wounds, Nick felt rage boiling inside him. Without a doubt, such wounds could only have been caused by gravel.
  
  
  In one leap, Nick found himself on the steps of the shack, and with a strong kick he kicked down the door, tearing it off its rusty hinges. Kolben and the others turned around in surprise. The man with a broken face jumped up on his stool.
  
  
  ...Nick put all the strength of his muscles and anger into this blow; the man tried to dodge and almost succeeded. If the full force of the blow had hit him, his jaw would probably have been crushed. Be that as it may, the blow knocked him off his feet, knocked him back and slammed him into the far wall with such force that the entire small hut shook, and one board shattered into pieces with a loud crack.
  
  
  Nick took a stance, preparing to fend off a retaliatory attack from Kolben and the other two. But the big man didn’t move, only looking from the long-nosed man’s motionless body to Nick and back. Finally, his lips slowly parted into an evil, poisonous smile;
  
  
  “Not now, American, but some other time, soon.”
  
  
  “I’ll wait,” Nick said sarcastically.
  
  
  He turned and left... When he fell asleep, he felt much better.
  III
  
  
  As soon as Nick finished checking his Magnum-375, Tarita entered the room, stepping silently like a forest cat, barefoot, smoothly combed, graceful, in an orange and green sarong. Her round, firm breasts were criss-crossed with fabric that left her belly exposed. The girl's black hair was pulled unusually tightly into a knot at the back of her head, and Nick barely recognized her. She felt not just a desire to amaze him with her appearance, but also something else, some deeper hidden desire.
  
  
  Nick looked dumbfounded, almost speechless from such beauty, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
  
  
  - Am I that shocking? — the girl asked, seeing his amazement.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Nick smiled tightly. “I didn’t think it was all written on my face.” But you are truly a product of two worlds.
  
  
  “Yes,” Tarita answered; her eyes suddenly became serious. “And I will become more wild as soon as I enter the jungle.” I'm warning you. This always happens to me when I return home, like now. I do not know what is this; It's just happening to me and that's all. Of course, living in two worlds is fun, but it’s also hard in its own way. You feel as if you are divided into two halves - two different people in one body. I suspect that this is true: my “I” is really two different people.
  
  
  “And they’re both damn beautiful,” Nick admitted honestly.
  
  
  Bottomless eyes sparkled.
  
  
  “I went away to reconnoiter the situation,” he will continue. —The Russians have already left with all their equipment and only three canoes, which I suspect were rented. Most likely they planned to climb as far as possible through the water.
  
  
  “Let it be,” Tarita laughed. — The rainy season ended about a week ago. All rivers, even the smallest channels, are so fast and swollen that after a day of swimming they will need two more days to recover.
  
  
  “I heard that the Chinese are waiting for nightfall to send,” Nick continued. Tarita laughed again:
  
  
  - They think that night is a more suitable time than the heat of the day. But they are just wasting the day. The jungle is so dense that the sun isn't much of a problem and the nights aren't much cooler. But I saw Kolben leaving with his man and two local Indians - four in all.
  
  
  “Then we need to get going too,” Nick said. - I'm ready.
  
  
  He was wearing a naked safari vest with all the special equipment attached to his belt. Tarita pointed to the guns.
  
  
  “Will you take them too?”
  
  
  “They are specially designed for this kind of expedition,” Nick explained. - If we live in the jungle, we must have weapons for hunting and, if necessary, for protection.
  
  
  “And also so that everyone for many miles around can guess by their sound where we are,” Tarita picked up, and reproach and hidden superiority sounded in her voice. She left the room and returned with two hunting bows, one of which she handed to Nick. He immediately saw that they were large bows with straight ends and a 65-foot draw weight.
  
  
  “This weapon is not only effective, but also silent,” said the girl. - If, of course, you own it.
  
  
  “I can shoot,” Nick said. “However, I only shot with sports bows.”
  
  
  “They are too sensitive to hunt,” Tarita answered. The slightest mistake and a miss. These same bows are much more stable.
  
  
  The girl went out into the courtyard, pulled out an arrow with a steel tip from a quiver lying on the ground and handed it to Nick, at the same time pointing to the trunk of a stunted banyan tree with a red mark painted on it.
  
  
  “Father Austin and I like to shoot here,” the girl explained.
  
  
  Nick put an arrow on the string, raised his bow and fired - the arrow pierced the top end of a tiny red line. He was pleased with the shot: constant practice was necessary in this matter, and he had not had that for many years.
  
  
  Tarita raised her bow, and Nick marveled at the strength of her beautiful, slender hands as she pulled the string back without any visible effort. Her arrow hit the center of the mark.
  
  
  “I hate boastful guides,” Nick smiled approvingly. In response, the girl lit up with one of her dazzling smiles.
  
  
  “Okay, everything is clear,” he said. “I leave my guns in the care of Father Austin.”
  
  
  Tarita nodded cheerfully:
  
  
  “Besides, bows are much lighter.”
  
  
  Nick hung the bow on his shoulder, took the quiver and left. If necessary, he always has Wilhelmina at hand. And a 9mm Luger can make a great hole in anything, he told himself reassuringly. Tarita attached a short machete to his belt, explaining that in the wet forest there was no need for long blades.
  
  
  Father Austin was already waiting for them outside the gate to say goodbye and wish them luck.
  
  
  “I bless you, my children,” he said, making the sign of the cross over them. “I will pray for your safe return.”
  
  
  Nick waved in response and hurried after the girl, who had noticeably quickened her pace, through the town, then along a narrow path past a small pond and, finally, along the edge of the jungle. Tarita moved like a cat, in a smooth sensual rhythm, thereby taking him out of his emotional balance. Nick was glad that tall trees appeared to distract his attention.
  
  
  ... No sooner had they entered the jungle than Nick immediately felt swallowed up by them, as if a giant interlocking door had slammed behind him, completely cutting him off from the rest of the world. They were greeted by a primitive world - a world that takes them back to the origins of time, when man was just an uninvited guest on a beautiful, flowering land. As they went deeper and deeper, Nick more clearly experienced the terrifying feeling that nothing else existed in the world. He returned to reality only when he felt his Wilhelmina under his safari vest.
  
  
  In the most unexpected way, he was struck by an amazing feeling of unreality, the lack of materiality of this strange world. He expected to hear a cacophony of sounds, but instead - vast silence, occasionally broken only by the sharp cry of a macao or toucan. Sometimes the silence was broken by the chatter of monkeys, but most of the time they walked through a silent twilight world. But soon Nick felt that life was boiling around them - a lurking, watching life - millions of pairs of eyes watching their progress. Nick had to take time to understand the intricate forms of natural camouflage, and by midday he could already distinguish the huge black-winged grasshoppers from the leaves on which they sat; their limbs are half a foot long with painted and red spines - from similar thorns; green tree flies - from the leaves, in the lush greenery of which they made nests for themselves.
  
  
  They went pretty deep into the jungle, making their way among intertwining, climbing, hanging and twisting trees, reaching towards the sky in an eternal struggle for the life-giving ray of sun. Vines, the creeping woody stems of which were as thick as the torso of an adult man, hung down like living ropes. The roots of the pandanus were intertwined with the roots of the strangler fig and banyan tree. The prickly kapok with its thick, protruding shoots, the sharp thorns protecting the trunk of the Amazonian palm, contrasted with the flat, shiny, smooth bark of the areca. Nick saw violets the size of small apple trees, milkweeds blooming a hundred feet above the ground, magnificent lavender orchids adorning the upper branches of trees.
  
  
  Huge flowers with close-fitting petals, living four-quart stores for settled water, served as excellent natural reservoirs. They took root on tree branches. Everything was huge, larger than usual, and it seemed that this was exactly life, and it existed only here, before our eyes. This life was shrouded in the heavy sweet aroma of countless flowers and in heat, humid, oppressive heat, making even a light onion an unbearable burden. Such was this strange ghostly world, this intertwined thread of life, this country where every minute the breath of death was felt next to the exultation of life.
  
  
  In the afternoon, Nick noticed that Tarita began to often look around, casting worried glances at him. Finally she stopped and sat down on the broad, strong root of a giant banyan tree.
  
  
  “You're in great shape, Nick Carter,” she said admiringly. “I didn’t think you could hold out with me in such a place for such a long time.”
  
  
  “I can say the same about you,” Nick answered, glancing over her long legs, her deeply breathing narrow bare waist. She leaned her flexible neck on the root; her brown eyes were sad.
  
  
  “No, the situation is different with me,” said Tarita. — This jungle is a part of me, my soul. I know that all the Saint-Michel textbooks say that this does not happen. All the scientists: Mendel, Darwin and the like - they told people what can be inherited, why and when. I studied all this well. And yet I maintain that they do not know very much. To be born in the jungle means to be part of this jungle.
  
  
  Nick smiled, looking down at the girl. He had no arguments in favor of her words, except for the naturalness with which she fit into the world around her. And yet she was no more natural than earlier when she dined and made pleasant small talk. Suddenly she jumped up:
  
  
  - Sit here and rest a little. Let's have dinner now. I'll be back soon.
  
  
  Nick followed her slender figure with his eyes as it disappeared into the thicket of bamboo stalks. A few minutes later she reappeared, carrying bunches of bananas, peaches and what looked like mangoes. From a small cold spring, almost hidden from view, they drew drinking water. Nick watched Tarita as she lay down to drink from him: her breasts, two soft mounds, rose and slid halfway out of the neckline of her dress.
  
  
  “We’ll really have dinner after dark, before going to bed,” the girl said simply, getting to her feet. Nick approached her from behind almost closely, and they moved on, making their way through the green maze.
  
  
  According to the elusive natural clock, which is not inferior in accuracy to those created by man, it suddenly became clear that the sun was already setting. Suddenly the oppressive silence of the jungle shattered. First, a flock of colorfully colored parrots took flight from the trees and rushed down, hoarsely screaming and furiously flapping their wings. The parakeets followed, and their shrill, shrill calls joined the hoarse obbligato. Then suddenly the monkeys began to screech at once, and soon Nick despaired of identifying all the participants in this hubbub that surrounded him on all sides: howler monkeys in shiny metallic and copper-colored clothing, black-headed capuchins, deathly pale huacaris, squirrel monkeys and countless hordes of others. They all rushed down from the trees, swinging, flying and jumping from branch to branch. Somewhat later, the voices of angular-winged grasshoppers, frogs, toads and giant insects joined this creaking, screeching chorus: all this merged in a peculiar harmony. Tarita raised her hand in warning, listening with a smile on her face. Her brown eyes were filled with bliss, like those of people listening to their favorite song. Nick came closer and looked at her.
  
  
  “And you’re really getting wilder, aren’t you?” - he asked smiling.
  
  
  “I warned you,” the girl answered. - This is just the beginning... Soon it will get completely dark. We need to clear a place for the fire, and then find some game for dinner.
  
  
  Suddenly, both heard another sound that did not fit into the voices of the jungle at all - the cry of a man, a desperate dying cry of pain. Without saying a word, they ran forward towards this cry, already distinguishing the crunch of the bushes and the rustling of leaves.
  
  
  ...Nick was the first to see a small helpless figure, almost completely entwined in the huge rings of a dark brown anaconda, a boa constrictor snake that lives in the wilds of South America. The giant snake—twenty feet of contracting muscle—wound itself in three coils around the man. He was a very small Indian, and each snake ring was thicker than both of his arms.
  
  
  Throwing his bow to the ground, Nick rushed forward, deftly dodging the attacks of the snake, which continued to curl up around its helpless victim. The man, in desperation, grabbed the top ring with both hands, trying in vain to climb out, but his fingers only slipped from the smooth snake skin. On the man’s leg, as far as could be seen, there was a gaping bloody wound - a mark of powerful jaws. Nick knew that, contrary to popular belief, anacondas do not immediately strangle their victims, but first grab them with their jaws spread wide apart and then wrap themselves around them.
  
  
  Nick rushed to the anaconda's head, realizing that a person's only chance of salvation depended on his ability to distract the snake from its intention to strangle its victim. Suddenly, close to him, Nick saw huge teeth - the snake made a lightning-fast attack. He heard Tarita's warning cry, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that she had lowered her bow, unsure of the accuracy of the arrow. The anaconda pulled back again, and the pulsating and vibrating muscles of its coils resumed their sinister movement. Nick rushed forward, and again the snake attacked him with its mouth wide open, but Nick was out of reach of its jaws. Several times he forced the anaconda to attack, and this delayed further contraction of its rings. At one moment, when Nick rushed at the snake, its retaliatory attack slashed across his shoulder; he barely managed to dodge.
  
  
  Nick did not dare to use a short machete: one blow of a knife would clearly not be enough for such a monster, and the slightest delay would lead to the anaconda’s first lightning attack ending in its victory.
  
  
  Nick made another charge, engaging his huge opponent in a counterattack. But this time when the snake moved back. Nick jumped and caught her at the narrowest point below her head. But even there he had difficulty closing both his arms around her. Nick felt himself break away and fly forward: the snake rose sharply into the air. He hung, squeezing the snake's body tighter with his hands, and tensing all his muscles. The anaconda, finally falling into a rage, loosened the rings around the little Indian, completely transferring its weight and all its anger onto the newfound enemy: wriggling and shaking, it tore him off the ground, then threw him to the ground. The huge snake repeated its technique several times, crushing the man under itself and trying to wrap itself around his legs.
  
  
  Nick felt his fingers become numb, stiff with pain, and his hands cramped, but did not loosen his grip. To do this meant allowing yourself to be immediately captured by this gaping, whistling maw. He caught Tarita's quick glances as she walked around the battlefield, machete in hand, hoping to land a clean blow on the mass of writhing and twisting rings. Suddenly Nick realized that one of these thick rings was beginning to wrap around his leg, and gathering all the strength he didn’t even know he had, he pressed his knees into the ground and, leaning with all the weight of his body, bent the snake’s head down.
  
  
  The rings continued to spiral around him at stunning speed; Nick felt the pulsating body begin to shrink. Gathering his remaining strength, he again pressed on the snake's head. Tarita was now behind him, and as the snake darted, its coiled body spread out in the air, it slashed at the anaconda's head with the machete. Nick's strength completely dried up, but the huge rings around him gradually began to fall apart. The machete landed one last time on the thick, unyielding muscles of the neck, and the severed head fell away.
  
  
  Nick remained lying there, gasping for air; the muscles of the arms and shoulders were so cramped that it seemed they would never straighten out. But gradually life began to return to him, and the tense tendons, stretched to the limit, relaxed.
  
  
  Tarita returned with one of the living reservoirs in her hands and emptied it completely over her cramped back and shoulders. Then, while Nick was recovering next to the still trembling anaconda, she brought an armful of large leaves to the Indian, who quickly wrapped them around his wounded leg.
  
  
  “They are an excellent dressing,” the girl explained. — The wound remains clean and does not heat up thanks to its juicy pulp.
  
  
  Nick slowly rose to his feet and staggered over to the small man in the loincloth. He put his hand to the quietly heaving chest and began to feel, gently pressing with his fingers.
  
  
  “Nothing is broken,” Nick finally confirmed.
  
  
  “You are a good fellow,” the Indian said unexpectedly. - I will make you very, very happy. You, little one, will see.
  
  
  Tarita addressed him in the language of the local Indians, and the little man readily began to talk to her, wrapping flexible shoots around the leaves applied to the wound.
  
  
  “He’s from the Guaica tribe,” Tarita explained to Nick. - They are not pygmies, but they are close to them. He said that he learned English while working as a guide for engineers, judging by the fact that they had some instruments. I told him you were looking for something and he wanted to help us. He thanks you for saving him.
  
  
  — Shall we take him with us? - Nick asked. - I think it will be useful to us.
  
  
  “Yes,” Tarita laughed. “Besides, he’ll come with us anyway, no matter what you tell him.” You saved his life. And it's his duty now to try to help you.
  
  
  The jungle turned almost black - Nick and Tarita suddenly noticed that night had fallen.
  
  
  “Go back and make a fire where we stopped,” Tarita turned to Nick. - The Indian will go with you. By the way, his name is Atutu. I'll be back in a few minutes.
  
  
  “Wait,” Nick called. - Where are you going now?
  
  
  But Tarita did not turn around and disappeared into the thicket with a bow in her hands. Nick knew that she could hear him perfectly; his eyes narrowed. Of course, Tarita very soon showed her value as an assistant, but her emancipation manifested itself in the fact that she began to simply ignore him. He made a note for himself for the future, promising to remember that incident to her, and went back to the place they had chosen for the fire. Happy Atutu followed him, walking on his torn, bandaged legs, as if nothing had happened to him.
  
  
  Soon Nick heard the crunching of bushes and automatically grabbed his Wilhelmina, but Tarita appeared with a large forest bird in her hand. She tossed the carcass to the little Indian, who immediately grabbed it and began deftly cutting it up, tearing off the skin and feathers and chopping the white meat into large pieces. Tarita stood next to Nick:
  
  
  “Someday, when we have more time, I myself will pluck and prepare such a bird especially for you.” It's very tasty - better than chicken.
  
  
  Atutu built makeshift spits from small long pieces of wood and turned the meat over the fire. When it was completely fried, he handed the first piece to his savior. Nick dug into it and found that Tarita was right. The meat was tasty and resembled both duck and chicken at the same time. For dessert, they drank nectar from the delicate fruit, squeezed into large leaves in the shape of a bowl.
  
  
  The fire had already burned down, and Nick stretched, feeling the aftereffects of his battle with the giant anaconda. He closed his eyes, but suddenly felt the touch of gentle fingers on his shoulders, sliding down his back, rubbing, massaging, gently pressing on his tired muscles.
  
  
  When the girl finished the massage, he muttered words of gratitude and instantly fell into a deep sleep. At night, he woke up twice from forest sounds and each time he saw Tarita sleeping at arm's length, curled up like a puppy. He could barely make out a small lump on the opposite side of the fire: it was an Indian. Nick fell asleep again with the thought that everything around them in the darkness of the night jungle was an eternal drama of life and death, the hunter and his prey, playing out for thousands of miles around.
  IV
  
  
  Nick was awakened by a lonely ray of sunshine, which somehow managed to break through the dense veil of fog, vines and dense tree crowns. The jungle fell back into its almost eerie silence. Nick sat up with a jerk and immediately met the gaze of the little Indian sitting on his haunches. The little man's face stretched into a wide smile as Nick reached out and waved at him in greeting. Tarita was nowhere to be seen. Atutu waved towards the jungle:
  
  
  - Make the water clean, good fellow.
  
  
  Nick stood up and patted him on his narrow shoulder, letting him know that he understood him. Obviously, a forest stream flowed somewhere nearby. Nick left his safari jacket near Atutu and went deeper into the jungle in the direction indicated. He wanted to ask about Tarita, but he changed his mind, deciding that she was either at the stream or picking fruit. A palisade of giant bamboo, almost six feet high, closed behind him like a lightly undulating wall.
  
  
  He slowed his pace as he saw a figure holding peaches emerge from behind the tall, thin stalks. Nick felt himself involuntarily sucking in air and almost choked. The reason for this was not her hair, loose and scattered over her shoulders in shiny black streams, but her breasts - naked and plump, free from the clothing that constrained them. She stood silently in front of him in only a sarong, raising her head and looking into his eyes: straight, proud, motionless. Nick couldn't take his eyes off the soft pinkish-brown nipples, only half a shade different in color from her skin. Her bare shoulders were much wider than he thought. The girl's whole appearance seemed natural, correct and appropriate to Nick. And after all, she truly was a child of the jungle. Nevertheless, looking at Tarita, Nick immediately felt that this was not the whole truth: in her small gestures, smooth movements, the languid grace of her head, something more was manifested, which was one with her and was terribly exciting.
  
  
  The girl became so close to Nick that her nipples almost touched his bare chest. He felt his fingers tremble and his muscles tense with an uncontrollable desire to raise his palms and stroke these two warm mounds.
  
  
  “I warned you,” the girl said calmly.
  
  
  “I’m not complaining,” he replied.
  
  
  “In Lausanne, London or New York, I would consider myself insulted by appearing before you in this form,” Tarita continued. “And here I need to do just that.” If I wear a lot of clothes, I feel out of place, as if I am hiding the truth about myself. I told you that there are two people in me.
  
  
  “And I confirmed that they are both beautiful,” Nick said. “Their beauty exceeded all my expectations.”
  
  
  She turned and, walking quietly, walked with him back to the stream. Nick took off his trousers, washed himself in cool water, and the moisture instantly evaporated from his body in this sultry air. As soon as he put on his pants, the girl approached him again.
  
  
  “You are beautiful too,” she said tenderly. - Does this word bother you? It shouldn’t, at least it’s nice to look at your body: it’s so strong, smooth, magnificent.
  
  
  On the way to the place where the little Indian remained for the night, she took Nick by the hand just below the elbow.
  
  
  “You fell asleep so quickly last night,” Tarita said. “I wanted to tell you that you did an incredibly courageous act, saving Atutu’s life.” I heard that you are a top-class international agent, that is, a person who always achieves his goal, who does not even hesitate to kill in the name of serving his homeland. But I think you save more than you kill, Nick Carter. The two may not be comparable, but I think it's true.
  
  
  Nick laughed out loud. He thought to himself of an even greater incongruity—this majestically beautiful native woman with the impeccable laconic intonation of a Swiss boarder, a half-naked goddess who used words like “incomparable.”
  
  
  Atutu joyfully greeted them in a small clearing, and they sat down to breakfast with the fruits Tarita had collected.
  
  
  -Where do you think your opponents are now? - the girl asked.
  
  
  “If you told the truth about swollen, overflowing rivers, then the Russians pose no danger to us.” In this jungle, even half a day seems like a dozen. But there are six of them, and they can move at a given pace. They are on the Chinese's tail.
  
  
  The Chinese, apparently, are moving at an accelerated pace, having realized their mistake at the start and one lost day. As for Kolben, I don't know.
  
  
  “He’s not far ahead,” Tarita picked up. “It’s even possible that he got a little lost.” But those two Indians who are with him will not let him get completely lost.
  
  
  While Nick was getting ready, Atutu was talking about something with the girl.
  
  
  “He wants to carry both our bows,” she translated. Nick smiled and nodded to Atut, who, with eyes glowing with happiness, was already adjusting both bows over his shoulder, hurrying after them.
  
  
  Nick walked closely behind Tarita with a measured step and, despite all his efforts, could not take his eyes off her majestic, incredibly beautiful figure. When the girl turned, climbed over a tree or jumped over, her breasts surprisingly gracefully turned the pink buds of her nipples from side to side, now sagging, now leveling out, becoming either elastic and hard, then suddenly soft and round.
  
  
  The rains had toppled a huge tree, and its slippery trunk and tangled branches formed an almost insurmountable obstacle in their path. While climbing over it, Tarita slipped and fell backwards. Nick barely had time to catch her waist with both hands; one of the girl’s breasts, smooth and silky, like a butterfly’s wing, pressed against him.
  
  
  Her bottomless eyes, dark and impenetrable, glanced at Nick, and both froze in motionlessness - an unexpected picturesque picture among the branches of a fallen tree.
  
  
  This short moment seemed like an eternity, then the girl pulled back, turning her head to the side. But she did not remove her palm, but slid it down his arm to his fingertips, and then dropped it powerlessly, as if reluctantly interrupting their touch. Or maybe it’s all just a trick of the imagination, Nick thought: this damned jungle with its eerie hot air has a strange effect on men...
  
  
  But Tarita was already moving on, climbing over the top of a fallen tree, and he hurried after her.
  
  
  They had already walked quite a long way when Tarita suddenly stopped, frowning, and began to study the soil. To the left went a narrow, smooth strip of land, similar to a forest path. Atutu came up, squatted down and also began to search the ground with his eyes.
  
  
  Tarita pointed to a small spot in the thickets, and, following the direction of her hand, Nick actually saw an armful of slightly crushed leaves. Atutu found another spot where a layer of foliage had been crushed and pressed a little deeper into the ground.
  
  
  “People were sleeping here,” said Tarita, “three or four, it’s hard to say how many.” But no less than two.
  
  
  - Kolben? - Nick was puzzled.
  
  
  “Perhaps,” the girl answered. “His Indians were most likely asleep, curled up on the rocks somewhere nearby.” This path is usually laid by local Indians to the river, and perhaps we will soon reach it. If we manage to cross this river, we will gain time. But are we really following in Kolben’s footsteps...
  
  
  She didn't finish, but Nick knew what the girl meant.
  
  
  “Well, we need to take this into account,” Nick decided. “Now we have to keep our eyes open—that’s all.” We will move very carefully, just in case I will go first.
  
  
  Her lovely breasts rose and fell as the girl shrugged her shoulders. Nick moved, followed closely by Tarita and bringing up the rear of Atutu’s small detachment. Despite the fact that the path was narrower than Nick’s shoulders, he was still happy about its smooth and even surface. No one tripped over random stones, slipped on islands of moss, or got tangled in tree roots. If it weren't for Nick's careful step, walking along it would have been a pleasure.
  
  
  If Kolben really was as close as Nick thought, one of his Indians might have spotted their fire last night, and that would have been dangerous.
  
  
  Nick stopped so suddenly that Tarita ran into him from behind: someone’s heavy bodies were breaking the bushes on the left. Nick froze, and Atutu, who appeared behind him at the same second, quickly thrust the bow into his hands. The bush parted and two thick, dark brown tapirs rolled forward. They also froze, looking with little piggy eyes at the three aliens who dared to invade their native jungle.
  
  
  - Shoot! - Tarita shouted, and at the same moment a second bow appeared in her hands. - We will be provided with meat for many days!
  
  
  The tapirs, which have almost no sense of sight or smell, stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then rushed in different directions. One of them jumped onto the path and rushed headlong along it - Tarita rushed after him.
  
  
  - Stop! - Nick yelled. - Don't run after him!
  
  
  Tarita threw him an irritated look, turning around as she ran, and pulled the bowstring. Nick rushed after her.
  
  
  - Damn it! - he broke through. - Stop!
  
  
  But the short-legged tapir, running skipping and careening, had already gained good speed. Now Tarita ran at the limit of her capabilities, trying to get as close to him as possible and hit him with an arrow ready to fly out of the drawn bowstring.
  
  
  ...It seemed to Nick that the ground exploded, throwing up a fountain of leaves. He saw Tarita fall on her back, her body twisted and twisted in pain, and earth and leaves fell on top of him. The fat body of the tapir also flew up; the animal's piercing squeal was suddenly cut off when a huge branch broke off with a crash on its back.
  
  
  Nick's eyes followed the arc that the animal's body described with great speed before finally hitting the tree. The tapir was now hanging head down, with one leg extended in front of him, and a noose was tightly tied around his ankle. The long thin branch forming a spring trap was still swinging, securely holding its prey in the air. Slipping his gaze, Nick immediately understood what had happened. Someone had installed a spring trap on the path - a powerful double knot, one branch of which was stretched across the path, and a loop covered with leaves was attached to it. The slightest pressure on the branch releases the spring of such a trap, the loop instantly wraps around the victim’s leg and throws it up with unprecedented force.
  
  
  Nick fell to his knees next to Tarita's trembling body, still lying on the ground. She stood up, leaning on his hand, then with difficulty rose, swaying, to her feet. Nick guessed the train of thought reflected in her eyes. The tapir set in motion this malicious trap, into which sooner or later someone would be caught. Again death touched her with its bony hand, and only chance saved her.
  
  
  - Kolben? - Nick guessed. She nodded weakly. Atutu came up and stood next to him, silently looking at the swaying carcass of the tapir.
  
  
  - Or maybe they are Indian hunters? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “They really set such traps, but only in the thickets,” Tarita answered. “They would never set such a trap on the path.”
  
  
  Nick pursed his lips tightly. He was more than sure of this and asked only to confirm his guess. Twice already this ruthless scoundrel with a prickly gaze was really close to killing the girl. Nick clenched and unclenched his fists. After discovering the electronic brain, we need to take care of opening an account and paying it off in full, Nick decided to himself.
  
  
  Atutu gestured that the tapir should be thrown off.
  
  
  “Leave him,” Tarita said, getting to her feet with Nick’s support, “we’ll find something else.” A bite won’t go down my throat; I will immediately remember the proximity of death.
  
  
  Nick nodded in understanding, handed Atut the bows and moved forward again, silently exploring every inch of the ground. He already knew that, unlike temperate forests, which thin out on the approaches to a forest edge or clearing, the jungle always ends unexpectedly and abruptly. Therefore, Nick was not surprised when he suddenly saw in front of him the brownish waters of a rather wide river, both banks of which were narrow strips of land. Tarita also looked at the opened river from behind his shoulder.
  
  
  “If we cross it at this point, we will shorten our journey by several miles,” she said. “There should be a rock crossing about four miles upriver from here.” We could just shorten this distance.
  
  
  “What’s stopping us then?” - Nick asked. Tarita silently pointed to the Indian, squatting at the very edge, peering into the water. Atutu shrugged his shoulders vaguely, stood up and disappeared into the jungle like a brown shadow. A moment later he appeared again, holding in his hands a small, tailed animal that looked like a gopher.
  
  
  “Tukotuko,” Tarita explained, “is one of the rodents that lives along the rivers.”
  
  
  Atutu killed him, and a thin red stream ran down his chest. The little Indian put the rodent into the water, and Nick, looking at the carcass picked up by the river, realized that under the seemingly frozen surface of the water lay a very strong current.
  
  
  As he watched, the water around the animal began to boil, coming to life with writhing, slippery bodies swarming in its depths, grabbing and tugging at the rodent. Almost as unexpectedly, the seething water calmed down, and a small white skeleton of a completely gnawed animal flashed on the surface, which immediately sank to the bottom. Only 25-30 seconds passed. Nick already understood what had happened, and his lips squeezed out only one word - “piranha.”
  
  
  “Now you don’t have to worry about crossing,” said Tarita.
  
  
  Nick looked around the opposite bank, covered with trees almost to the water, and put his palm on the rope attached to his belt.
  
  
  “If I could swim across the river with a rope, we could tie it to the trees on both sides and use it to cross over the water.”
  
  
  “Have you seen what will happen to you if you go into the water,” Tarita exclaimed irritably.
  
  
  - Kolben - will he surely cross the river by crossing? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Certainly,” she replied.
  
  
  “Do you really think that Kolben will leave the crossing intact behind him!” - Nick exclaimed.
  
  
  The girl didn't answer, but Nick knew he had hit the nail on the head. If the stones can be removed, then Kolben will certainly do so.
  
  
  “We’ll move here,” he said firmly.
  
  
  “This is impossible,” Tarita objected, again throwing an irritated look at him. - We have to go back. Down the river, about five miles from here, there will be another suitable place.
  
  
  - This will take us all day! - Nick jumped up. - No way in life! You see, I know a thing or two about piranhas. If you throw them a skinned carcass, then all the piranhas around will attack it and will not leave it until they gnaw it completely. I'll be safe the whole time they're eating the carcass.
  
  
  He turned to Atut and, more with gestures than words, asked him to go and free the carcass from the spring loop. When the Indian was out of sight, Nick turned to Tarita, who stood with her hands folded, causing her breasts to rise even higher, and her nipples to turn pink above her folded arms. With all her appearance the girl showed stubbornness. “Calm down, young man,” Nick commanded himself and, turning to her, said:
  
  
  - I can do that. While the piranhas are busy with the tapir, I will swim across the river with one end of the rope and secure it on the other bank. You're going to hold the other end and pull it up onto the tree here.
  
  
  “Impossible,” the girl interrupted sharply, looking at him arrogantly and irritably. “They will finish off the tapir before you swim to the middle.” You'll never reach the other shore. We will lose more time waiting for Atuta with the tapir carcass.
  
  
  Nick remained silent, looking at the opposite bank, and saw a branch floating past: this strengthened his guess about the fast current in the middle of the river, deceptively calm. He estimated the width of the river relative to the speed of the current and tried to calculate how long it would take the piranhas to tear apart the tapir. This chain of such different concepts was very difficult to carefully calculate. Then the thought came to Nick's mind about Kolben, who, in addition to the already existing advantage, would receive another day's head start.
  
  
  “I’ll do it,” he said gloomily, and this phrase sounded more self-confident than it actually was. Suddenly he felt Tarita’s gaze: her eyes lit up with a deep, furious fire. Atutu appeared, dragging a heavy carcass behind him; having reached them, he threw her to the ground in exhaustion.
  
  
  “Good guy,” Nick turned to the little Indian, you’re a strong guy.
  
  
  Barely catching his breath, the native began to smile. Nick handed him one end of the rope. Atutu nodded in response: he understood his intention.
  
  
  “I’ll take the other end,” Tarita snapped, following Nick down to the water.
  
  
  “This job is for me,” Nick answered. - I'll swim across the river.
  
  
  The girl stood in front of him, blocking the way, and with a quick cat-like movement she snatched the end of the rope from his hands. Stopping to tuck the sarong higher, thereby making it into something like thick panties, she sprinted down to the river. She ignored him again. Nick's eyes narrowed, remembering the condescending tone she'd used when talking about guns, her ostentatious retreat into the jungle despite his call, the irritated look she'd given him when he'd tried to talk her out of pursuing the tapir. And now she rejected him again, showing her emancipation, doing it too contemptuously and arrogantly. There was a time when he would not have paid attention to such a trifle. Now everything has changed. He didn't run after Tarita. Instead, he grabbed the rope, giving it a strong tug so that the end flew out of the girl's hands.
  
  
  He stood, carelessly rolling up the rope and watching her run back with an enraged face, distorted with anger, and white lips.
  
  
  “Give me the rope,” she demanded, looking at him with a fiery gaze.
  
  
  “The hell with it,” Nick answered, smiling affectionately in her face.
  
  
  “So you insist on your own,” the girl concluded. “I gave my word to accompany you.” So I will swim.
  
  
  “You will stay here,” Nick said coldly. “And I don’t need your services.” You are doing this just to insist on your own, because I do not listen to your advice. You are not a guide, but simply a smug, capricious European schoolgirl.
  
  
  Nick looked straight into her eyes, burning with rage.
  
  
  “And you’re just a complete idiot,” she retorted. “I said that you couldn’t do this, and now you’re going out of your way, ready to commit suicide, just to prove that I’m wrong, just because your male self is hurt.”
  
  
  “My male self is not hurt at all, honey,” Nick said. “But you’ll definitely be a fool if you don’t throw away your idea and your head.”
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Atutu watching them with wide eyes: he could not understand the words, but nevertheless, apparently, he guessed what was happening. Tarita again grabbed the end of the rope, turned her back to Nick and quickly walked towards the river, shouting something to Atut. He immediately hurried towards the tapir, then hesitated, stopped and looked at Nick, who, having caught up, pressed the girl to the very edge of the water.
  
  
  “Okay, you are a product of two worlds,” he said. “And you have absorbed the vicious stubbornness of both of them.”
  
  
  He grabbed her and pulled her towards him so that the blow would not harm those lovely white teeth. The blow hit her chin and she instantly cowered. Nick managed to catch the girl when she was already bent over, ready to fall, and carefully laid her on the ground. Atutu's eyes expressed approval, Nick approached him, and together they dragged the heavy carcass to the river, threw it into the water, pushing it as far from the shore as possible.
  
  
  Nick took off his safari vest and trousers, put the Luger on top of his clothes and stood by the water, watching as the current picked up the heavy carcass and, slowly turning it over, carried it down the river. Nick tied the end of the rope around his waist, and Atutu stood behind him to thread the rope. While they were looking at the river, the water around the tapir suddenly began to boil and seethe: the piranhas began to “target” the carcass.
  
  
  Nick took a running dive as far from the shore as possible into the river, without plunging deeply, and immediately began rowing hard, cutting the warm water with his body like a knife. He glanced back at the carcass, which was shaking violently as thousands of tormenting jaws bit into it. Suddenly it turned out that the shore was already far away. As he swam further and further, he was pulled by a strong deep current, dragging him down the river to the maddened piranhas. This gave Nick new strength in the fight against the current, robbing him of precious time and effort, so necessary for the implementation of the foggy.
  
  
  Nick heard Atutu's piercing scream.
  
  
  - Big guy, go! - the little man yelled. - Big guy, go!
  
  
  Nick realized what this cry meant and looked back at the tapir. The piranhas went crazy: attacking and tearing the carcass, they spun and turned it over in the water, trying to get the upper fleshy part. Now all that remained of most of the animal was a freshly gnawed white skeleton. The piranhas quickly finished their feast. Soon they might have dessert for the occasion. Nick felt the muscles in his leg begin to cramp and stretched out, trying to avoid it; otherwise - inevitable death. If it had been a swimming competition, he would have been guaranteed a record.
  
  
  Three quarters of the way were already behind us, and the current had noticeably weakened. It was as if an anchor tied to his legs had suddenly disappeared, and this release gave him new strength. Nick realized that this impulse would be very useful to him when, looking around once again, he saw only water and the completely gnawed carcass of an animal going to the bottom. And thousands of toothy creatures were already snooping in the water nearby, attracted by some foreign creature in their native waters.
  
  
  He could not see, but instinctively felt the movement of water behind him, the unexpected seething and frenzy caused by hordes of piranhas rushing forward, rushing forward. Suddenly Nick's feet touched the bottom, and he ran, stumbling, to the shore. A sharp, almost painless pinch hit the calf of the leg, and Nick jumped forward, tucking his legs under him and rolling out to the shore in this position.
  
  
  Behind him was the water, darkened by black slippery shadows.
  
  
  ...Nick lay on the shore, breathing heavily, and felt blood oozing from his leg. Death came close to him - so close that only luck, and not his calculations, saved him. When his breathing was restored, he leaned back and pulled the rope out of the water. On the opposite bank, Atutu had already tied his end of the rope around a thick tree and was now standing, joyfully dancing by the water. Tarita joined him and, finding Nick on the other side, watched as he slowly rose to his feet. Nick tied the rope around the trunk with a good double knot and waved to Atut, signaling to move over.
  
  
  Apparently, Tarita asked the Indian to go first, he grabbed the rope with both hands, raised his legs and also crossed them and began to push forward. He was wearing a safari jacket, both bows over the shoulder and Nick's pants in his teeth. In the middle of the river, the rope sagged dangerously, almost touching the surface of the water, but still held. When Atutu safely jumped onto the shore in front of Nick, Number 3 joyfully squeezed his narrow shoulder. Tarita was already climbing the rope. When she stood in front of Nick, he saw the dark fury in her eyes.
  
  
  “Well, you guessed right,” he grinned broadly at her. - I did it. Or didn't you see anything?
  
  
  She came at him with her fists, trying to take out all her rage by putting it into a blow. Nick dodged easily, catching her wrist. She was trembling with anger, and he wanted to calm her down, pressing her to him and stroking her lovely mounds with his palms. If not for the presence of Atutu, he would certainly have done so. But instead he held her wrist tightly.
  
  
  “Calm down, calm down,” Nick told the girl, grinning to himself when he remembered that there were two people in it. And indeed, she had enough rage for two.
  
  
  - You were infuriated that I proved you wrong... A trait of a woman inherent in her in any world.
  
  
  “Don’t try to repeat your feat,” Tarita muttered through clenched teeth.
  
  
  “Don’t force me,” Nick retorted, unclenching her wrist.
  
  
  She stood, rubbing her hand, and looked at him.
  
  
  - Shall we go further? — the girl asked coldly, trying to suppress her anger by an effort of will, turning it into ice.
  
  
  “Without a doubt,” Nick smiled, almost adding: “Now that it’s clear who’s in charge.” But I decided wisely not to do this. First of all, it will sound like a new insult. Secondly, he was not entirely sure that this information would be fully taken into account.
  
  
  Tarita walked with an excited, bouncing gait, even as they entered a heavily overgrown, vine-tangled patch of jungle, hacking away at each step with a machete. They stopped as the daylight began to fade and the jungle came alive again with a cacophony of sounds.
  
  
  Atutu appeared with a killed small roe deer, which he immediately butchered and roasted on a makeshift spit. The meat turned out to be very tasty.
  
  
  Having cleaned up the remains and thrown them into the thickets for the night scavengers, Nick lay down and thought about the human predators also roaming the forest. The river crossing probably gave them the lead, putting Kolben ahead. This was important. He knew that the Chinese, with their characteristic persistence and self-sacrifice, would catch up, and the Russians, perhaps, would somehow pave their way. Since they were all aiming for one relatively small area, the one who reached it first would have the greatest chance of winning the prize.
  
  
  He was aware that as he approached his goal, the paths would converge closer to each other and Kolben's attempts to eliminate his rivals would become more persistent and numerous. Kolben probably believed that Nick was the main threat to him, possibly due to Tarita's help. Nick was sure that Kolben would make more than one attempt, feeling that if he managed to take Nick, he would easily deal with the other participants in this race. Nick smiled thoughtfully to himself. He could not deny himself the pleasure of concentrating all his attention on Kolben, imagining all further developments of events this way. And it was dangerous. Both the Russians and the Chinese will also not hesitate to take out rivals, and underestimating them would be a serious mistake.
  
  
  Nick lay stretched out, thinking lazily, when suddenly a shadow flashed next to him. It was a girl, unsmiling, serious, who knelt down next to him.
  
  
  “You did the impossible today on the river,” she said. - But you did it. However, you should have listened to me. You're just lucky. Don't ever try this again. Please listen to me.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, honey,” Nick replied. “I don’t perform the same thing twice as an encore.”
  
  
  He realized that she was right. It looked a lot like suicide. But the girl, of course, could not know how many such suicidal acts he committed in his life.
  
  
  “I... forgive me, I was so angry with you,” the girl said quietly. “I... I don’t want to see you killed.”
  
  
  ...The fire had already gone out, and darkness thickened around them. Even Nick’s eyes, keen as a falcon’s, could not penetrate the inky blackness of the night: the only thing he saw was the vague outline of her figure. She seemed like a beautiful disembodied creature speaking from the darkness. Damn this place, Nick cursed to himself, imagining the moon and his beautiful breasts bathed in its gentle glow.
  
  
  He heard Tarita lay down next to him and leaned back, staring into the darkness.
  
  
  ...Nick grimaced with a grin, remembering how often he cursed the moonlight when he needed to cross some open area undetected. He imagined her body lying next to him at arm's length, her full round breasts with slightly erect nipples, alluring, languishing in anticipation.
  
  
  He twisted his imagination before it took him too far.
  V
  
  
  The earth shook, and from this roar and shaking Nick woke up and sat up, stretched out. Dawn came again - the gray light of early morning, barely visible among the trees, but the ground continued to shake. Nick saw Atuta, who had climbed up to the middle of the trunk of a thorny kapok tree. Tarita also woke up and sat up; fear appeared in her eyes when Atutu addressed her.
  
  
  “We have to run,” she said. — From here begins a steep climb, a mountain ridge leading to a hill. We need to climb it.
  
  
  - Wait a minute. Explain who or what we should run from? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Bakers,” Tarita answered. - Wild boars, as they are called in Europe and America, only peccaries are even worse. And these white-lipped peccaries are the worst of the worst.
  
  
  Nick delved into his excellent memory, which stores a wide variety of information, and tried to remember everything he knew about these animals: that they were the closest relatives of the Texas striped boar and the European boar, they had a ferocious temperament, a tough thick hide and long tusks, curved like a Turkish scimitar, capable of tearing open an enemy like a can of canned food. Their grip, he heard, was stronger than that of the big forest cats. Judging by the horror that distorted the faces of Atutu and Tarita, they were more fully aware of the extent of the impending danger than Nick.
  
  
  — They move in a herd. This is a huge herd,” said the girl. - They have already surrounded us. Usually they stretch out and run after each other. In such a huge herd it is impossible to fight them. Apparently, they somehow communicate with each other, as they act very friendly and coordinated.
  
  
  Tarita finished the last two words while running, and Nick rushed after her. There was a continuous crackling of bushes all around: these thick square bodies were pushing their way through the vegetation with continuous stomping, snoring and grunting. The roar from this roar began to echo through the jungle.
  
  
  Nick had heard the tramp of a running herd of sheep, but it had nothing to do with this ominous thunder. There was some kind of painful, depressing ominousness about it. The tramp of a running herd of sheep seemed to warn: don’t stand on the road, and you will be safe. This same rumble seemed to say that the path to salvation was cut off, just as there was no means of avoiding death. Now it became visible how the bushes swayed, how the long stems of bamboo swayed. Tarita ran through the bushes at the top of her lungs. Atutu followed on their heels.
  
  
  “They’ll trample everything here,” the girl shouted, catching her breath. “They will uproot and eat all the plants, fruits, nuts, all the snakes, rodents, insects - everyone who gets in their way. They loosen the soil itself, tearing out everything edible from it.
  
  
  Suddenly, the girl stood rooted to the spot, and Nick saw dark gray silhouettes with grayish tan marks, two of which angrily stuck their snouts out of the bushes on one side, and the third on the other. Then others joined them, and now they formed a fierce, grunting formation on both sides of the narrow path.
  
  
  “The mountain range is just ahead of us,” Tarita whispered, trying to control her stormy breathing.
  
  
  Suddenly, an oppressive, ominous atmosphere of thickening horror hung in the air. Nick realized that these creatures were countless. Everything around was swarming with them: trees, bushes, tall grass. One of the boars closest to them snorted, scraped the ground with its hoof and bowed its head. Another, with small glowing eyes, stuck his head out and made a scraping, guttural sound.
  
  
  “We still have to get to him,” Nick said. - Use a machete. And don’t try to fight them, just chop with force if necessary.
  
  
  And before he could continue, a small brown figure flew forward and ran, bouncing, through the line. While the bakers came to their senses and came to their senses, the Indian rushed past them like fire. A minute later he was already climbing a steep slope, clinging to vines and intertwining vines.
  
  
  “Forward,” Nick commanded the girl. - Run next to me!
  
  
  He pushed off strongly and reached the first boars in two leaps. One of them tilted his head menacingly, growled and jumped. Without stopping, Nick struck him with terrible force with a machete and felt how the sharp blade cut through the thick spotted skin of the animal. Blood sprayed from the baker's head, he started to growl, but then squealed shrilly in pain.
  
  
  The next moment, another wild boar attacked Nick from the right, and again Nick slashed with a sharp blade. This was enough for the animal to stop, shake its bloody head and retreat for a moment. Three more ferocious boars jumped out onto the road, blocking Nick’s path, and he had to stop. The beast standing in front grinned angrily, showing long yellow fangs. All three simultaneously clicked their jaws in a terrifying manner, making a barking sound - a warning before attack. Two bloody peccaries were approaching from behind; Nick saw them with a quick glance over his shoulder.
  
  
  “Get ready,” he said to Tarita. “We'll have to cut through them.”
  
  
  He didn't have time to say anything more as he saw the first boar of the trio blocking their path collapse to the ground. Only when he fell forward with his muzzle did Nick see the arrow sticking out of the animal’s neck. Immediately the second animal began to spin like a top in pain: there was also an arrow sticking out of its side. The arrows flew one after another at the peccaries: it was Atutu, sending them in a bunch from his shelter in the tree.
  
  
  The bakers retreated. Nick grabbed Tarita's hand and they began a mad marathon, knowing that they had only a few moments left before the wild boars came to their senses and went on the offensive in an avalanche. But the hail of arrows was enough to suppress the animals, and Nick and Tarita gained a few seconds to reach the steep slope. Nick climbed up the vines and roots, clinging to them with one hand, with the other hand he supported Tarita, helping her climb, slipping and sliding down in his haste, and still managing to stay on the almost vertical slope. Atutu climbed ahead of them, but as they approached the top of the narrow ridge, he sometimes descended to lend a hand to help them. Below was a jungle filled with angry grunts and snorts.
  
  
  Having reached the top of the rise, they fell on their backs, barely catching their breath, and froze in motionlessness. After resting, Nick stood up and looked down at the dark silhouettes, destroying and tearing out everything in their path through the jungle with loud and ferocious snorting, grunting and stomping, merging into one thunderous sound.
  
  
  When he returned, Tarita was sitting. Her chest was smeared with dirt and dust mixed with pieces of wet leaves and grass. But still gorgeous, Nick noted to himself. Behind her, a mountain ridge rose up, going upward through the vegetation covering it, and only at that moment did Nick realize that they had reached the lowest ledge of the highlands.
  
  
  - How long will we stay here? - he asked.
  
  
  “At least half a day,” Tarita answered.
  
  
  Nick sighed heavily:
  
  
  “We will lose all the time we gained by crossing the river.”
  
  
  Tarita looked at him gloomily and shrugged her shoulders helplessly:
  
  
  “They will become even more ferocious when they dig up this entire area.” We need to stay here until they move on. We may have to wait all day. Only time will tell how much.
  
  
  Atutu squatted on the edge of the ledge and peered into the jungle below.
  
  
  “I’m watching and seeing, good fellow,” he said, thereby trying to make it clear to Nick that he would continue to observe until the bakers left. Nick patted the little man on the shoulder. He had long concluded for himself that this tiny Indian had much more courage and bravery than three men of normal height put together.
  
  
  Nick lay on his back and stretched out on the ledge, dreaming of shutting up those throats below that were making ferocious destructive sounds. He looked for Tarita and saw that she was moving along a barely noticeable path leading up into the dense forest covering the ridge. She stopped, looked at him with a deep, burning gaze and then disappeared into the foliage. Nick continued to lie quietly and motionless, trying to guess the meaning of her dark, incomprehensible gaze.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes passed, but the girl still did not return, and Nick got up and moved into the dense thickets, behind which she disappeared. There was a steep, narrow, winding path shaded on all sides by leaves, becoming steeper with every step. Nick quickly broke out in a sticky cold sweat and walked away swearing to himself about it.
  
  
  The jungle hid what suddenly appeared before Nick: a whole ridge of flat stones rising in steps, and a waterfall gently cascading over them. Having followed with his eyes the entire path of this cold, refreshing water falling along this natural staircase, Nick suddenly saw Tarita sitting on a wide flat stone under the flowing water.
  
  
  She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and before he noticed the crumpled sarong on the ground, she stood up, proudly revealing herself in all the splendor of her naked beauty. Her eyes glared at him with a fiery gaze, the meaning of which could now not be confused. She was dazzlingly beautiful: her body shone and shimmered. Nick slowly approached her, enjoying the sight of her smooth flat stomach with a soft rounded mound at the bottom, her hips, wide and absolutely feminine. The girl had stunning legs, slightly tapering at the bottom, long and round - all covered in rainbow droplets of water.
  
  
  Nick stopped in front of her, looking up at her figure, silently towering on the rock in a halo of rainbow splashes. Without taking his eyes off, he took off his safari vest, unfastened the holster along with the stiletto from his hand, threw off his trousers. Tarita's breasts rose in a deep, long sigh, and she extended one hand to him. Nick accepted her, jumped onto the rock next to the girl and found himself under the wet, intimate shadow of the waterfall.
  
  
  Gentle streams of water rained down with exciting touches, refreshing at the same time, and Nick stood, spellbound, looking at the rivulets of water running down the girl’s chest, unexpectedly losing the power of speech. He placed his palm below her breast and felt the smooth, delicate skin polished by the jets of the waterfall. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue flashed in their depths, beckoning, calling, searching.
  
  
  Nick kissed them, unable to resist this sign of love; he already realized that neither of them would be able to break away from the other without reaching the end.
  
  
  Tarita screamed, a short, sensual expression of pleasure, and pressed herself against his chest, wrapping one leg around his hips. Nick felt her slowly slip out of his arms and drop to her knees, pressing her face against his body, wrapping her arms around him. The girl’s lips also slid down - over his chest, lower, over the abdominal muscles... and lower and lower, caressing, biting his body, engulfed in quivering waves of desire.
  
  
  “Here,” she exhaled hastily, sliding further down, caressing his back, hard buttocks, and thigh muscles with her hands. The girl lay down on her back at his feet right on the rock, and splashes of water began to fall on her body, her chest, yearning for touches and caresses. He fell to his knees next to her and pressed his lips to hers, feeling her mouth open wide, invitingly responding with her tongue to his insistent caress - a flexible caressing dance of two people tormented by the same desire. Nick began to gently stroke her high breasts with his fingers, tracing circles around her flat nipples with his thumb until they became hard, swollen, with burning anticipation. Then he bent his head and began to kiss the girl's breasts, while she squeezed him with a moan that seemed to escape from the very depths of her body. Her legs rose in some kind of frenzied ecstasy...
  
  
  ...And the water kept falling and falling on them, and small droplets fell from her chest onto his lips.
  
  
  Nick began to caress her smooth, wet belly, moving further down, and the girl spread her hips, letting his head pass. He went up again, towards her hungry lips, but she tore her head away and fell on him, throwing him backwards on the cool moisture of the stone, and began to explore his body with her lips, now pressing her chest against him, now turning her face to his feet and screaming with pleasure. As she slid up his body again, he reached out and cupped her breast, and Tarita fell backward next to him, lifting and spreading her legs, arching her body backwards.
  
  
  “Oh my God,” she moaned, grabbing him and trying to pull him on top of her. “Please... now, oh, now.”
  
  
  He lay on top of her, slowly took her hand, and she led him along, almost screaming in ecstasy. Nick could barely restrain himself at the door to the temple, and she moaned, all overcome with delight and anticipation.
  
  
  ...And water still rained down on them from above.
  
  
  Every touch of his made her body now shudder, and he moved very slowly, teasing and tormenting her, gradually merging with her body. The girl took a deep breath of air. Her long, chiseled legs closed around his body, and she began to move rhythmically, accompanying each thrust with either a cry of delight or a moan. He felt her strength. He understood its power. He felt her thirst.
  
  
  ...And the water continued to fall from above onto their bodies.
  
  
  Nick was already in a world inaccessible to everything around him - a world closed in on itself, where nothing mattered anymore except this lovely creature under him and the taste of her lips, the feeling of her fragrant body and the ultimate goal of their love passion.
  
  
  She screamed, calling him, pleading, loving, arching her magnificent wide hips; her whole body was covered in a sweet sensual trembling.
  
  
  Now it was Nick's turn to call, shouting her name. Finally, with a frenzy of delight, Tarita reached the goal of pristine pleasure. She fell backwards, Nick fell on her in sweet exhaustion, burying his face in the tender roundness of her breasts.
  
  
  ...Somewhere Macao shouted, his piercing scream came from somewhere in the trees, then silence fell again. Only the murmur of water pouring onto their bodies...
  
  
  Nick leaned back, stretched out on the stone, and felt Tarita’s gentle, caressing fingers on his body. Her touches were more eloquent than words: they seemed to tell him how much pleasure it gave her to give pleasure to another. He lay quietly, enjoying the caresses of this dazzling creature; his fingers slowly slid along the girl's smooth, wet back. The waterfall hit his skin and he felt the desire to love her again, as if they had never even touched each other. He found her, but she dodged and jumped to her feet, pulling him with her.
  
  
  “Now here,” Tarita said, jumping from the rock into the soft grass, and walked forward, without letting go of Nick’s hand.
  
  
  She found a small clearing among the trees and fell face down into a carpet of fluffy, clover-like leaves, pulling Nick down. Here, among the thick leaves and soft mossy cover, it was dark and cool. Tarita again reached out to him: her trembling body almost instantly dried up from the newly flared passion. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into the grass, and they again merged in a loving impulse, interrupted by moans and whispers.
  
  
  “Yes, yes, my dear... yes,” she muttered in his ear, and her magical hands plunged him into a world of hitherto unknown bliss. His thirst matched hers, and Nick suddenly discovered that he, too, could scream in ecstasy on the primal paths of pleasure.
  
  
  ...The jungle echoed, repeating a half-scream, half-moan of bliss, and Nick fell to the side, burying his lips in the girl’s chest.
  
  
  The sweet languor melted: the girl rose to her feet - a naked forest nymph running out of her secluded refuge - a fleeting moment of pristine, unsullied beauty.
  
  
  Nick followed after her chiseled figure, who jumped under the rushing water with her arms raised high and palms out.
  
  
  Her breasts became firm and inviting again, and he hugged her, following her under the water jets. They pressed their naked bodies against each other and stood under the cool, refreshing drops. Finally she pulled away, took his hand and sat down on a nearby rock at the edge of the waterfall. Now only light splashes of water fell on them. When Nick sat down next to her on a boulder, leaning his back, Tarita slid into his arms, pushing his palms under her chest, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
  
  
  “I never thought it could be so wonderful, Nick,” she said tenderly. “This will never happen to anyone again.”
  
  
  Nick was inclined to agree with her, although for different reasons: she loved with such primitive strength, natural passion, giving herself completely in pure and undisguised desire. And now she sat in his arms, basking under his admiring gaze. But despite all this, the girl was not just a creature of the jungle, she was soft, wise, sophisticated - a one-of-a-kind combination. Yes, he agreed to himself, this really won’t happen again to anyone, because there are no more people like her, who carry within themselves this strange and rare combination of passions.
  
  
  — Did you like my jungle, Nick? she asked. “I wanted to show you how beautiful they can be.”
  
  
  “You succeeded,” Nick replied. “Your jungle is beautiful, but also deadly.” This is your world.
  
  
  “Not so beautiful and not so deadly,” she objected with a hint of sadness in her voice. And he again agreed with her in his heart.
  
  
  - If we talk about horrors, then one thing surprises me. The fact that we have never met a jaguar,” Nick picked up.
  
  
  “Eltigro,” she exclaimed, using the South American name for this huge spotted cat. — The Indians have an old and wise saying about the tiger. They say that you meet a jaguar when he wants it, and they always regret this meeting later.
  
  
  Nick laughed along with her, reluctantly watching her get out of his arms. Deftly wrapping the sarong around her waist, Tarita waited while he put on his clothes. It seemed as if time had stopped for them, but suddenly it turned out that it was no longer morning. They walked down the steep path to where Atutu was still squatting, waiting. To Tarita's question, the Indian replied that the peccary herd had just begun to leave, moving, however, in the same direction as them. Tarita bit her lip.
  
  
  “We need to go back and move along the river bank,” she said. “It’s not far from here because the river makes a loop and we can get to it easily.”
  
  
  “We lost more than half a day,” Nick estimated with anger in his voice. “Damn it, we had a real chance to get close to Kolben.”
  
  
  He consoled himself with the thought that they might not be so far behind Kolben.
  
  
  As the small party descended the ridge and set out on their way back, they saw a patch of jungle devastated by a herd of wild boars, and Nick realized how carefully they had worked on the area. The ground was plowed up, as if squads of bulldozers had walked through it, and the smell of death and destruction hung in the air. Nick was even glad that they would not have to follow the herd, but would have to go back, taking a shortcut.
  
  
  Walking behind the gracefully moving Tarita, he mentally flashed back to the morning hours spent with her and realized one thing: before they left this god-damned jungle, he must once again be alone with her. Judging by the short, quick glances of her moist brown eyes, the girl wanted him just as passionately, and, probably, was also eager to take everything from this world, so that this jungle would fly as if on wings, returning him to the world of primordial feelings.
  
  
  Nick knew that upon returning to that other world, she would change too. Of course, she will love him, but this love will also become different. Nick began to think how fun and enjoyable it would be to learn this difference.
  
  
  The river opened up before them as suddenly as everything else in this jungle. For one minute they stood under the cover of dense foliage, then they went ashore. Tarita led them up the river along the bank, avoiding the trees that leaned down to the water, and turning back when it was impossible to walk along the bank. They had already walked quite a distance when the girl suddenly stopped at a bend, raising a finger to her lips. Nick sat down next to her and carefully looked around the bend: three canoes, half pulled ashore, were gently rocking on the water.
  
  
  “Russians,” Nick whispered, seeing a man pulling some bales out of the canoe, apparently sleeping bags and provisions. Along the shore at their mooring site, small depressions in the stones, similar to caves, were scattered.
  
  
  “It looks like this is the work of a man,” Nick said in a whisper, pointing at them. Tarita shrugged:
  
  
  - Quite possible. Indians inhabited this jungle more than a thousand years ago.
  
  
  “We can bypass them,” she added, nodding towards the Russians.
  
  
  They were about to set off when Nick noticed how one of the Russians threw a heavy bundle of sleeping bags from the canoe into the tall grass growing under a tree. At the same instant, the air came alive with the evil, terrifying buzz of hordes of insects flying out of the tree trunk.
  
  
  - Wasps! - Tarita screamed, digging her fingers into Nick’s hand. — Giant road wasps.
  
  
  - Look at their size! - Nick almost choked, watching them fly out of the hollow. With a wingspan of 4-6 inches, the wasps looked more like miniature fighter jets than insects. In an instant, the wasps fell furiously on the Russians: their blood-red wings and blue-black bellies flashed in the air, turning into vicious instruments of revenge. The fury of a swarm of ordinary wasps is a terrifying sight; these same giant wasps with sharp poisonous stings half an inch long are the real killers.
  
  
  Six Russians tried to escape, but it was impossible to do so. They tried to fight, but the huge insects behaved as wasps should: they attacked from all sides. Nick saw the leader of the group, Yasnovich, frantically flail his arms, swatting away the attacking monsters, but eventually fell to the ground, rolling and writhing in pain, while hordes of wasps attacked him again and again.
  
  
  The natives, Tarita explained, shuddering all over, called the huge wasps “spider hawks,” partly because they hunt poisonous tarantulas, and partly because of their size. Nick had seen what an attacking swarm can do to a person: instead of a face there is an unrecognizable mess, any touch to the swollen body brings unbearable pain, and sometimes death. Here death was inevitable. The poison from the bites of even 2-3 insects will be a lethal dose. The Russians screamed, still trying to hide in the cave-like recesses, but the wasps were inexorable. One of the Russians, his head swollen into a shapeless ball, ran towards the river, but the swarm did not lag behind him, continuing to sting until he dived.
  
  
  He never came back.
  
  
  - Damn it! - Nick cursed, jumping to his feet. - I think I'm getting sentimental.
  
  
  He ran forward, despite Tarita's pleading cry, and as he ran, he pulled out of his pocket two firecracker-like canisters that Stuart had placed there. Nick pulled the fuses, tossed the cans into the midst of the diving wasps, and crouched to the ground, ready to run if the damn things didn't work. The wasps flew up whistling and hissing; but suddenly they began to circle, flying into each other in a disorderly zigzag flight. Ten seconds later they were scattering in all directions, forgetting in their thoughtless haste about the attack, about their nest, and about the clear flight pattern that wasps are distinguished by. “I’ll be damned,” Nick said as he watched them disappear into the jungle.
  
  
  The Russians continued to lie motionless, moaning quietly. Nick ran towards them; Atutu and Tarita joined. He had already opened the emergency bag and handed Tarita hypodermic syringes and a vial of snake antivenom.
  
  
  - Do you know how to handle them? - he asked, holding the ampoule and syringe.
  
  
  Tarita nodded.
  
  
  - Then if. Every minute is precious.
  
  
  Nick was already near Yasnovich, who could hardly be recognized: his eyes were swollen and swollen, and his face, arms and chest were covered with still swelling blisters. It was impossible to find a single vein on his body, but Nick eventually felt a pulse in his wrist. He acted quickly, deftly, moving from one thing to another. Tarita felt less confident and helped only one; her second ward was helped by Nick, who completed the injection in her place. The Russians stopped moaning and lay there, breathing heavily. With Atutu's help, Nick dragged them out of the sun and into small cave-like recesses.
  
  
  Several dead wasps remained at the scene of the tragedy, and Nick picked up one of them to examine the transparent red wings, partially covering the deadly sting. Even dead she was scary. He threw it into the river in disgust and, turning around, saw Tarita next to him.
  
  
  “You're not getting sentimental,” she said, looking at Nick, who grinned in response, remembering his words before running to help the Russians. Of course, Tarita was right, he knew that. He had to witness the death of people many times: sometimes he observed it with bitterness, sometimes with pleasure. Sometimes his enemies fell into his net, sometimes they themselves fell into their own pit. But death has always been the result of the struggle of one person with another.
  
  
  When nature intervened in this struggle, it always seemed to be simply a continuation of this cruelty of man to man. But in this case, looking at these giant insects relentlessly attacking, it seemed that humanity itself was surrounded by a terrible enemy. Nick felt the duty of man to come to the aid of man and almost laughed to himself, thinking that someday humanity would be able to unite one thing: the need for all people to confront together some terrible disaster. Nick woke up from these thoughts, saw the girl’s searching gaze and smiled at her, stroking her stripes:
  
  
  — I never liked insects. And there are too many of them in this God-damned jungle.
  
  
  He stood up and walked back to the rock shelters to take another look at the Russians. They were all breathing, but with great difficulty.
  
  
  Nick knew that the antidotes used were the most modern and powerful, the natural antitoxins in them were backed up by the scientific knowledge of people. Whether they will work, he will soon find out. Of course, it was impossible to break down at such a time and leave the Russians. The only thing that bothered the newly minted Good Samaritan was the large number of people pursuing the same goal. Nick went back to Tarita and found that she had already gutted the Russians' luggage and found several cans of canned chicken and tuna. Atutu watched in fascination as she took out a can opener and prepared a simple meal from these products. But his face broke into a happy smile when he tasted what he had prepared.
  
  
  “Another one introduced to civilization,” Nick said, turning to Tarita, and saw a sly smile flash on her lips.
  
  
  The night was already lowering its black velvet blanket, and they decided to stay on the river bank with their helpless charges. Before the darkness deepened, Nick went to check on the people again. He was encouraged by the fact that they were alive and breathing, albeit with difficulty - but still more smoothly. However, the swelling on their heads and limbs had changed little, and as Nick walked back to Tarita, he wasn't sure if they would make it through.
  
  
  When it became completely dark, he lay down and felt a soft, gentle body at his side. Then he raised his hand, and Tarita slid under it, falling asleep almost instantly, breathing softly against his shoulder and resting the mounds of her breasts against his chest.
  
  
  ...She was lying in the same position when he woke up in the morning, awakened by the bright light of the sun, on the open bank of the river.
  
  
  Atutu was already squatting nearby and pointing his finger at the stone caves. Nick hurried there. Colonel Yasnovich was half-sitting, leaning on his elbow, his face still resembled a fantastic mask, but his eyes were already opening a little and he could see. The others were still sleeping, and one was fidgeting, trying to get settled. Nick saw that the swelling on their swollen faces and hands had subsided a little and now had no doubt that they would live. Then he spoke, turning to Yasnovich, quickly listing what had been done. The man sat up with difficulty, wincing in pain, but Nick saw gratitude in his eyes.
  
  
  “Thank you, Carter,” he muttered through swollen lips. - Thank you for all of us.
  
  
  “As far as I can tell from this kind of thing, the swelling will quickly subside now,” Nick said. — The body will quickly absorb the remains. Everything will be OK.
  
  
  He left the Russians and returned to Tarita.
  
  
  “I’ve gone too far with this brotherly help,” he said quietly to the girl. — We are going, as I understand it, north along the river, right?
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Wouldn’t it be faster if we use a canoe?” Or are the rivers still full?
  
  
  “No, it’s already good to get from here by canoe,” the girl answered.
  
  
  “Then we need to throw everything out of there and take the first boat.” And make holes in the other two,” Nick said.
  
  
  Quickly and deftly they unloaded all the equipment and provisions ashore. While Atutu was making holes in the two remaining canoes, Nick found the Russian guns and ordered Atutu to climb a tall tree and hang them on the topmost branch.
  
  
  “I don’t want them to be left without protective equipment,” Nick explained. “But it will take them about fifteen minutes to get them, and during this time we will go far.” They were already getting into the canoe when Yasnovich appeared on the path leading to the caves; he walked a little unsteadily. He called in a weak voice; the words muffled through his disfigured lips:
  
  
  - Carter, what are you doing?
  
  
  Nick smiled. The Russian's eyes undoubtedly saw holes in the canoes and guns hanging high in the trees.
  
  
  “Stop, Carter,” Yasnovich called.
  
  
  “It’s just like a game,” Nick responded, pushing the canoe into the water. “Think of it as if you had lost both horses, Colonel.”
  
  
  He gestured towards the stone caves:
  
  
  “But you still have the rooks.”
  
  
  Tarita, not being a chess player and therefore not understanding anything, frowned.
  
  
  “The Colonel will understand,” Nick smiled at her. — It is impossible to win all chess games in a row.
  VI
  
  
  Nick and Atutu rowed. Tarita took a long flexible vine, sharpened it at one end and stuck a thick earthworm on it. Nick guessed that this was like Amazonian lure fishing, and yet Tarita managed to pull out a beautiful large fish with an orange back, an Amazonian species of river trout, as the girl explained.
  
  
  They quickly moved forward, maneuvering between the half-sunken logs they came across along the way. Nick was stunned the first time when one of these logs suddenly opened a huge mouth, showing two rows of shiny teeth. Only then did he realize that the entire river was infested with alligators, lazily resting in the water with their snouts hanging out; and their protruding eye mounds made them look even more like gnarled logs. Nick was relieved when he passed them.
  
  
  When it began to get dark, they landed on the shore, and Atutu lit a fire not far from the shore. Nick showed him how to use a small petrol lighter, which still worked flawlessly. Just in case, Nick had a full bag of matches in a special waterproof package. While Atutu prepared the fish, Nick explored the surroundings, accompanied by Tarita.
  
  
  After walking about a hundred yards, they came across a crumpled, shiny plastic bag, the tip of which was peeking out from under a bush. Nick crouched down and pulled it out, finding another one just like it there. There were Chinese characters on the front and Nick opened it to try and find out the contents. He sniffed.
  
  
  “Rice bags,” he concluded. - Well, now we know that the Chinese passed this same road.
  
  
  He stood up, gloomy, and unable to contain his anger, and said:
  
  
  “It’s amazing how they managed to get so far so quickly without knowledge of the jungle and without a guide... I thought that they were either left far behind or hopelessly lost somewhere.”
  
  
  “Maybe they were on Kolben’s trail,” Tarita suggested. Nick looked at her and calculated all the pros and cons in his mind. This assumption made sense, but something else was more likely.
  
  
  - Damn it! - he exclaimed loudly.
  
  
  - What is it, Nick? — the girl was alarmed.
  
  
  “They managed more than to pick up the trail,” he said. “They didn’t wait until nightfall in Serra do Navio. We only assumed this, but we had to establish everything for sure. They waited for our departure and followed, keeping close to us. Without a doubt, they got close to both the Russians and Kolben, and were on our tail, choosing who to follow when our paths crossed. And now they realized that they can move further on their own. We are very close to complete failure.
  
  
  “Yes,” Tarita answered. “The area you marked as a likely crash site lies just ahead, through the Kanahari lands.”
  
  
  - I think the Kanahari are an Indian tribe?
  
  
  “Headhunters,” Tarita confirmed and laughed. - At least they were. Recently, they have become more peaceful and stopped hunting people.
  
  
  - Do you have any guarantees that this is so?
  
  
  “I only know about this from hearsay, from tribes who can now live calmly and peacefully.” But, of course, I am sure that the Kanahari can rebel at any moment.
  
  
  They returned to Atut, who was cutting trout with a machete so deftly that the head waiter of the most upscale restaurant could envy him. Nick's thoughts were still occupied with the walk. The Russians now posed no threat, and the Chinese were somewhere ahead. The area where the fall occurred was relatively small, located just higher, and the “scavengers” began to flock to this place. Previously, he had hoped to get there first, find the priceless device and leave with it, without further putting either Tarita or the little Indian at risk. Perhaps it will still be possible to carry out his plan, Nick thought.
  
  
  By the time they had finished with the fish and the small fire had burned down, the inky darkness had already fallen over them, but Nick could still see Tarita curled up on the opposite side of their shelter and the Indian crouched next to her.
  
  
  He stood up, still angry at himself for underestimating the Chinese's cunning. Nick's body yearned for sleep and rest; he quickly fell into a deep sleep, already accustomed to the sounds of the night.
  
  
  Daylight had not yet filtered through the trees and there was darkness in the air when, through his sleep, he heard his name being called.
  
  
  “American,” someone said. “You...what’s your name, Carter, I think?”
  
  
  Nick immediately sat up, but the voice quickly spoke again from somewhere in the darkness:
  
  
  - Stay where you are. My gun is pointed at your girl's head.
  
  
  Nick recognized Kolben's voice.
  
  
  - He's telling the truth, Nick. It really hit my head. - It was already Tarita’s voice.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” a voice warned threateningly from the darkness. - It will be dawn in ten minutes. Then you will throw your machetes, yourself and your midget with all your weapons into the middle. One wrong move and she would die.
  
  
  Nick froze in silence. In the pitch darkness, gradually dissipating, he pulled the Luger out of its holster, quietly placed it on the ground behind him, placing his hand behind his back, and slowly pushed it towards the grass. When the light finally filtered through and reached the ground, Nick was already sitting upright and motionless, watching as everything around him took shape, materializing as if on a stage illuminated by the footlights. Kolben stood behind Tarita, and the barrel of his gun was actually pointed towards the girl’s head. His big-nosed assistant held Atutu at gunpoint, while two local Indians stood like silent, motionless statues nearby. At Kolben's command, Nick and Atutu threw their machetes into the middle. The big man had already pulled out Tarita's machete. While Nick watched the scene helplessly, the Indians stepped forward and broke their bows.
  
  
  “Your weapon, Carter,” Kolben demanded.
  
  
  Nick showed an empty holster:
  
  
  “I lost it somewhere along the way.”
  
  
  Kolben said something to the Indians, and one of them instantly searched Nick. Kolben, quite satisfied with the unarmed state of the enemy, left Tarita in the care of two Indians and stepped forward to look at the waterproof package containing the Fulton system and the tiny transmitter. Roughly opening it, he peered inside, but saw only a core with a thin wire on the winding. After making sure that it was not a weapon, Kolben returned to his place.
  
  
  “I have no doubt that this is some kind of special device that should be used to detect an electronic brain,” he commented in a rather pleased tone. “And if you don’t find it, then this thing will remain for you as a consolation.”
  
  
  He laughed, throwing his head back in a short fit of abrupt, rough laughter. Nick measured the distance to this heavyset man with arms like powerful, low-growing trees. You can’t take him with one blow of your fist, and anything else meant inevitable death for Tarita and Atutu. Nick decided not to do anything for now. Kolben turned, ordered the Indians to keep an eye on Atuta, and the big-nosed one to keep Nick at gunpoint, and he readily poked him in the ribs with a thirty-eight caliber revolver with an upturned muzzle.
  
  
  Kolben walked up to Tarita, grabbed her by both breasts and laughed. Suddenly his laughter turned into a wild scream: Tarita sank her teeth into his hand and grabbed his face with her nails, cutting it with deep furrows. The big man rushed forward and with the back of his hand unleashed a well-practised side blow on the girl. The blow hit Tarita on the head, and Nick saw her fall to her knee. He involuntarily jerked, but immediately felt the revolver press into his ribs; the next moment there was the sound of another blow. This time Kolben hit with all his might, putting both the weight of his heavy body and the strength of his muscles into it. Tarita sprawled onto her back, her chest bouncing high as she hit the wet ground. Kolben jumped at her with a roar, but the girl curled into a ball, trying to get to her feet. Suddenly Kolben let out a scream and fell on his side with his face distorted in pain, holding his groin.
  
  
  One of the Indians rushed towards Tarita, blocked the way and twisted her hands behind her back.
  
  
  Kolben sat there, speechless from the pain, then, still breathing heavily, rose to his feet. The Indian continued to hold the girl's hands, and the big man slowly moved towards her, and still, holding his groin with one hand, hit her in the face with the other.
  
  
  “I could kill you right now,” he said, casting a prickly look, burning with hatred, at Nick and Atutu. “Now the jungle will do it for me.”
  
  
  He signaled to the Indians, and they pushed Nick through the jungle. On the way, the big-nosed one continued to press his revolver into his spine. One of the Indians held Tarita's hands tightly behind her back; the other escorted Atuta. Kolben brought up the rear with a gun in his hand, keeping a close eye on everyone walking ahead.
  
  
  Finally they came out into an open space, in the middle of which there was a small round lake. When they appeared, a tukotuco jumped out of the waters and disappeared into the thickets.
  
  
  Kolben ordered Atut to lie face down on the ground, pushed Tarita towards him, leaving Nick standing under the vigilant supervision of the big-nosed man. He said something to the Indians, and they disappeared into the jungle, deftly wielding their machetes. After a while they reappeared with three stakes, whittling them as they went. Using a flat stone, with difficulty, but carefully and deeply, they drove all three stakes into the ground. Following Kolben's directions, the Indians placed the stakes approximately 25 feet apart and fifteen feet from the water's edge. Nick watched all this with increasing bewilderment.
  
  
  Kolben gave an order to the big-nosed one, and he poked Nick, pushing him towards the stake. Using vines as strong as twine, he tied his hands tightly at the wrists, placing them behind his back, then threaded long vines woven through them and carefully tied the rope to the stake, and thus Nick found himself on a twenty-foot leash. They left his legs free. Nick, frowning, watched as the same thing was done to Tarita and Atutu; and soon all three found themselves on long leashes, the ends attached to stakes.
  
  
  Kolben approached Tarita and stroked her breasts; she stood staring somewhere above his head with a fixed gaze, her face impassive. Kolben burst into rough, cruel laughter.
  
  
  - If I had time... if I had time, I would not get off you until you yourself asked for mercy. But when I return back, I will have so much money and time that I can buy any of those like you.
  
  
  He checked the bonds on her wrists, stepped back and swung and struck her. The blow was so strong that the girl flew away and remained lying on the ground, barely audibly screaming in pain.
  
  
  Then Kolben approached Nick, his face contorted in angry fury.
  
  
  “I hope she will be the first, American,” he said, “I want you to see her die.”
  
  
  With these words, he walked away from Nick, gave orders to his gang, and they quickly disappeared into the thicket. Nick stood motionless, listening to the crunch of the bushes under the departing people. Tarita rose; her eyes were wide open, tears flowing down her cheeks. She reached the end of her rope, Nick moved towards her. They were separated by a mere six feet.
  
  
  “To be honest, this all seems nonsense to me,” Nick said. “In a little while I’ll be free of this damn rope.”
  
  
  “You won’t have time,” Tarita answered, and her voice seemed somehow colorless and submissive to Nick. “Kolben knew exactly what he was doing.” That's why he chose this clearing with a lake. We'll see a jaguar soon, Nick... and we'll regret it.
  
  
  Certainly! Nick cursed under his breath. This lake is where these huge cats go to drink. Now he understands everything! Although no, not everything yet.
  
  
  “Then why the hell didn’t he tie us to a tree?” - Nick asked angrily. - What does all this stuff with a leash mean? I do not understand something.
  
  
  “He acted according to an old Indian saying. It says that no one can resist the temptation to run away when they come face to face with a jaguar, and then the jaguar jumps and knocks you down. You see, he always wants to play with his victim by knocking him down. It's like he's toying with you before he kills you. If we had been tightly tied to the tree and stood motionless, then perhaps he would have passed by.
  
  
  “But then, according to the same old saying, we can avoid death.” - Nick thought. His eyes narrowed, “What if we outdo Kolben and the saying? What if we manage to stand still?”
  
  
  In Tarita’s eyes he saw only sympathy and sadness:
  
  
  -You've never seen a jaguar come. No one will have the courage to look at him and stand motionless, unless he is dead or very tightly bound. Kolben knows this. He made sure that we ourselves brought our death closer.
  
  
  Clean work. Nick swore. The girl obediently trudged back, dragging the leash behind her. Nick tried to free his wrist by tugging at the rope and pushing his feet into the ground, tensing the muscles in his arms and shoulders. But the intertwined vines did not give in. He tried to kick the stake driven deep into the ground several times, but each time the earth on the surface sank, compacting around the pole. Nick tried to loosen the bonds on his wrists, straining his hands until droplets of blood appeared on them. He immediately stopped this activity, knowing that the smell of blood could attract uninvited guests.
  
  
  Nick was sure that if he had time, he would somehow manage to free himself. And in order to stay alive, in the meantime they had to prepare for a meeting with the jaguar. He looked at Tarita and the Indian. Both stood dejected and depressed, perhaps because they knew better than he what was inevitably going to happen to them. But what the hell is not joking? We must try anyway.
  
  
  Nick decided to try to apply the first rule of yoga, learned many years ago, about complete detachment from the environment and suppressing physical feelings through complete relaxation.
  
  
  Naturally, he did not intend to prepare yogis from his two companions in a matter of hours, but still decided to try to prepare them for the inevitable test.
  
  
  “Tarita, listen to me,” he decisively commanded the girl. She turned around and looked at him with wide eyes. “We have to try, okay?” I'll think of something later to free myself. And for this we need to prepare for the arrival of the jaguar. And I think I can help you both. We need to learn to stand completely still. Most likely the jaguar will come in the afternoon. If we can stand like this for three hours, then we are saved! This is our only chance, Tarita. You try to do this... for me.
  
  
  Tarita shrugged; her gaze still expressed depression and confusion, but she nodded in agreement. She talked to Atutu, explaining to him what Nick wanted, and the little Indian agreed too.
  
  
  “You both have to repeat everything after me,” Nick said, walking up to the stake and lowering himself to the ground. Without closing his eyes, he began to slowly speak to Tarita, who in turn translated his words to Atut.
  
  
  “What I say won’t put you to sleep.” You will continue to be awake, but you will calm down internally, completely relaxing your soul and body. Breathe deeper... slower... repeat. You don't have to go anywhere... You're not going to move... breathe deeply... relax... let your body rest.
  
  
  Nick continued to repeat slowly and persistently, watching how gradually both Tarita and Atutu began to relax, how their postures became less tense. Soon he stopped talking and left them in a half-asleep state. Now Nick concentrated on himself and, half-closing his eyes, watched as the clearing with the lake slowly came to life.
  
  
  First, two young deer and a small brown-red roe deer appeared, who for a long time did not dare to enter the clearing and stood, ready to run away at any moment. They drank greedily and quickly left. Then the tapir appeared, clumsily rearranging its legs, and plunged its long muzzle into the water. Then the gray capybara, the largest rodent in the world, weighing up to 2 thousand pounds and reaching up to four feet in width, entered the clearing. Rabbits, small forest animals and armadillos flocked along the beaten paths to the watering hole. Tarita and Atutu still did not react to anything - Nick noted this to himself, and was very happy: he began to really hope. But the very next moment hope disappeared, giving way; there is a place for foreboding when a sound appears - an ominous half-hissing, half-growl that makes you shiver.
  
  
  Nick saw that the girl’s hands instantly tensed, and fear appeared in her rounded eyes. "Damn it, relax." — Nick conjured to himself, silently swearing. As if by the laws of telepathy, she turned her gaze to Nick: he mentally sent her words of support and encouragement, as if with his eyes ordering her body to relax and pull herself together.
  
  
  The growl came from behind Nick again, but now closer and louder. Without turning around, he saw a huge spotted forest cat - nearly four hundred pounds of strength, muscle, speed and uncontrollable fury - walk past with ease and grace.
  
  
  The jaguar is considered throughout the world to be a killer without equal. Unlike most other forest cats, the jaguar tracks a person, finding some kind of joy in this.
  
  
  The golden silhouette stopped at the edge of the pond, stretching out its front paws with huge claws, one blow of which could release the guts of a person. The jaguar raised its muzzle and began to sniff, already catching the strange and unfamiliar smell of a person. Then he drank greedily and, stepping back, began to look at the people.
  
  
  The dark eyes of the huge cat slid over Nick's face, but he sat motionless, knowing that the smell of the human body was already tickling the jaguar's nostrils.
  
  
  Tarita was closest to him. Nick saw with horror that the jaguar slowly moved towards the girl. Tarita's eyes widened in horror, but she did not move. A little short of reaching it, the jaguar was distracted when he saw some small animal crackling in the bushes. When he turned again and fixed his cold pupils on Tarita, her shoulders leaned forward and her whole body seemed to shrink internally.
  
  
  The jaguar stopped, arched his front paws and crouched to the ground, creeping up, not taking his unblinking gaze away from the girl. For God's sake; stand still! Nick cried out to himself, suppressing the urge to scream. But it was too late. Moving from paw to paw, still looking at its victim at the stake, the jaguar slowly approached, now baring its huge fangs. Step by step, he crept closer and closer.
  
  
  Suddenly Tarita screamed and jumped to her feet, so suddenly that Nick flinched. She thrashed around on the leash, falling and then jumping to her feet again. The jaguar was also apparently taken aback at the first second and crouched down, recoiling, but then jumped with a loud roar. Tarita had almost reached the end of her tether, and the jaguar missed his jump, landing in the middle between two poles. As the golden shadow flashed by, Nick lunged forward, hitting the jaguar hard on the backside with his shoulder. The jaguar, knocked down from the jump, spun around, growling angrily, and saw the second enemy.
  
  
  Nick was on his feet and watched as, having reached the boundaries of the leash, Tarita began to run in a large circle like crazy, stumbling, falling and jumping up. The jaguar hesitated for a second. Like a big cat, he first sat down, instantly calculated the trajectory of her movement, then rushed after her with huge leaps. All of Nick's muscles tensed to the limit as the jaguar jumped - in one long leap - to bring down the victim.
  
  
  A shot cracked dryly in the air, and the huge cat's body tumbled. The second shot, fired immediately after the first, hit the jaguar in the head. The golden body collapsed six inches short of Tarita. Nick, overjoyed, saw that Tarita had lost consciousness and fallen near the motionless jaguar; the next moment Yasnovich appeared from behind the trees with a gun in his hand, followed by all the other members of his group. The Russian colonel came up and examined the dead jaguar.
  
  
  “It’s a pity that we don’t have the opportunity to take him with us,” he remarked. - A beautiful specimen. It would make a magnificent carpet.
  
  
  He turned to Nick. He took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Thank you, Colonel,” Nick said. - Thank you for all of us.
  
  
  Two Russians helped Tarita come to her senses and get to her feet. Yasnovich was beaming with pleasure and joy.
  
  
  “We were moving along the river and suddenly came across a canoe,” he explained his appearance. “After that, it wasn’t difficult to find you.” We quickly discovered your camp and the abandoned machetes. Who connected you, Chinese?
  
  
  Colonel Yasnovich's eyebrows went up in surprise when Nick told everything that happened to them.
  
  
  “I thought that only the Chinese, you and us, were involved in this matter,” he said thoughtfully, digesting this new information for him. - This means we need to get underway and immediately.
  
  
  He ordered his men to bring long ropes and tied all three of them with their backs facing each other. Nick noticed that some Russians still had a certain puffiness in their faces. The colonel tightly wrapped flexible vines around all three, leaving their wrists free and tying their arms to their sides.
  
  
  “I’m sure you’ll have to work hard to free yourself,” Yasnovich said. “Perhaps it will take an hour, or maybe all three.” During this time, we will go far ahead, and without the machetes with which you cut your way through the jungle, you will fall even further behind.
  
  
  He pulled out the Luger and laid it on the ground twenty feet away from them.
  
  
  - "Wilhelmina"! - Nick exclaimed.
  
  
  “We found it in your camp when we were exploring the site,” the colonel answered. “I also have a sense of compassion, and I don’t want to leave you completely unarmed.” You will pick it up when you are free.
  
  
  The Russian waved goodbye to Nick:
  
  
  - We paid you our debt. And at the same time I declare check for you.
  
  
  Nick winced. Yes, it was a check. The Russians disappeared into the jungle, and he immediately began to free his hands. The Russians tied them tightly to each other, but they could move their bodies and move quietly. Nick attempted a series of collective bends before the bonds loosened. But more than two hours passed before he was able to pull one arm free. The rest was all quite easy, and after a few minutes all three were already standing, rubbing their hands and those places where the ropes cut especially deeply.
  
  
  Nick picked up the Wilhelmina and holstered it. The Russians had calculated so accurately how long it would take them to free themselves that it caused Nick great irritation. Night was approaching. They only had time to retrace their steps from the lake to the place where Kolben had ambushed them. They settled down for the night right in the jungle on a tiny lawn between three spreading trees. From time to time, Nick felt Tarita's body pressed against him, her arms wrapped around him, and her smooth breasts half buried in him.
  
  
  “I’m sorry that I let you down there, by the lake,” the girl said in a quiet, contrite voice. “I tried to stand still, but when he walked towards me... I just couldn’t.”
  
  
  She trembled all over again, remembering that moment, and Nick squeezed her tightly, trying to hold the girl’s convulsively beating body.
  
  
  “I understand you,” he reassured Tarita. - Don't think about it anymore. Forget everything.
  
  
  Of course, he knew that all her life she would remember these hours spent on the edge of life and death. How can you forget about the single second that saved you from death tearing you apart?
  
  
  How can you forget her look, cold and merciless? Of course, if you see death as often as he does, you can get used to not paying attention to it, driving fear somewhere into the most remote corners of your consciousness. But it is impossible to forget about her forever.
  
  
  Nick touched her body, stroked her warm, smooth breasts and felt his loins stir. He was delighted to hear the sound of her measured breathing. She fell asleep.
  VII
  
  
  Nick woke up angry: not only did this damn jungle itself do everything to upset all his plans, but now Kolben, the Russians, and the Chinese were in front, and he was trailing behind. Nick never tolerated this, under any circumstances. Between Nick and the place where the coveted device fell, there was the last strip of completely impenetrable jungle, and they did not have a machete, only a Luger and seven bullets for it. There was, of course, a small Hugo stiletto, useful against the weakest animals and people, but in the fight against creatures living in the jungle, it became nothing more than a toothpick. But, as usual, the more accidents there were, the more Nick’s determination to overcome them grew, the more obstacles arose in front of him, the more violent his anger became.
  
  
  “I’ll get ahead,” he told Tarita. “You should be directly behind me and show me the direction.”
  
  
  The girl looked at him, and surprise flashed in her bottomless eyes: this was a new tone for her, stern and unyielding. Nick set off, bouncing slightly as he walked, pushing apart the intertwining vines, tearing apart the tangled knots of branches with his powerful shoulders, grabbing them, breaking them and tugging. Soon his hands were red with blood from the thousands of awl-shaped stems and thorn-studded bindweeds. However, he continued to walk ahead of Tarita and Atutu, who did not feel at all uncomfortable following him - as if they were walking with a machete in their hands. When Nick finally stopped, he could not straighten his arms, cramped from tension. The girl hurried to him with some white sticky substance, which she scraped from the leaves of the plant. It was cool and had a soothing effect on his sore hands. Atutu sat down next to Nick, looking at him with admiration and surprise.
  
  
  “You are the only one, great friend,” he said, shaking his head: Nick literally gnawed their way through the jungle with his teeth.
  
  
  “Now we have entered the territory of the Kanahari tribe,” said Tarita.
  
  
  “You’re afraid,” Nick said harshly.
  
  
  “I’m always afraid around the Kanahari,” she answered. “It’s so easy to turn them into enemies.”
  
  
  “Then why the hell are we delaying our transition?” - Nick jumped to his feet.
  
  
  - And your hands! - the girl exclaimed. “You should have let them rest a little longer.”
  
  
  “Only after we reach the goal for which we came here,” he answered harshly and moved forward with long steps.
  
  
  But Nick was still glad when the tangled vines thinned out, giving way to low-hanging skeins of vines, under which they now had to dive. The natural painkiller that Tarita had smeared on his palms still soothed his torn, bleeding flesh. Continuing to walk feverishly, he was the first to jump out onto a small hollow - the site of someone’s camp.
  
  
  Nick tripped over something soft on the ground and had to jump over it to avoid falling. And only then did he see what it was.
  
  
  Nick tried to stop Tarita, but she was too close to him, and immediately came up behind him, looking at her feet. The body that Nick tripped over was not the only one: there were three more scattered across the small ravine. In the place where the head should have been, there was a fresh, jagged-edged, still oozing hole, from which blood continued to pour onto the grass. If not for the blood, the bodies could have been mistaken for ordinary headless mannequins that decorate department stores. Tarita, who had closed her eyes at the scene, looked pointedly at Nick.
  
  
  “Oh, my God,” she said, grabbing his hand. - Chinese?
  
  
  Nick nodded, noticing Chinese characters on an empty travel crate near the nearest body. Atutu examined the bodies with calm curiosity, as if he were studying the craft of headhunters. From the condition of the corpses, Nick concluded that the murder occurred not so long ago. He led Tarita, drawing her further out of the ravine and into the jungle. Finally they stopped, and the girl sat down on a half-rotten log.
  
  
  “Apparently something provoked them,” she said. “Something made them terribly angry.” This is a real military action on their part.
  
  
  She glanced at Nick, noticing the hard line around his mouth.
  
  
  - What do you think about it?
  
  
  “I think the number of participants has been reduced by one third,” Nick replied dispassionately. Tarita's eyes expressed disapproval of his callousness. As she got to know this strong, furious man better, she began to doubt the truth of the saying about the jaguar, deciding that in such a state as now he could disprove it: meet the jaguar face to face and not run.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Nick commanded, not deigning to answer her question.
  
  
  “Wait,” Tarita said, and something in her voice made him turn around. The girl's eyes looked somewhere over his shoulder.
  
  
  “I think the number of participants in the race will soon be reduced by half,” she said quietly. Nick spun around and saw a tall brown figure standing between two trees: a spear in his hand, flat high cheekbones painted with red paint, white stripes painted on a long flexible body. The native wore a loincloth and a small headdress made of parrot feathers. And some kind of crackling was heard in the bushes, and, turning his head to the left, Nick saw two more similarly decorated figures emerging from the jungle. Tied to the belt of one of them was the head of a Chinese man with glassy eyes and an open mouth. The head was still fresh, untreated and wet.
  
  
  One of those standing between the trees raised a spear. Nick stopped the hand that was reaching for the Luger. These primitive people had no doubt never seen a weapon. And even if they capture him, they are unlikely to think of taking the Luger away from him. If he uses it now, he will, of course, kill several, but they will prevail with their numbers. Nick was sure that there were many more of them around. As if to confirm his thoughts, two more figures appeared in the dense foliage. Nick decided to save his Wilhelmina. If he gets caught, he can use it later. However, he also did not intend to stand and wait until he was caught. Hearing the whistle of a spear behind him, Nick leaned to the left.
  
  
  The girl and the Indian were, as he had expected, already captured. But if he managed to escape, he would, of course, return for them. Nick darted to the right, but saw a figure appearing right in front of him. Two more quickly emerged from the thicket, and one of them rushed towards him, grabbing him by the ankle. At this time, other Indians were already pushing through the bushes. Nick was more than right: all the thickets were literally overrun with savages.
  
  
  Nick freed his ankle, but the Indian rushed at him again with amazing speed. Two more joined the fight. They were not very large, but they had some kind of cat-like strength. Nick took one down the throat with a karate chop, and it fell, gurgling and gasping for air. On the second, he demonstrated the advantages of the Chinese defense, and the man fell on his side with a howl. But then a dozen more natives pounced on Nick.
  
  
  Nick managed to jump to his feet and dodged the blow of the spear, knocking the hunter down with an uppercut that sent him flying onto the heads of two of his fellow tribesmen. Another one jumped on Nick; Nick stepped aside and sent the attacker flying into the sharp thorns of an Amazonian palm tree. The man screamed in pain. The next second they attacked him from behind and laid him on his back. But Nick dropped the attacker with a crushing right hand to the jaw. And other natives were already piling on him, and they finally managed to knock Nick down. He felt more and more bodies falling on top of him. He hit, fought and kicked, but they swarmed on him like flies, and suddenly something sharp poked into his throat. Nick fell silent, looked up and saw a tall man, painted with white stripes, holding a spear at his throat. A small drop of blood trembled on the tip of the spear. They lifted Nick, twisted his arms behind his back and led him away, holding him from all sides.
  
  
  He was taken to where Tarita and Atutu were already standing. Pushing each captured man with their spears, the bounty hunters walked along the narrow path. Nick noticed with satisfaction that six of the savages were limping and barely crawling, helping each other, at the end of the column.
  
  
  “I partially understand their dialect,” Tarita said. “Atutu knows him better.” They were provoked to murder, as we expected. The Chinese raided their village, killing several men, women and children. But worst of all, they crushed the totems of the most important gods and set fire to the sacred hut of their sorcerer. Nick frowned.
  
  
  - Why the hell did these Chinese do this?
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Tarita answered. “But the Kanahari are sure that they were Chinese.” They talk about narrow eyes, oriental faces and yellow skin.
  
  
  “I don’t understand anything,” Nick muttered gloomily, catching up with Tarita and Atutu.
  
  
  “The only thing that comes to my mind is that they ate some kind of forest root that induces madness,” answered the girl.
  
  
  - It's not that difficult. There are many different herbal remedies in the jungle.
  
  
  Nick mentally replayed the situation. Of course there was a possibility. Most modern hallucinogenic drugs are plant-based. An example of this is the so-called Mexican tobacco. If the Chinese inadvertently ate something like this, they must have had the wildest fantasies. Yes, the possibility existed, but something prevented him from accepting this version to the end. The Chinese had to be extremely careful - this is their hallmark. In addition, they had enough rice and dry concentrates; the food was left next to their headless bodies. There was no need for them to dig up the roots. Nick was brought out of his thoughts when he saw that the path was widening.
  
  
  “Then the Canahari know about guns?” - he asked the girl.
  
  
  “No,” she answered, “this is their first encounter with “sounds like thunder,” as they called the shots. At first they were scared. Or perhaps they are still afraid.
  
  
  “It’s amazing that our heads are still intact,” said Nick. “I’m really not complaining.”
  
  
  “It won’t be long,” Tarita answered. “Atutu told me that they were going to sacrifice us in a ceremony.” The gods must be appeased. Only human sacrifices and a special ceremony will help them in this. But they have other plans for me.
  
  
  - What do you mean by this? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Six young men have been initiated into hunters,” she answered. “Tonight, each of them will receive me as a reward.”
  
  
  The path went slightly up and widened even more. Through the trees Nick could make out primitive village huts covered with leaves. The spear was still piercing his back, but the moment had come to act. He spoke quietly to Tarita:
  
  
  “I’ll try to run away, but I’ll come back for you.” Don't hesitate and rely on me.
  
  
  Nick felt for the Luger, quietly took it out of the holster and slowly began to put his hand behind his back, so that after a few seconds the weapon was pointed backwards. Nick pulled the trigger and the spear owner tumbled backwards. Others rushed to the ground, pushing Tarita and Atuta there too. Nick ran into the jungle, firing another shot without aiming at the six figures pursuing him. He ran, pushing through the bushes, realizing that they were about to catch up with him.
  
  
  By that time he had already run about a hundred yards from the village and decided to use a different technique. Nick jumped onto one of the vines. Quickly pushing off the betel palm with his feet, he jumped from the vine to the branches of another tree, then to a third, with the agility of a trapeze artist. Tarzan, no more, no less, Nick chuckled to himself. He climbed as high as he could onto the uppermost branches of a fig tree, the crown of which was covered with garlands of thick leaves intertwined with vines.
  
  
  He hid among the leaves, crouching against the thick branches and spreading his large body over a thick, curved vine. From his hiding spot he couldn't see the ground, but he was confident that the bounty hunters wouldn't notice him. Nick waited quietly, listening to the sounds of his pursuers' footsteps coming from below, combing the jungle in all directions. They searched very carefully: Nick heard them returning again and again.
  
  
  Finally, after several hours, which seemed like an eternity to him, everything below became silent, except for the usual forest sounds. However, to be sure, Nick remained motionless. The hunters also knew the laws of silence; they had enough patience to outplay him. My legs began to go numb, my hands, clinging to a fragile, crooked branch, also began to hurt. However, Nick did not move, confident that if they were also waiting below, they would be on the lookout for every movement in the bushes or tree that attracted attention.
  
  
  And when the bright green vine on a nearby branch suddenly moved, sliding towards his hand, Nick only opened his eyes wide, continuing to cling to the tree branch. By the small holes in the head between the nostrils and eyes, he immediately recognized the snake as a representative of the viper family, a deadly poisonous speckled viper. Nick froze, resting his head on his hand and trying to suppress the desire to move when the snake crawled over his head, almost driving him crazy with its slowness. He felt it on his back and, knowing the habits of snakes, prayed that it would not suddenly decide to curl up.
  
  
  Nick breathed a sigh of relief as she slid off his leg and onto the branch, continuing to slowly slide down the tree. Then Nick thanked God for being able to remain still. This saved him.
  
  
  Darkness was already beginning to envelop the jungle, and Nick again heard below the sounds of human footsteps making their way through the bushes, and rare fragments of phrases. It turns out that they had been here all this time, silently waiting, and now, with the onset of darkness, they were returning to the village. Nick waited until the twilight had completely thickened and came down from his hiding place. He knew where he was and remembered the road to the village.
  
  
  Quietly making his way through the trees, he finally reached the edge and froze, peering into the space that opened in front of him with huts scattered on it. The faint light of the moon penetrated the clearing, allowing us to discern something in the darkness. Nick's eyes fell on a long low hut, larger than the others, at the entrance to which a group of women sat, singing a monotonous song and fanning themselves with palm leaves. “A hut for marriage ceremonies,” Nick determined to himself. Apparently, the young males have not yet received the promised reward.
  
  
  Nick began to quietly make his way around the perimeter of the jungle to get to this leaf-covered hut from behind. Suddenly he came across some kind of soft rubber package. Having touched an unfamiliar object, Nick instinctively pulled his hand away, but then, after peering closely, he pulled out one of the packages lying there, almost suffocating from the surge of emotions.
  
  
  - Damn me! - he exclaimed, picking up his find. Nick then quickly pulled out the rest - four rubber masks that you can usually buy at a toy store or through mail order. Reaching his hand inside one and stretching it, Nick realized it was an Indian mask. There was no need to look at all the remaining ones now: he already knew that they were the same, as he guessed what had happened. Kolben again! Nick spat out the name with hatred. When Kolben learned of the proximity of the Chinese, he and his men donned masks and attacked the Kanahari village.
  
  
  He should have guessed this right away. Even if the Chinese went into a frenzy, they would still not think of attacking idols or setting fire to the sacred hut of a sorcerer. Only Kolben could know what would enrage the bounty hunters and force them to take revenge. Nick thought about these masks: most likely Kolben bought them several years ago, only God knows how, and instantly appreciated their possible significance for himself when he saw the Chinese arrive and Serra do Navio. Nick threw the masks back into the bushes. Everything found its explanation, and now he felt better: he always felt irritated when something remained unclear to him.
  
  
  Having thus crept to the far end of the village, Nick saw tall idols carved from wood, which he could not see earlier because of the long hut. And now Nick saw a pathetic little figure tied to the base of one of the totems. He was now behind the long hut, and quickly throwing himself on his stomach, he crawled like a snake, inch by inch across the open space towards the hut. It was not the custom of the natives to post a guard, Nick knew that, but they could leave a sentry. Therefore, approaching the leaf-covered building from the rear, Nick listened. There was no sound coming from inside, perhaps there was no one there except Tarita. After waiting a little longer, he began to carefully tear off the thick hanging leaves from which the wall of the hut was woven. Finally, when it was already possible to push the body through the hole, he climbed inside up to his waist and saw Tarita sitting on a bamboo mat. Nick signaled to her to be silent, and just as he had time to jump into the hut, he heard voices outside addressing the singing women. Nick pushed Tarita back onto the bamboo mat and quickly jumped back and took a place at the entrance to the hut. As soon as he managed to do this, a rustling sound was heard at the entrance, and a tall figure of a young male appeared in the opening, who, seeing the lovely creature on the mat, bared his mouth in anticipation of pleasure. But the grin immediately disappeared when Nick lowered the handle of the Luger onto the back of his head.
  
  
  “Not today, Josephine,” he muttered, lowering the Indian to the floor. “Shout,” Nick whispered to Tarita.
  
  
  She looked at him blankly for a moment, then threw herself back onto the mat and squealed. She conscientiously moaned, screamed and squealed, throwing herself on the floor and kicking her feet on it. Finally, at a sign from Nick, the girl became quiet. Nick dragged the first native to the darkest corner of the hut, and again took a place at the side of the entrance. A second later the second one entered. He took two steps towards the girl, but Nick forcefully lowered the weapon on him.
  
  
  “She’s not for you, young man,” Nick muttered.
  
  
  Tarita began to moan again, this time not as loudly and not as high-pitched a squeal. She could revolutionize school acting, Nick decided to himself. When she finished moaning, a third appeared immediately, almost catching him by surprise. Nick hit him on the head and said admonishingly:
  
  
  - Lust does not lead to good.
  
  
  One by one, the trio of Indians lying in the corner was joined by three more. Nick motioned for the girl to crawl out through the hole in the back wall of the hut. Before following her, he took one last look at the unconscious bodies of the young Indians stacked in a pile.
  
  
  “Some other time... With another girl,” he purred sympathetically, noticing, however, that no one was listening to him.
  
  
  They quickly crawled to the edge of the jungle.
  
  
  “I need to go back for Atutu,” Nick said. - You wait here. If anything happens to me, run away as far as possible and never go as a guide into the jungle again.
  
  
  He started to go back, but the girl’s arms wrapped around his head and her lips pressed against his.
  
  
  “I will do it,” she whispered. “But I will never meet someone like you again.”
  
  
  They parted, and Nick ran, bending to the ground, past a long hut, around it and another, ramshackle hut covered with leaves. He hid around the corner, hearing movement, and saw a native crawling out of the hut to get some fresh air.
  
  
  Nick reached for the stiletto, touching the long, thin blade. I wonder if the Indian heard him. However, it turned out that the native was peering at the small figurine tied to the idol. Satisfied that the prisoner was in place, he turned and crawled back. It all happened very quickly and frighteningly close to Nick. Another second and he would have been spotted.
  
  
  Now he quickly crossed the open space, although he could be seen from four or five other huts near the idols. Cutting the bonds with a stiletto, he freed the little Indian. Luck was with them, and they safely reached the edge of the forest, where Tarita was waiting for them.
  
  
  “We can’t escape,” Nick said. “They could discover that any of you are missing within two minutes and give chase.” And I don’t need to tell you what will happen to us in this case.
  
  
  “No,” said the girl. - They'll catch us.
  
  
  - We need to buy time at the very beginning. And for this we need to distract them with something,” he squeezed Atutu’s shoulder.
  
  
  - Invented! - Nick exclaimed, fishing a small lighter out of his pocket. - We'll start a fire. You and Atutu will use my lighter, and I will use matches. Light some torches and throw them at the huts so that the fire goes towards the idols. I'll do the same at the far edge of the village.
  
  
  Nick pointed to the top of a tall tree, black against the dark blue sky.
  
  
  “Run away from this tree,” he said. “We will meet along the way if we navigate along it and if no one stops us.”
  
  
  He watched until the girl and Atutu disappeared, then ran, crouching, along the very edge of the dense thickets. When he was already at the other end of the village setting fire to bamboo sticks, he saw flames and a burning torch thrown to the base of the wooden idol. Nick threw two bamboo torches at the roof of the nearest hut, waited a moment until the green leaves began to smolder, then turned and ran.
  
  
  He was already in the jungle, focusing on the high top of the tree, when he heard excited loud cries and sounds of alarm coming from the village. Nick continued to run, stumbling into trees and thick vines in the darkness, like a blind man, with his hands in front of his face, but still he ran. Finally he stopped, and his sensitive ears caught the sounds of other bodies breaking bushes as they ran. Only Tarita and Atutu could pave their way like this. He shouted and sighed with relief when he heard the answer. Somehow they managed to find each other in the inky darkness of the jungle, then they ran together.
  
  
  ...They ran until dawn began to seep through the trees down. Only then did the exhausted and gasping travelers collapse to the ground. My lungs burned; the girl was on the verge of fainting. Atutu was probably even tougher than Nick, but Tarita had long since exhausted all her reserves of strength. The exhausted girl immediately fell asleep, and Nick sat down by the tree.
  
  
  “I will watch, strong fellow,” Atutu said, and Nick nodded, allowing the Indian to stand guard. Two hours later, Nick woke up and told Atut to go to bed, and he took over his watch. When the Indian woke up, they woke up the girl.
  
  
  “Hello, beautiful,” Nick smiled. - Do you know where we are?
  
  
  Tarita sat up, shaking her thick mane of hair, and mentally tried to trace their entire path over the past days.
  
  
  “Just the right place,” she finally said. - This is the same area where the electronic brain fell.
  VIII
  
  
  Nick pulled out a small folded map and together they figured out that they were in the lower right corner of the square. Nick figured that the others, Kolben and the Russians, were not so far from them. Tarita bent over the map with him, and her chest, still beautiful and exciting, sank low. As for Nick, he was even grateful for the new problems constantly arising in front of him that distracted them. Every time he looked at the girl, he remembered the gentle streams of the waterfall and desire flared up in him again.
  
  
  “We’ll go straight to the center,” Nick said. “That’s in case the damn thing fell right in the middle.” Then we'll cut the bottom right corner to the top right corner and go diagonally across the "X." If I calculated everything correctly, we will cover quite a large part of this territory in this way.
  
  
  “Yes,” the girl agreed, raising her eyes upward and throwing her head back, as if sniffing. She said something to Atut, who answered her immediately.
  
  
  “Now we need to build a canopy,” said Tarita. - Something like a house on stilts.
  
  
  - What?! - Nick exclaimed. - Nonsense! In all this time, we have never needed anything like this. I'm not going to waste my time building a house while Kolben and others are looking for an electronic brain, and maybe even finding one.
  
  
  “Kolben won’t look,” she said. “He will also be busy building a shelter.” The Russians may not, but they will regret it later.
  
  
  - But why? - Nick exploded. “Why the hell would we need a canopy?”
  
  
  “It’s going to rain, a very heavy downpour,” Tarita answered. - I feel it. Atutu also agrees with me. I know the signs of such a downpour: a heavy oppressive atmosphere, curled leaves, too strong a smell of flowers. To get to the center, I think it will take us another six hours. There's no time to waste.
  
  
  “It’s not like that,” Nick protested. — Firstly, it’s not the rainy season. Secondly, what else could this rain do to us other than make us soaking wet?
  
  
  “Well, that’s pretty true,” Tarita replied. “This is not the rainy season, but even during the dry season, the humid tropics are sometimes subject to heavy downpours, especially in inland areas such as ours. The only thing my people know is that rain is needed to wash the jungle. Sometimes they believe that the rains come from the gods as punishment, so they do not forget that they never live in humid forests. In your world, I learned that rain is attracted by the tallest of trees, so in this sense, rainforests bring rain upon themselves. But I come from the knowledge of both worlds and see how long and devastating the downpours are. Every insect, every reptile, every snake makes its way to the surface. Indian tribes hide in hollow trees and huts and sit in them until the earth absorbs the rain and adapts to man again. Without shelter, the force of the rain and the hordes of insects it washes away can drive a person crazy.
  
  
  Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Atutu with long bamboo poles. As for Nick, this oppressive heat simply seemed a little different to him, but both - the little Indian and Tarita - could not be wrong, and that was enough for him. Following Tarita's instructions, he helped her construct a floor from tied bamboo poles, fastened at an angle for good measure, and then hung it from the lower branches of two thick banyan trees. They threaded several thin vines through the ends of the crossed bamboo poles to give them extra strength and keep them suspended. Atutu, meanwhile, was constructing a roof from widely spaced bamboo sticks, on which he spread wide leaves. He placed other bamboo sticks on the leaves and tied them to the lower poles. The Indian placed more leaves on top, creating something like a heavy-duty ceiling.
  
  
  They were almost finishing, and Nick, looking at his watch, realized that a lot of time had passed. He stepped back, examining the shelter, raised six feet from the ground and open on four sides: only the roof, the floor, and nothing else. He remembered the tree shelters he had built as a boy: he climbed the tree and stepped onto the floor of the shelter, marveling at its stability and strength. Tarita threw him some kind of fruit, and he put it in the corner. She went and brought a few more fruits and threw them to him.
  
  
  “This will help us pass the time until the rain stops,” she said.
  
  
  - How long do you think all this will last? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” the girl shrugged. - In any case, from four hours to four days.
  
  
  - And all this for four hours! - Nick exploded. Tarita grinned:
  
  
  “In these four hours, the land in the jungle will completely lose its current appearance. You'll see.
  
  
  He wanted to say something else, but the rain poured down, unexpected and violent, as if someone had turned on a giant water tap. Nick jumped down and helped Tarita to the shelter. Atutu climbed down from one of the tree branches. The downpour fell straight down with increasing force, and the sound of its streams pounding against the thick forest vegetation was awe-inspiring, as if millions of tiny boiler rooms were hard at work. Tarita lay down on the floor of the shelter and extended her hand, touching Nick. He stretched out next to her.
  
  
  “Now we just have to wait,” she said. — The jungle teaches patience to everyone.
  
  
  Nick looked at her and read the deep implication of her words in the dark, gentle, deep pools. Her breasts seemed to be able to express feelings and desires with their tongue.
  
  
  “This will happen again soon,” the girl muttered, pressing her fingers into his palm.
  
  
  - What will happen - will your patience run out? - Nick asked, unable to help but ask this question.
  
  
  “No,” Tarita answered, raising her eyebrows and seriously, looking deeply into his eyes: “I mean something else.”
  
  
  She leaned back again, and Nick, intrigued by her phrase, began to think. He understood that he couldn’t ask again. She herself will explain it to him when she deems it necessary.
  
  
  He lay quietly and listened to the sound of the rain falling continuously, never letting up for a minute. Hour after hour passed, and the endless, merciless downpour did not stop. Dusk fell, night came, and the rain continued, without changing its rhythm, without a break, without lightning or a gust of wind, knocking wildly and inexorably.
  
  
  Morning came and the rain continued, and its relentless pounding helped Nick understand how people were going crazy. It didn’t explode like a thunderstorm, didn’t howl and make noise like a nor’easter, and didn’t send swirling winds like a tropical cyclone. It just rained from the sky, continuously and inexorably.
  
  
  Nick was standing on the edge of his shelter when suddenly there was silence, which, it seemed, after the downpour had stopped, could simply be heard.
  
  
  “It’s over,” Tarita said, rising after Nick. She still wanted to say something when a wild scream cut through the silence, making her tremble with her death cry. The bushes parted, and one of the Russians emerged, falling and stumbling, still trying to run across the liquefied ground. He screamed wildly, threw himself into the trees, stumbled and pounded the trunk of the banyan tree with his hands. When he emerged from the thickets, Tarita convulsively squeezed Nick's hand. Following her stopped gaze, he saw a coral snake, variegatedly decorated with red, yellow and black rings. Apparently, when the Russian was pushing through the bushes, he almost stepped on it, and the snake bit him with lightning speed. The man screamed again, grabbed his leg and fell forward to the ground. A moment later he lay shaking, still trying to crawl through the slush.
  
  
  — Coral snake. One bite is enough, but this man received three - and there is no hope of saving him.
  
  
  Nick looked down at the man, still trying to convulsively crawl through the mud.
  
  
  “Look at the ground,” Tarita said, and Nick looked away. The rain had stopped, and now everywhere you looked, strange wriggling creatures were swarming in the mud - earthworms the size of snakes, centipedes, millipedes and huge larvae, all kinds of snakes and other crawling, writhing and slimy creatures never seen or seen before. making you want to see again. Suddenly the earth began to move, and Nick saw that hordes of huge black ants were walking along the ground like a living carpet, devouring everything in their path.
  
  
  “These are the largest ants in the world,” said Tarita. — They live only in South America. The Indians call them “ant fever” or “four bites.” It is said that four bites from these ants lead to death.
  
  
  As Nick watched, the moving carpet climbed onto the man's writhing body in agony. Nick pulled out the Luger. There were still six bullets in it. He used one to end this suffering.
  
  
  - When will all this end? - he asked.
  
  
  “Surprisingly fast,” was the answer. “This wet soil absorbs the heaviest precipitation very quickly and dries to its normal state almost instantly.
  
  
  They waited until this happened, and the underground living creatures had gone home; then Nick and Atutu buried the Russian. The myriads of underground creatures disappeared from view, the earth returned to its former state, and Nick decided to go out to thoroughly examine the area. They formed a real military formation with Nick in the center and Tarita with Atutu slightly behind and on the sides.
  
  
  They moved slowly, so slowly that their backs hurt and their lower backs began to ache. Nick thanked God that the large surface area of the rainforest had little vegetation. They searched until dark, slept and continued searching in the morning. By noon the next day they finally reached what they believed to be the outer boundary of the impact site. Nick turned around and walked back, forming an "X" angle as he imagined in his mind. Again this time-consuming, slow, exhausting search. Soon this became their daily routine: searching, squinting, which brought nothing. Twice they had to dive into dense thickets at the sound of someone's footsteps, and Nick wondered who it could be: the Russians or Kolben. Time seemed to have lost all meaning, and the search continued. Twice they returned to the jungle and searched through it, somehow managing to avoid the thousands of deaths that lurked at every turn. Finally they reached the bottom corner of the square and stood looking at each other. They combed the entire area, carefully, diligently, but in vain! No trace of an electronic brain.
  
  
  All the powerlessness and all the anger splashed out in Nick with a thousand questions. They crawled all over the jungle, this swamp, this shelter for Satan, invented for all the dark forces. Maybe they just didn't notice him? It's not that impossible. He slammed his fist into his palm; his jaw clenched. The plastic-wrapped device, white and bright, still attached to the parachute, was easy to spot among the endless ocean of green and brown forest vegetation. However, it is possible that the device fell into the mud and became half dirty in soft, marshy soil.
  
  
  “We need to look through everything carefully again,” Nick said decisively. “But first, Atutu, climb the tallest tree and see if there are any signs of our friends nearby.” If they've already found it, I won't waste time looking.
  
  
  Atutu climbed up, and Tarita approached Nick, and he felt a light touch of her chest on his hand.
  
  
  “Today,” she said, “we will walk in the dark together, you and me.”
  
  
  He understood her words and smiled:
  
  
  “You don’t have enough strength for passion.” Of course you want this to distract me and make me feel better. Of course, maybe it would help, but you don’t know the changes well enough. I am here with a task, and I will complete it, no matter how much cruelty and firmness is required of me to complete it. It's always been like this, and me sleeping with you won't change anything. The problem is that I'm not sure if my assignment still exists.
  
  
  He wanted to continue, but Atutu, who descended from the tree with lightning speed, turned to him:
  
  
  “The big guys are standing here,” holding up two fingers, indicating two camps or two groups of pursuers.
  
  
  “Okay, then let's go back over every damn inch again,” Nick said. “I don’t think they succeeded in this job better than we did—that should console us.”
  
  
  Tarita took him by the hand and turned him towards her, looking with deep, serious eyes, repeating the same words as the previous night:
  
  
  - It should happen soon.
  
  
  - For some reason that you kept silent about? - he asked.
  
  
  She nodded, and it seemed to Nick that fear flashed in her bottomless dark pools. He moved with long strides, Tarita followed him. And the search began again, a slow exploration of every foot. Several days passed like this, and Nick’s impotent rage only increased. Finally they reached the opposite edge of the square. Nick was furious. He decided to return to his shed and shake off the obsession that their search had become. On the way to the shelter, they again explored every foot of the ground, this had already become a habit, now they did not take a step without searching.
  
  
  The small shed was still intact. They approached him already at dusk, quickly ate the baked bird and tried to sleep. Nick lay awake wondering what they might have missed and how to make up for it. He heard the canopy shake slightly and, looking up, saw the dark silhouette of Tarita descending from the shelter. Nick waited a moment, then followed her. The girl stood nearby, leaning against a thick vervain trunk.
  
  
  - What does it mean? - He asked quietly, touching her shoulder. - Why did you come here?
  
  
  “So that you follow me,” she admitted.
  
  
  - Why did you need this, little fox? - Nick began, but she did not let him finish, covering his mouth with her hand.
  
  
  “We can’t wait any longer,” she replied. - I want you more.
  
  
  He still held her shoulders, feeling how she trembled, hugging his waist, pressing her breasts tightly to him.
  
  
  - What happened, Tarita? - Nick asked. - Why are you trembling all over?
  
  
  “I’m afraid,” the girl whispered. “I was suddenly attacked by fear... some terrible premonition that one of us would not be destined to return from here.”
  
  
  She squeezed him even tighter:
  
  
  “I have to give myself to you one more time before that happens.”
  
  
  “Nothing will happen, Tarita,” Nick reassured her. - Why do you think about such things?
  
  
  “I feel it,” she continued. - I can’t tell you why. This feeling just exists within me.
  
  
  In the inky darkness, he felt her move back and lie down on the leaves covering the ground. He sank down to her, found her lips, again felt the hot stream of love transmitted from the tip of her tongue, as then, under the streams of a waterfall. He caressed her breasts, feeling how they filled up and hardened more and more with each touch, then easily slid his hand down her body. The girl was already naked, having managed to untie the sarong, and lightly moved her hips towards him. Never before had he made love in such pitch darkness; and when she found him with her body and began to stroke and caress him, he felt that their love was happening in some completely different dimension, heightening all senses to the highest degree, leaving only touch, a feeling of pleasure. The darkness heightened their physical pleasure from each other, cutting them off from the rest of the world, and Nick began to respond violently to Tarita's every touch.
  
  
  Later, he often thought about this and decided that he had missed her beauty and that visual stimulation that was so necessary for her; but when the girl's fingers began to gently caress him, he felt the delight of the darkness surrounding them and responded to it. Only the touch of two beings: skin, touching, caresses, hands, exciting and soothing, and darkness. He crushed her body under him - and only wet, warm, ecstatic ecstasy, a trembling, quivering fire, a condensation of pleasure.
  
  
  Tarita's body twisted, writhed and squirmed under him, she answered him desperately and passionately. She peaked with a long moan and froze, floating in an unreal world of pure ecstasy, then fell back onto the leaves,
  
  
  - Thank you, my dear. This had to happen at least one more time.
  
  
  “Stop talking about this topic,” Nick’s voice was stern. “Since you and I have come so far, nothing can stop us.”
  
  
  She held him in her arms and was silent, and this silence meant that Tarita continued to be overcome by forebodings. Nick took her hand and led her back to the shed. She curled up under his arm and fell asleep.
  IX
  
  
  Colonel Yasnovich and his three surviving comrades sat in a semicircle and wiped sweat from their faces and necks.
  
  
  “No,” said the colonel. “It’s still too early for us to go home.” We know that this American and another one, Kolben, are also still looking. They haven't found him yet.
  
  
  “But colonel,” others protested. “You said yourself that this thing may not be here.” How much longer do we have to stay in this terrible stinking hole?
  
  
  “Just a little,” answered Colonel Yasnovich. “I said that perhaps the information received from the pilot was incorrect. If so, then an American will not find this device either. When he and the others leave, then we will leave too.
  
  
  His group members grumbled and pulled out their packed rations. It was useless to argue with the colonel when he was “obsessed” with something, they already knew that.
  
  
  Not so far from the Russian camp, about two hours' walk through the impenetrable jungle, four more participants in this race were sitting, resting under a rough canopy. The two Indians sat motionless. The third, with a big nose, looked at Kolben.
  
  
  “I'm sure he's not here,” he said. - And it can’t be here. Something went wrong somewhere.
  
  
  “I’m not sure about that,” Kolben muttered. He thought back to the day when, sitting by the pond and watching the titanium beetle and the frog, he decided to wait for the American to arrive, and he did. And now we have to wait again. They need to stop searching and wait, keeping an eye on the American. If he finds the device, they will find out about it and attack unexpectedly, eliminating the opponent once and for all, like that beetle frog. Kolben called one of the Indians over and briefly instructed him. The creature in the loincloth listened silently and quietly disappeared into the thickets.
  
  
  While the Russians and Kolben were making plans, Nick was idly playing with one of the tender fruits, rolling it along the floor of his shelter, and suddenly he heard Tarita’s question, which no one dared to say out loud:
  
  
  — What if the pilot's information was incorrect? Perhaps he completely misjudged his location?
  
  
  “Then I think we should thank you for the exciting journey,” Nick replied. “But I think the damn thing is around here somewhere.” I feel it, although I cannot explain it, and it seems to me that she is somewhere under our very noses.
  
  
  But just where? Nick stretched out on the floor, mentally replaying everything they had done, every step they had taken, every aspect of their search. While he was lying there with his eyes open and his mind excited, he suddenly managed to catch some movement from the corner of his eye to the right. Nick looked over and saw a thin, furry paw extending from the roof of their shelter. A mischievous little face appeared behind it. In one lightning-quick movement, the monkey grabbed the peach and immediately climbed up the tree. Nick laughed and stood up, peering at the tree: a small black-headed capuchin was easily jumping from branch to branch with prey in his hands. And while Nick looked at the little beast running away, an unexpected guess arose in his head.
  
  
  - Damn it! That's the problem! - he cried, and Tarita and the Indian shuddered in surprise and turned to him.
  
  
  - We were looking in the wrong place! - Nick spoke excitedly. “We've looked all over the earth, but what if one of these curious creatures picked up the device and dragged it somewhere into the trees?
  
  
  Tarita explained what she had said to Atut, and the little man jumped to his feet, nodding his head in agreement, and expressed a desire to begin to act immediately.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Nick commanded. “Only this time you have to look up, not down.”
  
  
  The search was just as thorough, difficult and exhausting; my neck quickly became stiff from constantly throwing my head up; Moreover, the excitement and excitement that gripped them added more tension. They followed the same X-shaped road. The whole morning was spent searching; suddenly Nick stopped and pointed up at the branches of a tall fig tree: from there hung coiled parachute lines, almost invisible among the vines and vines. Atutu was already climbing the trunk of a date palm that grew close to a tall fig tree. The small body almost disappeared at the very top of the fig; then the hanging slings began to move - it was the Indian who began to pull them out.
  
  
  Atutu came down with difficulty, holding a small square package packed in a plastic bag. Everyone was too excited to notice the shadow-like figure gliding away from them.
  
  
  Nick touched the small transistor transmitter on his belt and the device that activated the Fulton system, but decided not to use it: the electronic brain was now safely in their hands. Nick smiled at Tarita:
  
  
  - How can we get home now?
  
  
  “I think it’s better to take a roundabout route, bypassing the Kanahari tribe,” Tarita answered. “I'm sure they're still following us and looking for us.” It's surprising that they haven't reached us here yet.
  
  
  “It seems to me that most tribes are attached only to their own territory,” Nick objected.
  
  
  “That’s usually the case,” the girl answered. “But we made them incredibly furious.” First the attack by Kolben and his masked men, then the fire we started in the village. But the worst thing is that we have deprived them of the sacred sacrifices necessary to please their deities.
  
  
  “Be that as it may, we are now persona non grata,” Nick grumbled. “So let’s take a long detour.”
  
  
  They quickly set off, now that they had an electronic brain in their hands, the jungle seemed not so gloomy, the heat not so tiresome.
  
  
  The euphoria did not last long - until the moment when two red-skinned naked figures jumped from the bushes on either side of Nick and knocked him down. The square package rolled to the side; Nick rushed towards him, but one of the Indians poked him in the arm with his sword. Nick managed to pull his fingers back, and the tip slid past.
  
  
  Another Indian threw himself on his back, jerking his head back. Nick arched strongly, jerked, and the Indian flew to the side. The crushing blow that the first Indian aimed at his face passed a millimeter from his head: Nick barely managed to turn it away. The attack was so unexpected that it caught Nick completely off guard and without defense. An ordinary man would have been immediately broken, but he felt how quickly anger, strength and experience concentrated inside. He grabbed one of the Indians, hooked him and knocked him back.
  
  
  Instead of getting rid of the first opponent still hanging on him and trying to pull out the knife. Nick jumped with his whole body onto his stomach. The Indian screamed in pain and involuntarily raised his legs. Nick knew he stopped him for a few seconds; he quickly somersaulted onto his back, simultaneously parrying another opponent's jump with a hard blow to the chest. This attempt by the Indian, repulsed with such force, failed, and he flew to the side.
  
  
  But Nick's opponents were persistent, flexible and strong. Before Nick had time to repel the attack of one, the second one jumped on him again, this time with a machete in his hands. Once again, Nick managed to avoid the blow of the machete, which stuck into the ground a centimeter from his head. He grabbed the Indian by the wrist, but he acted very quickly: he rushed at Nick, holding the machete with both hands, like an executioner’s sword, Nick barely had time to put out his left hand and grab the middle of the blade. He felt the tip enter his palm; and immediately warm blood flowed through her.
  
  
  The Indian leaned on him with his whole body, still holding the machete with both hands. Nick realized that in a moment, when the blade went deeper into his palm, the pain would force him to reduce his resistance, and then the blade would pierce his throat. With his right hand he felt for the holster, pulled out the Luger and pressed it into the Indian's stomach. He pulled the trigger; the enemy, gasping for breath, raised his head in a silent cry and fell to the side. Having freed himself from one Indian, Nick immediately saw a second one behind him, who was preparing to plunge his knife into him with all his might. Nick fired twice; the Indian staggered, dropping the machete from his hands, and fell like a sack to the ground.
  
  
  It seemed like an eternity passed; in fact everything happened very quickly. When Nick raised himself up on his elbow, he saw Tarita and Atuta standing next to him on one side and Kolben with his gun raised; he realized that he had already died in their eyes. This feeling was already familiar to him, just as he was familiar with that hopelessness when the enemy’s finger almost pulls the trigger.
  
  
  “You're hard to kill, Carter,” Kolben said. “But this time I will kill you.”
  
  
  The next moment, Nick saw a flash a few feet from his face and heard the sound of a gunshot. Atutu's frail body shuddered and fell to the ground like a stricken bird. Nick fired. Kolben managed to dodge. There's only one bullet left in Nick's gun; he fired again. The shot would have killed Kolben in the chest if he had not raised his gun at that moment. The bullet entered the chamber, shattering it into splinters, and the gun jumped out of Kolben's hands.
  
  
  Tarita stood next to Atutu's motionless body; and as Nick rose to his feet, he felt a fierce anger that gave him strength. In two leaps, he covered the few feet that separated him from his opponent and unleashed a powerful right hand on Kolben, but he dodged and retreated. Nick followed him, bent over and repentant. Kolben's heavy, muscular arms flexed defensively, and Nick feinted to the left, which told him that Kolben, while strong, was not quick to react. He struck again, this time for real, and Kolben's bull-like neck snapped back. Kolben had not yet attacked without hitting even once.
  
  
  Nick looked at the retreating enemy, who was backing towards the wide thick trunk of the banyan tree. The banyan tree, with its countless hanging branches, looked more like a group of trees than one. Nick smiled to himself. He was now in shape; and when Kolben, backing away, went deeper into the tree, Nick followed him, slightly swaying his body from side to side and dropping to his knee. The big-nosed one's throw went somewhere over his head, and at that moment Nick ducked down.
  
  
  The man fell to the ground, and Nick saw in his hand a hunting knife with a short blade. He quickly kicked his hand, and the knife flew out of the big-nosed man's hands. And before the enemy rose to his feet again, Nick hit him on the back of the neck with the edge of his palm, while simultaneously delivering a hard blow to the underside with the other hand. The man leaned back and fell with his head on the intertwined roots of the banyan tree. Nick heard the Big Nose's cheekbones shatter, then his neck snap at the base. He remained lying there, hanging lifelessly on the roots of a huge tree.
  
  
  “I can still count,” Nick grinned, looking at Kolben; he picked up a hunting knife and moved towards him.
  
  
  “You’re as resilient as a cat,” Kolben growled.
  
  
  Pressing the button, Nick ejected the stiletto blade, feeling the narrow, pencil-like point in his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tarita, still bent over the body crumpled on the ground, and he was overcome with all-consuming hatred. The Hugo was, of course, primarily a projectile weapon, or could be used for a quick strike at close range. It was not intended for a knife fight, the techniques of which Kolben apparently knew well. He feinted, then hit him hard in the stomach, and Nick barely had time to jump back.
  
  
  Colben feinted again, this time from the side, and Nick felt the tip of the knife graze his arm. Kolben skillfully used the heavy blade of a hunting knife for both offense and defense. Although Nick's stiletto was made of excellent steel, he was still afraid of direct blows from the enemy's knife. Now Nick was retreating as Kolben approached, making attacks from above, below, and from the sides. Nick was looking for a moment to throw a stiletto, but Kolben was close: for a strong throw, it was necessary to swing well from some distance from the enemy. But retreating all the time was also risky: the tangled flexible vines could become the last trap for him at any moment. Moreover, he was leaving the open space.
  
  
  Kolben lunged to the right. Nick dodged. Then Kolben entered from the left side. Nick dodged again. Then, roaring with anger, Kolben jumped forward, aiming his knife at the lower abdomen of his hated enemy; Nick jumped back and fell backwards; One of his trouser legs was still torn open. But the throw was too strong, and Kolben could barely stay on his feet, balancing on his toes, and was momentarily exposed to his enemy. Swinging almost from the ground, Nick, without getting up, threw the stiletto, quickly and strongly. The thin blade plunged into Kolben's powerful neck, piercing his throat and lodged in his larynx.
  
  
  While Nick was getting up, Kolben had already pulled the blade out of his throat and was now trying to stop the fountain of blood gushing from the wound. He stepped towards Nick, raised the knife, took another step, gasping for air, and fell face down, convulsing; and the blood continued to gush out, quickly turning the grass red. Nick picked up the stiletto, wiped it off, and put it back in its sheath; then he returned to Tarita and Atut... He immediately realized that the little man was no longer a tenant. Atutu smiled weakly at Nick as he squeezed his shoulder with his hand.
  
  
  “Atutu is such a great friend,” Nick said with sincerity coming from the heart. “Atutu is such a damn great friend.”
  
  
  The smile froze on Atutu’s face: he died. Nick looked at Tarita. Her fears were justified—not exactly as she had predicted, but they were justified. And this was not the end.
  
  
  “I’ll bury him later,” Nick said, unfastening the plastic bag from his belt. “The shots directed the Russians at us,” he added. “I have no doubt they heard the gunshots and were smart enough to put two and two together.” They are already hurrying here.
  
  
  He pulled the small transmitting device out of the package and shook it. Without changing the settings, Nick immediately spoke, repeating the aircraft’s call sign: “NS-130-NS-130. I’m calling from the Amapa delta.”
  
  
  There was no need for a receiving device; the NS-130 aircraft was somewhere nearby, circling over the area in various directions, waiting for the agreed signal. Nick remembered how Hawk instructed him on this part. The boss turned out to be insightful; Nick was eternally grateful for his foresight. They made a good relay team - Hawk planned everything carefully, and Nick improvised on the spot.
  
  
  “Position, NS-130 - position of NS-130,” he called, “place of impact, same coordinates, plus or minus a few hundred yards.” I will monitor your arrival until the device is launched.
  
  
  Nick hid the transmitter and walked over to Atutu's small body.
  
  
  “There’s no need to bury him,” Tarita said. “His tribe does not bury their dead. Just cover it with leaves and put some orchids. The jungle itself will bury him.
  
  
  The two of them safely hid the body, covering it with leaves. After that, Nick squatted down and pulled out the transmitter again. He conveyed the same information, repeating it every fifteen minutes, in case the news was not received immediately for some reason.
  
  
  “Another question is who will get here first,” Nick said gloomily, “the Russians or the NS-130.” Honestly, I'm starting to worry. The Russians are too close.
  
  
  He took the electronic brain and carried it to a large flowering plant, the huge leaves of which hung down to the ground like a curtain. Nick approached and quickly shoved Fulton's brain and system under it.
  
  
  “This should distract them for a while,” he said harshly.
  
  
  Suddenly, his ears, as sensitive as a deer’s, caught a sound—the low, rumbling rumble of an airplane. Nick ran back to the plant, pulled out the electronic brain and yanked the self-inflating helium tube attached to the ball. The ball instantly inflated, spreading out the long cords hanging from its lower part. Nick tied the electronic brain to two cords, fastening everything with knots, as Stuart had taught him.
  
  
  Now the rumble of the low-flying plane was clearly audible, and Nick stood peering into the sky and assessing the size of the relatively small space opening up among the treetops. He held the ball tightly; then released it with a slight pop. The sound of the clap echoed in the crackling of the breaking bushes, and Colonel Yasnovich and his team rolled heavily into the clearing, panting. The Colonel froze, looking at the ball quickly rising into the sky with an electronic brain. And then everyone saw the plane slide down; its long, double, scissor-like nose opened, catching the cords hanging from the ball, and quickly slammed shut. The next moment, the plane began to reel in its priceless loot as it hovered in the sky.
  
  
  “It’s called the Fulton system,” Nick explained politely. - Or she is also called “assistant.”
  
  
  The Russian shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He sighed; his eyes met Nick's, and he read a forced confession in them.
  
  
  “Yes,” he confirmed. - This is really a helper.
  
  
  He sat down on a log and looked at Nick:
  
  
  “Sometimes, Carter, it’s good for us to play chess together.”
  
  
  “With pleasure, at your service,” Nick replied.
  
  
  He smiled as he looked at Tarita, but his smile quickly faded. Her eyes widened in fear and looked somewhere beyond him.
  
  
  “We’re in trouble,” she whispered.
  
  
  Nick turned, and Yasnovich and the rest of the Russians turned behind him. All participants found themselves in the center, surrounded on all sides by painted Kanahari warriors armed with spears. Quietly but quickly, the warriors stood on either side of each, pressing lightly on the tips of their spears.
  
  
  Tarita had previously placed broad, cool fern leaves over the deep cut in Nick's palm, the mark of a machete blade. While he was standing, he decided to pick the leaves, but saw that his hand had not yet healed. The boss and his team would have to rack their brains on how to get out of this situation. But the wound on his hand was a serious obstacle. He could barely clench his hand into a fist: any movement of the palm was very painful, and a blow with a fist would cause unbearable pain. And then, he concluded to himself dispassionately, as usual, “When you lose your head, you don’t cry over your hair.”
  
  
  His thoughts were interrupted by the Russian.
  
  
  - What does all of this mean? - Yasnovich asked. -Who are these savages?
  
  
  “Kanahari Indians,” Nick answered, but this name meant nothing to the colonel. “Headhunters,” he explained, grinning. The Colonel's eyes widened.
  
  
  “Besides, they are very angry with us,” Nick added.
  
  
  “But not on us,” the Russian couldn’t resist. “We didn’t do anything to them.”
  
  
  Nick briefly told Yasnovich about Kolben and his attack and how they managed to free themselves.
  
  
  “But this is not fair,” the Russian was indignant. - We didn’t participate in this!
  
  
  “I don’t think they differentiate us much,” Nick answered politely. “But it looks like that Indian is their leader.” Come and tell him about it.
  
  
  “Explain to him, Carter,” said the Russian. “Tell him that he must free us.” This is absolutely dishonest.
  
  
  “They are real Marxists, Colonel,” Nick answered. “We are all equal before them.”
  
  
  The Russian frowned and Nick looked around. There was no point in starting a fight: it would mean a quick end to everything. There were countless Indians; There were only a handful of them, and even in a disadvantageous position. The leader ordered Nick to be placed in the middle and struck his finger across his throat - the gesture could not have been clearer. Nick remembered Hawk and his instructions completely out of place.
  
  
  “Use your imagination,” he said more than once. - Use your imagination with everything else we provide you with. Improvise! Nick looked at Tarita and the leader.
  
  
  “Tell him,” he said, “that I want to talk to him.”
  
  
  Tarita fulfilled his request, and the Indian’s eyes flashed without changing their expression, which meant his consent.
  
  
  - Does he understand you? - Nick asked the girl.
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered. — The Kanahari dialect is very simple.
  
  
  Nick took in more air. Now everything will depend on the leader’s interest and what he has planned. But it was still worth trying, if only for the simple reason that it was the only chance.
  
  
  Nick turned to face the tallest of the hunters and looked intently and directly into his eyes. He spoke; Tarita translated his words to the Indian.
  
  
  “Tell the leader that he is mistaken.” The gods don't want us to be sacrificed. He will anger the gods even more with this.
  
  
  Tarita translated, then listened to the Kanahari chief's response.
  
  
  - He says you're lying. You know nothing.
  
  
  “Tell him,” Nick continued, “that he doesn’t know anything, but I can talk to the gods.”
  
  
  As Tarita translated, the Indian's eyes widened for a moment in surprise mixed with fear. Could this stranger really be able to speak to the gods? Nick sensed his hesitation and quickly decided to take advantage of the opportunity.
  
  
  “Tell him, I will ask the gods to give some sign right here in front of them.”
  
  
  Suddenly Yasnovich spoke excitedly:
  
  
  - This stupid conversation won't help us. You are only hastening our death.
  
  
  “Consider yourself dead already, buddy,” Nick replied. “But maybe I can get you out.”
  
  
  “I prefer battle,” said the Russian.
  
  
  Nick looked around.
  
  
  “Be my guest,” he replied softly.
  
  
  Yasnovich sighed and gave up.
  
  
  “Go on, Carter,” he said. - I hope you know what you're doing.
  
  
  “The leader says,” said Tarita, “you must show him how you can talk to the gods.”
  
  
  Nick turned to Tarita and pulled her towards him. From his pocket, he quietly pulled out a third cracker-shaped bag of insect repellent. Taking her hands in his, he placed it directly into the girl’s palms.
  
  
  “You pull the fuse and throw it in the air,” he explained. “They won’t look at you, since I will perform the main performance.” But first tell His Majesty that we must all kneel in a circle.
  
  
  Tarita translated, and Nick began the action, kneeling and raising his palms in supplication. All the Kanahari followed him. Judging by the look in the leader's eyes, he was still very skeptical.
  
  
  “Pretend that you are praying,” Nick ordered the Russians. - This is something new for you.
  
  
  Yasnovich shot him a gloomy look, but sank to his knees. Nick waited a moment until Tarita moved back.
  
  
  “Translate,” he turned to the girl. “Oh, mighty Kanahari gods, give a sign to the great leader.” Send him a sign to make sure that you don't need our heads.
  
  
  Nick turned to Tarita as she translated, his eyes suggesting, “Not now.”
  
  
  When she finished translating, Nick bowed his head to the ground and the others followed suit. He waited a little, then raised his head and looked up, as if expecting. The leader grinned smugly.
  
  
  “Give me a sign, O mighty gods,” Nick called again. “A sign that would assure the great leader that you do not need our heads.”
  
  
  This time, before lowering his head to the ground, he nodded subtly to Tarita. Touching his forehead to the ground, he heard the characteristic whistle of a firecracker rising into the air. Nick raised his head and saw the hunters, looking in awe and fear as a light whitish cloud spread in the air. The Russians, who already understood what had happened, still managed to maintain awe on their faces. The Kanahari were excitedly talking among themselves about something, casting amazed glances at Nick. Finally, the leader raised his hand, pointed towards the jungle and uttered only one word: “Go!”
  
  
  They immediately moved forward, keeping together, and went all the way through the jungle.
  
  
  In Serra do Navio, Colonel Yasnovich waved goodbye to Nick and Tarita.
  
  
  “It seems to me that we are still indebted to you, Carter,” he said. “I hope we will meet again and I will return it to you.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Nick replied in Russian. - Goodbye.
  
  
  When the Russians left, Nick looked at Tarita with a smile.
  
  
  “The other world is already taking its toll,” Nick said.
  
  
  “I think so,” she answered, and he detected sadness in her voice.
  
  
  -Are you sorry? - he asked tenderly.
  
  
  “Yes, but not because I don’t like civilization,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s always a little sad when you leave a piece of yourself behind.”
  
  
  — Will you return back to Lausanne after leaving the city?
  
  
  She nodded and Nick continued:
  
  
  “Back there in the jungle, I promised to meet you at least for one day in another world.” I need to rest, at least for a few days. I think the slave owner I work for will accommodate me. We can meet you at my place in New York and then fly to Lausanne.
  
  
  Tarita looked at him and smiled.
  
  
  - Why not? - she said. - See you in New York.
  
  
  Arriving in New York, Nick immediately called Hawk to ask for a few days of rest before reporting.
  
  
  “Good job, Number 3,” Hawk’s dry, dispassionate voice crackled through the telephone receiver. “It wasn’t all that difficult, was it?”
  
  
  “No, it’s not difficult at all - just a little deadly,” Nick answered. - Do me a favor. Tell them to be careful in future and know where to drop things.
  
  
  - How do you like the leader’s daughter? - Hawk asked. “I bet you would damn well wish you could take her with you.”
  
  
  Having communicated with the boss for many years and having learned to understand hidden hints in his words, Nick suddenly realized that the old man knew nothing about the story with Tarita.
  
  
  “She was beautiful,” Nick answered in a voice tinged with memories.
  
  
  - Really? — the voice on the phone sounded colorless.
  
  
  “Indeed,” Nick continued, “you can rightfully say that I almost lost my head over her.”
  
  
  - You? - Hawk chuckled. - This is damn hard to believe, Number 3. I thought you were completely immune in this regard.
  
  
  “This once again proves that nothing can be predicted,” Nick laughed teasingly.
  
  
  “Knowing you, Number 3, we can predict that you will spend these few days, of course, in a woman’s arms,” Hawk continued. — Tomorrow evening there will be a good film in the central hall of the Waldorf. Tomorrow I will order two tickets for it to be delivered to you. Will help pass the evening.
  
  
  “Great,” Nick said. - I'll wait for them.
  
  
  The next day, Nick woke up late and lay around, enjoying the comfort of a wide double bed and clean, beautiful linen. He was awakened by a messenger from Hawk, who delivered the promised tickets. Having placed the sealed package on the table in the hallway, Nick sat down to breakfast, quickly skimming the newspaper columns, then shaved. Finally he got dressed. He had just managed to put the finishing touches on himself when the phone rang.
  
  
  - Hello, Nick! - said a muffled, lovely female voice. - It's me, Teresa.
  
  
  He almost asked again: “Who?”, but restrained himself in time.
  
  
  “I’m downstairs,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were home before I went up.”
  
  
  “I’m at home and waiting for you, my love,” he answered.
  
  
  Nick opened the door, hearing the sound of the elevator stopping, and she stepped out, wearing a cream-colored dress with an orange scarf around her neck and a suitcase in her hands. The girl's black hair was curled and styled at the back of her head. Her long legs in thin nylon stockings seemed even more beautiful and longer, and her full breasts tightly pulled the bodice of the dress. The girl was an example of refined beauty.
  
  
  “I haven’t been to the hotel yet,” she said.
  
  
  “You are where you need to be now,” he replied, taking the suitcase from her hands. Her gaze, which flashed brightly, was still slightly arrogant.
  
  
  “We’ll talk about this later,” she said, walking around Nick, graceful and defiant.
  
  
  - How do you like the other me? — the girl smiled slyly, confident in advance of the answer.
  
  
  Of course, this did not resemble the transformation of a cocoon into a butterfly, it was simply that the ability to be beautiful in two guises was inherent in her.
  
  
  Nick pulled out the wine, they drank and talked. She called her friend on his phone, and Nick noticed that the girl called herself Teresa. It took a lot of effort on his part to pronounce this name. They went out to lunch, and Nick mechanically put the envelope with two tickets into his vest pocket. During lunch, the girl was soft, witty and charming. She asked Nick about work, and when he talked about inviting his boss to a special screening, she turned the conversation to Hawk. Nick told her about all sorts of trivia he remembered about his profession, especially relishing the anecdotes about Hawk.
  
  
  - He is a charming man, no matter what they say about him.
  
  
  The girl laughed, and Nick suddenly had to admit that most of the women who met Hawk did find him charming and interesting.
  
  
  After lunch they went to Waldorf. Nick handed the envelope to the usher at the entrance to the central hall. They found two empty chairs and sat down. A few minutes later the lights went out, and a large screen lit up on the stage and the inscription appeared:
  "NATIONAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY"
  PRESENTS DOCUMENTARY FILM
  "RESEARCH OF THE AMAZON DELTA."
  
  
  Nick looked at the girl; she also turned her head towards him.
  
  
  “That old son of a bitch...” Nick grumbled, and they both burst out laughing. They were hissed around. Nick took Tarita's hand.
  
  
  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, choking with laughter. Once outside, they took a breath.
  
  
  “Now I’m just sure that he’s a charming man,” she said.
  
  
  - I want a drink, let's go.
  
  
  They wandered around the city, slowly, stopping at all the familiar eateries they came across along the way. Finally evening fell and they returned to Nick's house.
  
  
  “I hope you’re not going back to the hotel, huh?” - he asked.
  
  
  “It all depends...” she answered, and again the look of her deep brown eyes became bottomless and incomprehensible.
  
  
  “Got it,” Nick replied, pursing his lips. - This probably means that depending on my behavior, Teresa stays or leaves.
  
  
  “Exactly,” she replied. -Where is your bathroom?
  
  
  He showed her where to go, and in the meantime he turned off the overhead light, leaving only two night lights. Nick decided to have fun in her absence with a portion of excellent cognac, but the bathroom door swung open, and a girl appeared in the doorway with her thighs tied in a towel like a sarong. Nick almost dropped his glass.
  
  
  “If you don’t take care of Teresa right now, she’ll go to the hotel,” the girl announced. Nick met a figure running towards him, standing in the middle of the room. The towel fell off and they fell onto the thick shag carpet, and Nick realized that there are things that remain the same across all worlds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sea trap (fb2)
  file not rated - Sea Trap (trans. Andrey K Sorvachev) 224K (1831) (download) (mail) - Nick Carter
  (complain about poor file quality)
  Chapter first
  
  
  A sharp female scream alerted the man, and he listened.
  
  
  The woman screamed again, shrill and frightened.
  
  
  The man grinned with satisfaction.
  
  
  But instead of a smile, his face, disfigured by a scar, was distorted by a crooked grin. Taking a pack from his left pocket, the man pressed the cigarette between his steel, leather-covered fingers and lit it with pleasure. The miniature pistol, the barrel of which served as the phalanx of the prosthesis, no longer confused him as at first, while he was still getting used to it. He was even proud of his mechanical arm, as integral a part of his body as his half-paralyzed face and spine, fastened with steel bolts. The luminary of surgery did everything he could...
  
  
  Judas had long come to terms with his ugly body. In the end, only thanks to his compactness and endurance, he managed to get out alive from alterations that were fatal for large and healthy men. One day he swore that he would make this cruel world, mocking his crippled body, bow before his brilliant brain. And he almost achieved his goal, repeatedly demonstrating his superiority over mere mortals.
  
  
  And yet final success treacherously eluded Judas. “But this time,” he thought, “this will not happen, the desired triumph is practically in my hands.” Harold, his new partner, revealed to him amazing possibilities that give him unlimited power over the whole world. Judas grinned, remembering what brought them together. However, he immediately decided, now, on the threshold of victory, it no longer mattered how they found each other. Evil always finds, in some mysterious way, another evil. The main thing is that they joined forces, thanks to which Judas will finally be able to repay all his old debts.
  
  
  The girl screamed again. Judas guessed that Harold was just warming up, warming her up. He understood this from the tone of her screams: so far only fear was heard in them, but not real horror, which would also sound, but a little later. Harold was a master of his craft. He must have been having fun with the new Panamanian babe right now. She worked as a waitress in a cheap nightclub, and Judas had serious doubts about her candidacy. He was extremely careful in selecting women, developed a complex program to cover up their recruitment, and studied each new girl and her entire environment in the most thorough manner. But Harold insisted, and he gave in to him, although he knew in advance that the girl would not live up to his partner’s expectations. She is clearly not the timid type and is unlikely to be able to satisfy Harold's vanity. But she’s already here, it’s too late to change anything. However, a new batch is expected to arrive in a few days...
  
  
  Another scream was heard - long and piercing. Apparently Harold forgot to close the door to his room. The walls of the special cells below, lined with soundproof material, would not have missed even the most desperate scream of the experimental subject. Judas jumped to his feet and walked towards the wall with a quick, wobbling gait. Moving aside one of the wooden panels, he pressed the button on the television monitor. Harold's living room appeared on the screen.
  
  
  In the corner, with her hands pressed to her chest, a naked girl was trembling. Next to her, holding the clothes torn from her, stood Tartarus. Apparently, the girl screamed when he tore off her underwear. Tartarus' powerful body would probably have taken up the entire small monitor screen if he had not stood a little further away from his victim. Harold slowly approached her, and Judas mentally noted that the girl had rather large breasts and a round tummy for her petite figure. Her legs, unfortunately, were slightly short, but this deficiency was compensated for by her youth. “In about ten years she’ll turn into a fat, ugly girl,” Judas thought and grinned, “but that’s no longer a threat to her. She should be grateful to them for saving her from these troubles.” Meanwhile, Harold approached the girl closely.
  
  
  - Wait outside for now, Tartarus! - Harold ordered the assistant in a well-trained voice, clearly pronouncing every word. The giant, named Tartarus, did not even move, glaring at the naked girl with a carnivorous gaze.
  
  
  - Wait outside, Tartarus! - Harold repeated separately.
  
  
  Shaking his black and thick hair, like a lion's mane, flowing over his powerful shoulders, the giant tore his gaze away from the girl and looked at Harold. High cheekbones and ocher skin hugging his narrow-eyed face marked Tartarus as a native of Mongolia. His ancestors were indeed the wild tribesmen of the formidable Kublai Khan, whose hordes terrified both friends and enemies, spreading destruction and death everywhere.
  
  
  Judas found this man in Mongolia and brought him here, taught him English and accustomed him to luxury and pleasures that the son of the steppes had never even dreamed of. He became for the Mongol not just a ruler, but a God, and with his limited peasant mind, Tartarus understood that without Judas he would have remained a nonentity in his homeland. Judas ordered him to carry out all the instructions of his partner Harold, above whom only he himself was superior. And now, seeing that Tartarus had finally turned and headed out of the room, Judas smiled with satisfaction and nodded his head in approval: although reluctantly, the giant still obeyed without asking any unnecessary questions.
  
  
  Judas, of course, was aware that Tartarus had the brain of a child and was forever doomed to exist in the semi-twilight state of a man with the strength of Hercules and the consciousness of a teenager, but this suited him quite well. He looked at the screen again: as soon as Tartarus came out, Harold took the girl by the wrist and pulled her towards him. With tears in her eyes, wide with horror, she obeyed.
  
  
  “I won’t hurt you, silly,” Harold said. “Just don’t be stubborn and do what I say.” Do you understand everything, my dear?
  
  
  He pushed her onto a long sofa and stood over her, tall and slender, with a stern, concentrated face that, under certain circumstances, might perhaps have appealed to some women, but not to this experienced nightclub girl. He was not her type of man. Harold threw her onto the sofa and sat down next to her, clearly intending to make love to her. Judas felt drool running down his chin and, realizing that he was smiling as he watched Harold's futile attempts to seize the girl, wiped his chin with his good hand. Harold still did not lose hope that someday a miracle would happen and he would actually be able to do it. Squeezing the girl’s chest, he spoke quietly in an even voice:
  
  
  - You'll like me, baby! You will be better off with me than with this wild Mongol. Be gentle with me and he won't touch you.
  
  
  Harold began to kiss her breasts, and she obediently hugged his shoulders. On the girl’s face, Judas read the complete indifference of an experienced prostitute who had known the caresses of many men. It was in vain that she behaved like this with Harold; it was difficult to deceive him. He loved to torture women, bringing them to frenzied horror, from which sometimes extraordinary passion arose, and more often - the complete submission of a hunted animal. The girl still had no idea what awaited her, and patiently endured all his harmless caresses. And only when Harold threw her onto the carpet, a guess flashed in her eyes, but she apparently threw that thought aside and, closing her eyes, relaxed while Harold rubbed his belly against her naked body, trying to arouse the inexcitable.
  
  
  Judas grinned again: he already knew to what unprecedented heights of scientific eroticism Harold had elevated sadism. Himself no stranger to sadistic pleasures, Judas was amazed at the sophisticated sexual fantasies of Harold, who tirelessly invented more and more new amusements. And although Judas could afford not only to spy on others, he preferred the play of imagination and mental training to sex. Observing Harold, he came to the conclusion that his passion for sadism was due to impotence. He believed that some woman was to blame for his illness and, most likely, there were good reasons for this. One way or another, Harold's physical incompetence in sex and his manic sadism were closely related. Having made this discovery, Judas realized that from now on Harold was in his hands and he would be able to use his intelligence and knowledge to his own advantage. After all, in order to take possession of a person, you only need to understand what he lives for and give him everything he needs. The girl’s sharp cry forced Judas to look at the monitor screen again: Harold was twisting her hand behind her back, saying:
  
  
  - You'll know how to mess around!
  
  
  - But I'm trying! - she sobbed. - I'm really trying! Let go of your hand, it hurts!
  
  
  Harold let go of her hand and the girl fell on top of him, desperately trying to lift something that wouldn't lift. Finally it dawned on her that all attempts to satisfy this impotent man would lead nowhere. And realizing this, she became covered in sweat. Harold pushed her into the corner and she hit the back of her head on the table. He ran up to her and began to hit her in the face with his hand, wheezing angrily:
  
  
  - You're not trying hard! Try harder!
  
  
  - No, I'm trying my best, I swear! - the girl sobbed.
  
  
  Harold suddenly twisted her wrist again. Screaming from piercing pain, the girl fell on her back. Harold knelt down next to her and slapped her across the face. Shaking her head, the girl jumped to her feet and grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table. Holding it in her right hand, she decisively moved towards the offender, who also rose from the floor and backed away from her into the corner.
  
  
  - Bastard! - she exhaled with rage. - Pathetic lustful bastard! I'll kill you!
  
  
  Judas grew cold: exactly what he feared happened. The girl was not scared to death, but decided to fight back against Harold. Her eyes sparkled with resentment and anger. This is what ignoring his instructions leads to!
  
  
  But Judas took into account every little detail in the selection of girls! He was about to press the button to call Tartarus for help when he saw that Harold quickly ran into the closet and returned from there with a whip in his hand. The whip cut the tender girl's skin with the crack of a Chinese firecracker. She screamed and dropped the ashtray. Harold pulled the whip around the girl's knees, and she fell face down on the carpet. Harold began to whip her in the most vulnerable places, becoming excited by the sight of bloody stripes on her body. He knew how to wield a whip and whip, striking exactly where he wanted. The girl rolled on the floor, writhing and screaming, begging him to spare her. Suddenly Harold lowered his hand with the whip and, leaning over it, said with a smile:
  
  
  - This is just your first lesson, baby! I will teach you a lot, a lot... This is just the beginning!
  
  
  He knew how painful the anticipation of torture was, how disgusting the cold fear was that corroded the soul of the victim. It was more terrible than the very act of torturing the flesh, more terrible than all his sadistic exercises. Harold clearly demonstrated to Judas how, with the help of techniques developed by the Russian scientist Pavlov, one can turn any obstinate girl into a trembling, submissive creature and deprive her of the remnants of reason and will.
  
  
  - Tartarus! - he shouted, and a huge Mongol entered the room. “You can take her downstairs.” But first, play with it a little right here, and I’ll see...
  
  
  Tartarus lifted the girl by the neck with one hand and threw her on the table like a doll, baring his rotten teeth.
  
  
  - But you promised me! - she shouted.
  
  
  “Tartare will finish what I couldn’t do for you,” Harold said with a grin, sinking onto the sofa. You deserve satisfaction, my baby. Get started, Tartarus!
  
  
  Ignoring the girl’s cries, the Mongol spread her legs and, standing at the edge of the table, sharply thrust his male flesh into her. The girl screamed shrilly, but the unceremonious descendant of Kublai Khan tormented her again and again with monstrous force, until her screams turned into a hoarse moan.
  
  
  - Well done, Tartarus! - Harold praised him. - That's enough for now.
  
  
  He, however, had to repeat this twice and even crack his whip in the air before the Mongol pulled away from the girl, smiling an idiotic smile. She slid off the table, Tartarus picked her up under his arm and left the room with her, anticipating the continuation of the pleasure.
  
  
  Harold sat down at his desk, took paper, a pencil, and a slide rule from the drawer and began to write something. Soon the paper was covered with numbers and equations as Harold hurried to complete the final calculations needed to successfully complete their experiment.
  
  
  Judas turned off the monitor and sighed with relief. This time everything worked out, but in the future he will not tolerate any violations of the established order. It will be necessary to strengthen control over the selection of girls. Judas could not allow all his titanic efforts to fail due to simple negligence. He always designed his operations with great care, but this operation was the pinnacle of his creative thought. Unfortunately, Judas did not know what Robert Burns wrote about the best laid plans of mice and men.
  Chapter two
  
  
  In the underground garage of the skyscraper in which the Washington headquarters of the US special intelligence service was located, a tall, heavily built man got out of his car and quickly walked towards the elevator. His posture and decisive gait revealed him as a man more accustomed to action than to contemplation. Entering the elevator, Nick Carter pressed the button for the top floor and looked at the numbers flashing on the display above the door. Hawk rarely called him directly into his office, preferring to meet at safe houses. And if he allowed himself to make an exception to the rules, it means that some important and urgent operation was brewing.
  
  
  The elevator finally stopped, the door opened, and Nick found himself in a small reception area. At the secretary's desk sat a person unfamiliar to him, who, however, could very well have been working here for a year, and he still would not have known about it. On both sides of the girl, stalwart guards were reading newspapers and magazines with a calm expression, sitting comfortably in soft chairs. Holding back a smile, Nick pretended not to notice their attentive glances and looked from under his brows at the far upper corner, where the black ventilation holes were visible just under the ceiling. All the secretary had to do was press her foot on the secret lever under her desk, and the person entering would immediately collapse to the floor, riddled with a hail of bullets from special machine guns.
  
  
  Nick smiled and showed his ID. Glancing over him, the girl broke into a kind smile and, taking the document from him, put it into a small control device. Having made sure that the photo and fingerprints on the ID matched the data stored in the computer’s memory, which immediately appeared on the display screen, she returned the card to him and, nodding to the guards, pressed the bell button. Nick smiled back at her and walked past her to the door of the next office. All this happened without words, but the participants in this silent scene understood each other perfectly.
  
  
  Looking at the screen, Hawk's charming secretary learned that the handsome, athletic man standing in front of her was the famous Agent number three Nick Carter: blue eyes, height - six feet two inches, a grenade fragment in the left thigh, a scar on the right chest sides. He has the rank of Master of Assassinations, a license to pilot all types of aircraft, is an excellent scuba diver, and speaks ten languages fluently. In addition, he is an excellent racing driver, winner of many sports competitions and a member of the gastronomic society. In short, a real superman.
  
  
  Feeling the secretary's boring gaze between his shoulder blades, Nick Carter entered Hawke's office. The boss rose from the table to meet him. He looked exhausted, but his steely eyes still pierced his interlocutor through and through, and his voice sounded clear and authoritative. Besides him, there were three other people in the room, they also stood up, and Hawk introduced them to Nick.
  
  
  — Jacques Debol, French intelligence; Aron Kul, Israeli security service; Captain Hotchkins - US Navy.
  
  
  Hawk took a new cigar out of the box.
  
  
  Nick sat down on an empty chair and prepared to listen.
  
  
  “These gentlemen are here because,” Hawk began to tell, “because in a relatively short period of time our countries suffered similar maritime tragedies.” Surely you know what we're talking about, Agent number three?
  
  
  Nick nodded: he had heard about these strange incidents.
  
  
  Hawke was undoubtedly referring to the mysterious disappearance of first Israeli and then French and American submarines in the ocean, which caused a lot of noise in the world press.
  
  
  — It is curious that none of the missing boats gave any alarm signal before disappearing without a trace. All submarines simply dissolved in the water column or evaporated upon surfacing. And since then I haven’t heard a word about them.
  
  
  “And now, finally, we have the answer to this riddle,” Hawk continued after a significant pause, “the President of the United States was subjected to brazen blackmail: the attacker demanded one hundred million dollars for the return of our newest submarine, the X-88.” Have you already guessed the name of this blackmailer?
  
  
  - Judas! - Nick exclaimed without thinking. Only he was capable of such an operation. Yes, only one person in the world, a real devil in human form, a true personification of evil, named Judas, could do this! Nick felt anger boiling inside him.
  
  
  “In his message to the President,” Hawk continued, “Judas claims that the remaining submarines also disappeared during the testing of a secret weapon he developed. The X-88 boat he stole is the latest achievement of American military technology, the flagship of our navy. I'm not even talking about the crew.
  
  
  “If we don’t pay him,” Nick said, “he’ll sell it to the enemy.” And if we pay, where are the guarantees that this will end?
  
  
  “Absolutely right,” Hawk nodded. “That’s why we all gathered here for this meeting.”
  
  
  “There is no reason to hope,” the representative of Israel entered the conversation, “that this maniac will not act in the same way with other states.” After all, appetite comes, as you know, while eating. He wants to bring the whole world to its knees. We have made available to your boss all the information we have on this issue. Maybe we will be able to recreate a more or less clear picture bit by bit.
  
  
  “For now, only one thing is clear,” Hawk said, “if we don’t pay in the next five days, Judas will seize more submarines and demand even more money for them.”
  
  
  - But how the hell does he manage to do this? - Nick exclaimed. “You can’t just take a submarine under your arm and sail away with it!” Submarines are equipped with radars, sonars, early warning systems and other sophisticated protective devices. What happens to all this equipment? Why doesn't it work?
  
  
  “Judas somehow neutralizes him,” Hawk shrugged. “He's using something that completely disables all of the boat's detection and warning systems. We have no idea what kind of object we should be looking for, but it is clear that it is something powerful and massive and, undoubtedly, it is based somewhere. The X-88 submarine and its crew are now being held there. You have five days to discover this base and disrupt Judas's next operation. And of course, save our boat and its crew.
  
  
  Nick smiled widely and made big naive eyes.
  
  
  - Consider that your order has already been carried out, sir! - he cheerfully exclaimed, casting a mocking glance at everyone present. Judging by their serious faces, they were inclined to believe it.
  
  
  Hawk, furrowing his eyebrows, threw a reproachful glance at Nick and continued as if nothing had happened:
  
  
  - Let us now consider all the information at our disposal, gentlemen!
  
  
  The Frenchman rolled his eyes sadly towards the ceiling at these words: obviously, there was not too much information.
  
  
  “So, this is what we have at our disposal, Agent number three,” Hawk said in a calm tone. “Firstly, we know that, for all his ingenuity for such tricks, Judas does not have sufficient technical and scientific knowledge to create such a superweapon. “On this occasion, I would like to say a few words to Monsieur Debol,” he nodded towards the Frenchman.
  
  
  — You, of course, have heard about the French biologist Francois Sang and his sensational discovery in the field of underwater research and the ability of humans to live on the seabed. About a year and a half ago, one of his acquaintances approached this professor, who said that he could create an underwater device capable of controlling the entire world. He was not French, his name was Harold Fratke. Professor Sange knew him as a brilliant specialist in marine biology, but at the same time he had heard a lot about his absurd character and strange quirks. The fact is that this scientist was known as a sexual maniac among his colleagues. Moreover, he was even arrested for seducing young girls and using drugs for vile purposes. He was expelled from the Sorbonne for forcibly keeping a student in his room. Professor Sange did not get involved with such a vile type and kicked him out the door, and reported his strange proposal to the security service. We tried to find Harold Fratke, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air...
  
  
  Hawk motioned for Aron Kul, the Israeli representative, to continue.
  
  
  “About a year ago,” he began, “a human trader was killed on the border with Jordan.” This man was engaged in supplying girls to wealthy buyers, mainly Arabs and Japanese. We found the name of Harold Fratke on the list of clients of the murdered man. A bit suspicious, isn't it?
  
  
  “This is all very interesting,” Nick remarked. — A very interesting chain can be traced: a merchant of human goods - a scientist prone to sexual perversion - the villain Judas. But how can I find this villain? Frankly, I can’t even imagine where to start...
  
  
  “We have put some additional data on this issue into our newest computer.” - Hawk said. “In particular, the results of a laboratory analysis of the composition of the ink and paper of Judah’s letter to the president, sent from Washington three days ago, data on the composition of water and air in the area where the submarine disappeared, as well as in six other areas of the world where there are the largest number of tiny islands and atolls , not marked on maps.
  
  
  “Of course, only deep-sea areas were taken into account,” said Captain Hotchkins, “since all the missing submarines carried out raids at significant depths.”
  
  
  “The computer was tasked with determining the probable area of disappearance of the boats and, accordingly, the search,” Hawk explained.
  
  
  “In my opinion,” Nick said thoughtfully, “you should look in the Caribbean Sea, near the Lesser Antilles and Leeward Islands along the coast of Venezuela.”
  
  
  Hawk pursed his lips, looking expressively at his foreign colleagues. All three of them had their lower jaws hanging open. The Frenchman was the first to recover from his amazement:
  
  
  - Incredible! - he exclaimed. - This is beyond praise!
  
  
  “You don’t need any computer with such employees,” said the Israeli. - This is phenomenal!
  
  
  “I just guessed,” Nick looked down modestly. - This is a pure coincidence.
  
  
  A map of the Caribbean Sea flashed before his mind's eye, in the eastern part of which the Lesser Antilles stretched out like a crescent. The deep-sea areas began behind the Los Roques Islands. Large islands such as Aruba, Curacao and Bonaire in the western part of this chain could safely be excluded, given the busy shipping between them. Rather, attention should have been paid to the small islands beyond the Curacao reef and those to the east of it. Hawk's voice interrupted Nick's thoughts.
  
  
  “You will need cover for your search,” he said. “Right now, an oceanographic expedition headed by Dr. Fraser is working there. This is great luck for us. Dr. Fraser was very happy to receive from us the equipment necessary for research. And you, Nick, will work as part of the group as a representative of the US Navy: this was the main condition for our assistance to the expedition.
  
  
  “So the expedition leader doesn’t know who I really am?” - Nick clarified.
  
  
  “Exactly,” Hawk nodded.
  
  
  - But did we have the moral right to mislead him, chief? - Nick frowned. “Are you sure that he would have accepted help from us if he had known the true purpose of my mission?” After all, we are putting oceanographers at risk! Judas is no joke...
  
  
  “There is no danger,” Hawk smiled. — The expedition is being carried out completely legally, so there is no need to panic, Nick.
  
  
  Carter just sighed heavily: something unexpected can always happen. But Hawk remained true to his principle - to use every opportunity to achieve his goal, sometimes even risking the lives of others. If everything goes smoothly, the naive scientist will not even realize what danger he was exposed to when accepting help from the military. But if not, he will have to regret it.
  
  
  - Now you have an hour less time to find Judas and the missing X-88! — Hawk stood up, thereby making it clear that the briefing was over.
  
  
  “Sorry, sir, I was a little chatty,” Nick said bitterly.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Agent number three,” Hawk smiled at the corners of his lips. — Take a look at the special effects department, they have prepared new scuba diving equipment for you. Stuart will explain everything to you in more detail. You are free.
  
  
  The three other people present at the meeting also stood up, and Nick waved goodbye to them. They looked at him as if he were a dead man at a funeral. Well, maybe they're right, Nick thought. He had just under five days to find what Judas had been hiding for over a year. Not a very bright prospect!
  
  
  Heading to the special effects department, Nick tried to once again analyze what he had heard in the chief's office. So, there were at least three hundred people on board the missing submarines. Most likely they died. Now Judas is holding back another hundred sailors. Nick gritted his teeth: this time the scoundrel will not be able to escape from him! This will be their last fight.
  
  
  Stuart greeted Nick with the joyful smile of a child receiving a new toy. Nick listened carefully to the instructions from the head of the technical department on the operation of diving equipment, knowing full well that during his upcoming excursion into the unknown, his life would depend on this equipment.
  
  
  “You will fly to Puerto Rico on a passenger plane,” Stewart concluded. — The head of the local air service department will ensure that you are transported to the ship. The scientists don't have to guess anything; you'll be introduced to them as Captain Carter of the Navy's Office of Oceanography. I hope you understand everything. Wish you luck!
  
  
  Nick nodded, took the special equipment and left the office. Now every second was precious. Having reached New York without any problems, he boarded a plane that was supposed to take him to Puerto Rico. The salon was full of cheerful tourists, businessmen and vacationers who decided to visit their relatives. Opposite Nick sat a nice girl who had already fastened her safety belt. She radiated the cheerfulness, enthusiasm and energy characteristic of most rural girls. She had brown hair, apple-colored cheeks, and full breasts under an orange jacket over a blue skirt. She had slightly plump legs, but this was compensated by their slenderness and delicious soft skin. The girl had no stockings and was wearing flat shoes.
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” Nick said quietly, noticing the confusion on her open face. — The plane will take off.
  
  
  - Is it really that noticeable? - she laughed. - You know, I have absolutely no flying experience, unlike you...
  
  
  - Why did you decide that I have it? - Nick asked with a smile.
  
  
  “I don’t know myself,” she answered. - You look like a person who has a lot of experience in everything.
  
  
  Nick broke into a smile: the trip promised to be pleasant. He liked this simple-minded girl more and more. When the plane finally took off and was on course, they ordered cocktails and started talking. Betty-Lou Rawlings willingly told her traveling companion about herself. She was born among the cornfields of Nebraska, and only moved to the big city a year ago. In her new place, not only joy and pleasant impressions awaited her, but also worries and sorrows. She had to face great difficulties. Nick introduced himself to her as an ocean depth explorer named Ted Malone, heading on another business trip. Precautions on a crowded plane were far from unnecessary: who knows who is listening to their harmless chatter? |
  
  
  —Are you going to vacation in Puerto Rico? - Nick asked his cheerful interlocutor, whose naive curiosity and spontaneity increasingly touched and amused him.
  
  
  - Oh, no! - she exclaimed loudly, suddenly becoming strangely excited. — They should meet me there and take me to the place of my new work. Frankly, I am very worried, even a little afraid... After all, the company will send a special plane for me!
  
  
  - What kind of work is this? - Nick was wary.
  
  
  “I will be the secretary of a rich elderly businessman, an extravagant hermit living on an island. I was warned that his staff was very limited - an assistant and a few servants. Imagine, I will have the whole island at my disposal! I was told that my duties would not be too onerous.
  
  
  - How did you find such a job? - Nick asked, intrigued by what he heard.
  
  
  — I read the advertisement in the newspaper! - Betty-Lou answered. — The recruitment is carried out by the employment company Walton Implementation Agency. My God, you have no idea what kind of test they gave me! These interviews and tests completely exhausted me! I had to tell them all the ins and outs, they were interested in literally every little thing: do I have lovers, who am I friends with, where are my parents and all that stuff. They said that I would have to live for months in complete isolation from the whole world on this island, so it was better for me to refuse immediately if I did not tolerate separation from family and friends well. But I’ve been living on my own since I was eighteen, and my parents died a long time ago. When my aunt passed away a year ago, I decided to move to New York. So I passed the test and was accepted for the job.
  
  
  Nick, just in case, mentally repeated and memorized the name of the employment company, not even knowing whether it would be useful to him, but obeying some inner anxious feeling. Well, time, as usual, will put everything in its place...
  
  
  The pilot’s loud and clear voice came from the onboard radio speaker:
  
  
  “Ladies and gentlemen, there is a thick fog over Puerto Rico, so our plane will likely be the last one to land in this area in a few minutes.” Please fasten your seat belts. We were glad to see you on board our plane. We wish you a pleasant stay!
  
  
  Nick winked encouragingly at the pale Betty-Lou, and she responded with a grateful smile. The plane dived into a dense curtain of fog as it came in for landing. From the smooth descent of the heavy machine, Nick realized that the helm was in reliable and experienced hands. Outwardly relaxed, like a spoiled house cat, Nick was internally collected and tense. A sudden fog could ruin all his plans.
  
  
  The airliner's wheels touched the landing strip, and the terminal lights flickered through the wisps of fog. Soon he and Betty-Lou were inside the terminal, where the first thing they did was make inquiries about the arrival of the private jets sent to fetch them. Alas, the prediction of the crew commander of their airliner came true: the airport had long been closed to small aircraft. The weather service told Nick that the fog would clear only in the morning, so there was no choice but to settle down for the night at a nearby hotel.
  
  
  Nick looked at Betty-Lou and could tell by the look on her face that she was disappointed. Nick’s own face shone with complete complacency, although everything inside him was boiling, like in a hellish cauldron. All he needed was to lose twelve whole hours! Judas was still indisputably in the lead. He looked again at the distressed girl and felt pity for her.
  
  
  “Don’t be foolish,” he said. - I'll entertain you all evening!
  
  
  She took his arm, and from the touch of her elastic breast on his shoulder, Nick felt a sweet shiver.
  
  
  - Thank you, Ted! - she exclaimed. “I hate waiting, for me it’s worse than death.” I've been waiting for this hour for so long - and here you are! Another agonizing wait!
  
  
  “Don’t be upset, baby,” Nick switched to a familiar tone, deciding that the most suitable moment for this had come. — You need to check into the hotel and have a nice dinner. Since we're going to be stuck here all night anyway, we better enjoy it. Do you agree with me, baby?
  
  
  The girl nodded happily and, leaning against his shoulder, allowed him to take her to the hotel lobby, trying to keep pace with Nick. The restaurant turned out to be quite cozy, they drank a cocktail, danced, ate, danced again and drank a cocktail again. Betsy gradually calmed down, and when they finally reached the door of her room, he hugged her and softly asked:
  
  
  - Is nothing bothering you? I thought you were a little sad. Why? Tell me as your confessor.
  
  
  “I suddenly didn’t want to go to this island at all!” - she admitted. “I haven’t had such a pleasant evening as today for a long time.” I'll miss you, Ted!
  
  
  She looked into his eyes quite seriously, he smiled and playfully touched the tip of her nose with his finger.
  
  
  “I also thought what it would be like for you to be alone on this island,” he said. “But people perceive the world differently. Did you think carefully when agreeing to such a job?
  
  
  “Yes, and I decided that she suits me,” said the girl. “But now that I’ve met you, I’m no longer sure about that.” And if I knew that we would meet again, even after many months...
  
  
  - Why not? - Nick asked, following her into the room. He liked this sincere girl. Suddenly she hugged him and whispered:
  
  
  - Help me, Ted! Strengthen my spirit! Support me!
  
  
  He kissed her on the lips and she slammed the door behind him. Freeing herself from his embrace, she threw her orange jacket onto the chair, took off her blouse and pulled off her blue skirt and panties. There was nothing vulgar or indecent in her actions; she did it very simply and naturally. Nick walked up to her, and she clung to his bronze, muscular figure with her entire milky white body.
  
  
  “I didn’t think I would have such a wonderful night,” Nick breathed into her ear.
  
  
  “I didn’t expect it either, Ted,” she whispered. “But I don’t regret anything, and I’m not ashamed to admit it to you.” You know, I'm not at all like these city pretenders. Living in a village, you look at the world differently. If I want something, I am happy about it and say it directly.
  
  
  “Then shut up and use your mouth for something else,” Nick said with a grin, squeezing her firm breasts with their erect pink nipples.
  
  
  Inexperienced in love, Betty-Lou more than compensated for this deficiency with her ease and passion, surrendering to him. She had strong hands, and they told him better than any words how much she desired him. Her body shuddered and arched, her hips shook under his powerful torso, and delighted cries and sighs burst out of her throat.
  
  
  - More more! - she wheezed. - Don't stop, please!
  
  
  Digging her nails into his shoulders, she moaned and sobbed under him, clinging to him tighter and tighter, until finally she suddenly stretched out and screamed in ecstasy. Then she leaned back helplessly on the pillow next to him, wrapping her right leg around his legs, like a vine wrapping around the trunk of a mighty tree, and whispered:
  
  
  “Now I’m no longer afraid of loneliness on this island!” I'll remember this night, Ted!
  
  
  She took his head with both hands and looked into his eyes.
  
  
  - I would like to write you a letter! I can't give my address because I don't know it yet. Give me yours and I will write to you from this island as soon as I have the opportunity.
  
  
  Nick smiled at her and gave her his address in New York, saying that his friend named Carter was still living in the apartment.
  
  
  Betty-Lou wrote it down in her notebook and a minute later fell asleep like a baby, curled up in a ball. After waiting a little longer, Nick got up, got dressed and tiptoed out of the room.
  
  
  In his room, he once again checked all the equipment and thought through his next steps. Neither a hundred sailors languishing in a place still unknown to him, nor the whole world, over which a terrible threat hung, could wait until he finally began to complete the task. For these twelve hours of forced idleness he will have to pay with sweat and blood. But the damned fog still floated past the windows in torn wisps, and Nick lay down on the sofa with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.
  Chapter Three
  
  
  Awakened by the bright and hot sun, Nick jumped off the couch, like a runner at the starting line who heard the starting pistol go off. Having washed and shaved, he walked briskly to Betty-Lou's room to say goodbye to her. But the room, to his surprise, turned out to be empty. Pushing open the door, Nick called her name. Instead of Betty-Lou, a narrow-eyed Asian with a large Mongolian head and a massive figure turned and stared at him. Slipping his appraising gaze over his broad shoulders and long arms, Nick thought that this was a worthy opponent. The giant held a note in his hand, and an empty envelope lay on the floor near his feet. Nick noticed the sign: To Ted Malone. The stranger was clearly reading a note addressed to him, Nick Carter.
  
  
  “Hey, buddy,” he said threateningly. - This note is intended for me. Where's Betty-Lou?
  
  
  “The girl left,” the monster answered in a low, guttural voice. - Do you know her?
  
  
  “I met you just yesterday on the plane.” But that doesn't concern you.
  
  
  “Forget the girl,” the Mongol said in a categorical tone.
  
  
  “Give me the note,” Nick said. “Otherwise there will be a terrible crash.”
  
  
  - What other noise? — the Mongol looked at him blankly with his beady eyes.
  
  
  “The crack from your head hitting the floor,” said Nick and, snatching the piece of paper from the giant’s hands, he quickly ran through it.
  
  
  “Dear Ted! They've already come for me. I don't want to wake you up. I will never forget last night and will certainly write to the address you gave me. Wait for my letter. Kiss. Betty-Lou."
  
  
  Nick didn’t expect the blow, he just felt an explosion in his stomach, which made his eyes turn black and take his breath away, and he collapsed, hitting his forehead on the night table. For a moment he passed out, stretched out on the floor, and when he came to, he shook his head desperately. Finally his vision focused, he pushed aside the table that had tipped over on him and, swaying, rose to his feet. The door was wide open, the room empty. Any normal person would hardly get up soon after such a crushing blow. Nick did not dare to pursue the monster in such a state: his head was splitting from pain, everything was swimming before his eyes, the blood was pulsating in his temples. He hobbled to the window and looked down onto the street. Betty-Lou, dressed in her orange jacket, a man in a leather jacket, and a giant Mongolian were getting into a taxi.
  
  
  Nick went into the shower room and rinsed himself with cold water. His head cleared and he smiled wryly: Betty-Lou had gotten herself into a nasty mess, he thought. The old libertine who bought this provincial simpleton had no intention of sharing her with anyone. But is this story as banal as it might seem at first glance? Is there something more hidden here? Well, Nick decided, if circumstances allowed him, he would return to her. But now we need to hurry, we can no longer put off our own affairs. He returned to his room, took his luggage and took a taxi to the small airfield, where they had been waiting for him for a long time. He saw the amphibious aircraft from afar: on its bright yellow fuselage with red trim it was written in large black letters: oceanographic expedition. Nick quickened his pace, and a tall blond man in military-style camouflage pants, naked to the waist, rushed towards him.
  
  
  - Captain Carter? - he asked cheerfully. “I, Bill Hedwin, have come to pick you up.” Welcome! The plane is waiting for you.
  
  
  - HI Bill! - Nick answered, looking at the young man. He had a swimmer's figure and a pleasant smiling face. “I won’t cause you much trouble.” I hope that I will be able to complete my task quickly.
  
  
  “We've heard a lot about you, captain,” Bill Hedwin said as they climbed onto the plane. — You have a reputation as an excellent specialist in underwater currents. Dr. Fraser is also interested in this problem.
  
  
  “That’s great,” Nick said, hoping that Hawk hadn’t gone overboard in praising him as a scientist. Bill smoothly lifted the plane into the sky and settled on the desired course over the Caribbean Sea.
  
  
  — How many people are on the team? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Cynthia and I,” said the young man. - Cynthia is my wife, we got married only a month ago, but we have been working with Dr. Fraser for more than a year. Then there's Ray Anders, the lab technician, Howie Thompson, the mechanic, and Consuela, our cook. She is local, from the island of Barbados. And of course, Dr. Fraser.
  
  
  “Of course,” Nick nodded, looking at the blue surface of the sea. Soon a ship appeared ahead, with the same inscription on the side as on the amphibian’s fuselage, as well as the name “Triton”. It was a large schooner with a white hull and a wide deck, on which Nick could see a woman in a pink swimsuit waving at them. He suddenly thought of Betty-Lou Rawlings. This whole dubious story was firmly stuck in his head and got on his nerves. He was angry that he couldn't untangle her now. Bill Hedwin turned off the engine and, landing on the water, taxied to the stern of the ship.
  
  
  “This is Cynthia,” he explained, nodding towards the girl who ran out to meet them.
  
  
  “That’s what I thought right away,” Nick responded dryly, busy with unpleasant thoughts about Betty-Lou. He was tempted to take the helm himself and go in search of the mysterious island. Cynthia leaned over the rail and fastened the cable to a special bracket on the nose of the plane. A minute later, Nick had already climbed onto the deck of the ship and was getting acquainted with its crew. Consuela turned out to be a young plump brunette in a bright open dress, with light chocolate skin and neatly cut shoulder-length hair. Nick thought that her presence on board could not but please the laboratory assistant and mechanic.
  
  
  “Doctor Fraser is in the laboratory,” Cynthia said. “Come on, I’ll take you to your cabin, captain.”
  
  
  Nick followed her into the small cabin. The first thing that caught his eye was a portable radio transmitter on a table in the corner. Hawk was probably already waiting for news from him. Cynthia left, and Nick, having changed into swimming trunks, also went on deck, taking with him a wetsuit and scuba gear to place all this in the amphibian cabin. The ship's mechanic was already finishing the tank of the plane, preparing it for flight.
  
  
  Nick hid his stiletto in a special waterproof case, and his pistol in the inner pocket of his wetsuit. Consuela, who was sunbathing on the deck, raised herself on her elbow as he passed her, and gazed admiringly at his divine figure.
  
  
  Nick had barely placed the air tanks in the cabin of the plane, standing with one foot on the pontoon and the other on the edge of the cabin door, when a tall blonde with her hair pulled into a bun walked out onto the stern of the Triton. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Nick couldn't help but notice that she had beautiful long legs. It was strange, he thought, that Bill hadn't told him anything about her. Nick jumped to the stern of the schooner and got a good look at her face. The stranger had graceful, sensual lips, a small straight nose and bright blue eyes.
  
  
  “Hello,” she greeted him, giving him a cold, forced smile. - I'm Doctor Fraser.
  
  
  Nick was taken aback by surprise and blinked his eyes. That old son of a bitch Hawk didn't even hint to him that the leader of the expedition was a woman. However, perhaps he didn’t know this himself, Nick chuckled mentally, pulling himself together. It's not hard to imagine what will happen to him when he finds out about this. No, the old man had nothing against the weaker sex, it was just that his heart was calmer when nothing distracted Nick while he was completing his task.
  
  
  “I hope our ship made a good impression on you, captain,” Dr. Fraser said in a stern tone.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m completely satisfied with everything,” he answered, glaring at her exciting breasts.
  
  
  “I have received instructions to provide you with all possible assistance in your work and to place an amphibian at your disposal.” I got the impression that now we must all work exclusively for you, postponing our research indefinitely.
  
  
  - Does this annoy you? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Not at all,” she answered coldly.
  
  
  “I am grateful for the assistance provided to our expedition by the Navy, and I am ready to prove it in practice. However, we would like to be able to carry out our program, otherwise this expedition loses all meaning.
  
  
  The blonde's blue eyes looked at Nick arrogantly and indifferently, causing him a strong desire to knock down the arrogance of this cold doll and overthrow her from the pedestal on which she had placed herself.
  
  
  “I won’t stay with you long,” he smiled at her. “After I leave, the entire ocean will be yours, my dear.”
  
  
  - Darling? - She flashed her eyes. “I'm not used to this kind of treatment, Captain Carter.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m ready to make an exception in this particular case and not call you darling anymore,” Nick grinned. - Maybe you can remind me what your name is? I will try to remember.
  
  
  “Everyone calls me by my last name,” she answered, suppressing her rage. - Besides, I really am a doctor of biology. Therefore, I ask you to address me exclusively as prescribed by my position as the leader of this expedition, Dr. Fraser.
  
  
  - I'm happy for you, but I'm not like everyone else.
  
  
  The blonde looked him over from head to toe and agreed with a grin:
  
  
  “Perhaps you are right about this: you really are not like everyone else.” I admit that you are an excellent specialist in your field, and I have no doubt that you have been very successful in the role of a Don Juan.
  
  
  “I just don’t have enough time for this,” Nick interrupted her sharply.
  
  
  - What, you don’t have time to look after girls? — she raised her eyebrows.
  
  
  “No,” he chuckled. “I prefer women, darling.”
  
  
  “If you need me, captain, you will find me in my cabin,” she pursed her lips and said goodbye to him and hastily retreated, blushing under his ironic gaze.
  
  
  Nick returned to the plane, unfastened the cable and, turning on the engine, reversed the amphibian away from the schooner. Then he accelerated and took off smoothly, feeling Bill Hedwin watching him with approval from the deck. Nick intended to make his first flight over the three closest islands in the area, and then explore the other islets of Los Roques that were not marked on the map. Having flown around them at a decent altitude, he descended and rushed over the very tops of the trees, carefully peering into the water and land. Nick returned to the schooner only when the tank ran out of fuel.
  
  
  Consuela made him a sandwich and tried to start a conversation. He silently listened to her chatter, chewing a sandwich and gazing at her sexy figure with a high, dense butt typical of island women, and again lifted the amphibian into the air. This time he chose another group of islands and circled them all one by one. For the most part, they turned out to be uninhabited, only on some of them he was able to notice several thatched huts, which did not at all resemble the objects of a military base.
  
  
  Until the evening he made two more flights and finally returned to the Triton, already when the stars appeared in the sky, tired and annoyed. Only one thing calmed him down: he was convinced that there was nothing suspicious in the area. True, he nevertheless landed on the water three times and, wearing a wetsuit, dived with scuba gear, but each time it turned out that he was misled by huge colonies of corals or accumulations of algae.
  
  
  Returning to the Triton, Nick had dinner and felt much better, although in his subconscious the invisible clock continued to count down the seconds, reminding him of the rapid passage of precious time. The night did not bring the desired coolness: it was hot on the deck, a hot wind was blowing. Deciding to stay in his swimming trunks, Nick stood for a while in the stern, then decisively knocked on the door of Dr. Fraser’s cabin.
  
  
  “Come in,” said a stern voice.
  
  
  Dr. Fraser changed into new dark blue shorts and exchanged her tank top for a light blue blouse with short sleeves, tightly fitting her breasts, round and full, like mature women have.
  
  
  - Yes? - She looked at him coldly, looking up from the microscope standing on the round table.
  
  
  “I need the schooner to move at least fifty miles east before morning,” Nick said dispassionately. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to fly around the entire intended territory tomorrow, since I’ll have to return often to refuel.”
  
  
  “But we can’t suddenly weigh anchor and leave this area!” - Dr. Fraser was indignant. “We are conducting an important experiment, taking water samples and setting traps. This will ruin all our plans!
  
  
  “I’m very sorry, but I can’t do anything about it,” Nick threw up his hands.
  
  
  “You can take spare fuel tanks with you,” suggested Dr. Fraser. - Here is the solution to your problem.
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick smiled. - You persuaded me. You see how flexible I am, my dear.
  
  
  “I thought we were done with this once and for all, Captain Carter,” Dr. Fraser’s eyes sparkled. “Please don’t call me “darling” or “baby” anymore.
  
  
  “And I don’t like calling you that stupid “Dr. Fraser,” Nick grinned. “And since you don’t want to tell me what your name is, I’ll call you “little Doctor Fraser,” or even better, “Dr. Fraser darling.”
  
  
  “My name is Daniella,” she said, barely containing her rage.
  
  
  “Wonderful name,” Nick noted. - Why do you rarely use it, Daniella?
  
  
  “It looks like it’s time for us to put everything in its place, Captain Carter,” she squinted, crossing her legs. Nick looked at her knees, slowly raised his eyes to her thighs, then to her stomach and smacked his lips.
  
  
  - Captain Carter! — Daniella exclaimed sternly, lowering her leg. - I'm talking to you seriously. So this is what I have to tell you, captain: I see right through you, you are a man of action, not reason. You are a smug male, accustomed to having all women fall at your feet. You are simply incapable by your nature of looking at a woman and not mentally putting her into your bed, which is typical for a sexually complex male individual of your type, constantly in need of self-affirmation. Do you understand me?
  
  
  “Continue, doctor, I’m intrigued,” Nick burst into a smile.
  
  
  “I don’t blame you for this,” she continued with a sad sigh. “And I have no doubt about your kind attitude towards me.” However, I realize, Captain Carter, that you do not realize that not all women are primitive females, ready to instantly respond to your animal sensuality. Therefore, I believe that the sooner you understand this, the easier it will be for us to work together. Did I make my point clear?
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking about just now, Daniella,” Nick said thoughtfully. “Your problem is that, although you understand fish very well, you don’t understand people at all.” You rely not on life experience, but on information that you gleaned from books or lectures. You should gain more practical experience. Otherwise, you will forever remain a depressed, scared and timid girl.
  
  
  - This has nothing to do with me! - she stated calmly. “You say that only because I didn’t melt under the gaze of your blue-gray eyes.” Well, this is also a characteristic symptom. You cannot understand a woman who has the trained mind of a learned person, who is in complete control of her emotions.
  
  
  - Are you talking about yourself? - Nick burst out laughing. “I’m ready to dissuade you from this right now, baby.”
  
  
  “Nothing like this will work out with me,” Daniella flushed. — The common sense of a trained individual is able to suppress any surge of emotions caused by external stimuli.
  
  
  - Shouldn't we conduct a scientific experiment? - Nick suggested.
  
  
  - Why not? I am absolutely confident in myself.
  
  
  - That is great! Nick grinned. - And I'm confident in you. All that remains is to agree on the rules. I promise not to resort to brute force, and you promise not to run away from me.
  
  
  “I won’t run away, Captain Carter,” Daniella Fraser smiled at the corners of her lips. “I won’t have to do that.” It is interesting, however, to see how your arrogance diminishes.
  
  
  Nick stood up to his full height and approached her almost closely, almost touching her forehead with his muscular bronze chest.
  
  
  “Nothing like that will happen to me, baby,” he smiled at her as she looked up at him. - Because I will probably win this argument.
  
  
  - Why? - she asked in a shrunken voice.
  
  
  “If only because in your heart you are already ready to lose it,” he answered calmly and, grinning, silently left the cabin.
  
  
  Nick went to bed, thinking about how different women still are, even if only in appearance. Betty-Lou, for example, did not try to hide her natural feelings, but Daniella is completely different, secretive and cold. Of course, if you dig deeper, you will find that there is not much difference between them. He had no doubt about it. This arrogant learned lady simply has too much opinion of herself. Well, it will be fun to tame her, the only pity is that there is absolutely no time for this. We need to look, look quickly for the base of Judas...
  
  
  With this thought, Nick fell asleep on this stuffy night.
  Chapter Four
  
  
  An azure strip of the warm Caribbean Sea slid under the wing of a tiny monoplane, and Nick abruptly took the helm, entering the second circle above a chain of small islands, with their fishing shacks and nets hung to dry on the shore.
  
  
  At dawn, before departure, he sent Hawk a one-word message: “No.” Such messages are equally unpleasant both to send and to receive; Nick’s cheekbones even cramped with chagrin. But now, flying over the waves, he relaxed a little, remembering the funny incident that happened this morning when he was taking a shower, and smiled.
  
  
  The common shower compartment was located in the middle part of the floating laboratory. Coming out of his cabin, he was surprised to hear the sound of water and turned around to see someone else was washing at this early hour. Nick's wetsuit was left on the plane, and he was wearing only his swimming trunks. Tiptoeing to a booth with a drawn oilskin curtain, he quietly pulled a towel from the bar and read the owner's name in the corner - "Dr. Fraser", embroidered in red thread. Nick froze and waited. Soon a sweet woman’s hand poked out from under the curtain and her outstretched fingers began to feel the wet floor.
  
  
  “Let me help you,” Nick said, hanging the towel over Danielle’s bare shoulder, but not letting go of one end from his hand. Drawing the curtain tightly, she pulled the towel towards herself, but Nick did not let go of it. Stroking her outstretched right arm with his left hand, he found her armpit and ran his palm over her velvety skin. Daniella froze, holding her breath. Nick pulled his hand back, letting go of the towel, and quickly headed towards the exit. The oilcloth rustled behind him, Daniella jumped out of the booth, glaring at him, but Nick didn’t turn around.
  
  
  The engine sneezed, choked, roared and sneezed again. Nick looked at the instruments: everything was normal. Below was the lush greenery of an island not marked on the map; a narrow atoll stretched along the coast. Suddenly, among the endless azure surface, Nick noticed a two-masted schooner: darkened with time, with peeling paint, it was drifting with lowered sails. Nick flew very low over her three times, but did not notice a single living soul on the deck. This alerted him, and he was about to land, but the engine began to malfunction again, overheating from excessive use, and Nick headed for the Triton, prudently reducing the speed: all he needed to do was find himself on the waves in the middle of the Caribbean Sea and waste God knows how much precious time!
  
  
  Having safely reached the mother ship, he tied the amphibian to the stern of the Triton and, calling the mechanic, asked him to work on the engine. Thompson said that some wire insulation had burned out and it would take him at least two hours to fix the problem. Sighing heavily, Nick climbed out of the cabin and, having moved onto the schooner, approached the scientists crowded near the port side rail.
  
  
  Bill Hedwin was intently fiddling with a derrick crane hanging over a large steel ball rocking on the waves, trying to lift a tape recorder from its belly through the open hatch without getting caught by the cable on the long cylindrical appendages sticking out from the sides of the ball, like the tentacles of an octopus. Daniella, wearing a revealing swimsuit, stood with one foot on the ball and the other on the side of the ship.
  
  
  -Where did this thing come from? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Rise from the bottom of the sea,” Bill Hedwin said with a smile. “She was submerged for three days, recording incoming information on tape. Now Dr. Fraser will descend to the bottom again to take soil samples and other samples of the underwater world. Our "Octopus" allows us to obtain unique materials for research.
  
  
  — How long will you stay under water? Nick asked Daniella.
  
  
  “An hour, maybe two,” she said coldly, looking at him with an unfriendly look, clearly not forgiving him for his morning joke in the shower.
  
  
  “I also want to dive to the bottom,” he said with a captivating smile. “The Navy is very interested in such things.”
  
  
  A shadow of doubt flashed in Daniella’s eyes: she didn’t want to take Nick with her, but she didn’t dare refuse him this in the presence of others, especially since there was enough space in the submersible for two.
  
  
  “Okay, follow me inside,” she finally said. - Just be careful not to damage the equipment.
  
  
  Nick nodded kindly, followed her fine figure as it disappeared into the hatch, and followed her.
  
  
  “Octopus” was designed in such a way that inside you could only lie in special chairs, observing the underwater world through a narrow curved window made of special glass. Daniella took hold of the control levers, the metallic clang of the hatch cover being closed was heard, and the steel ball began to sink into the sea. Outside the window, the water began to boil and seethe, the oxygen flowing into the submersible to equalize the pressure hissed, and soon a soft push at the bottom told Nick that they had reached the bottom.
  
  
  Daniella pressed the button, the motor hummed quietly, and the steel ball smoothly moved forward on its spider legs. A flock of curious striped fish looked through the window and, completely satisfied with what they saw, disappeared into the algae. Here a yellow-blue catalineta swam leisurely, followed by a huge silver snook, proudly moving its lemon fins and tail. “Octopus” deftly picked up small particles from the bottom and tiny coral twigs with its tentacles, putting them into steel canisters mounted on the walls of the ball.
  
  
  - A curse! - Daniella exploded. - The dipstick is stuck!
  
  
  And indeed, one of the rods jumped out of the rail. Nick reached for her, bent over in an awkward position, but the damned craving did not want to go into place, and he had to move even further, resting his head on Daniella's thigh. Trying not to be distracted by studying other parts of her hot body, he felt for the rod and, inserting it into the guide, began to straighten up. It was not possible to do this in the cramped bathyscaphe otherwise than by pressing his whole body against Danielle, and Nick, raising himself in his arms, hovered over her for a moment, facing her flushed face.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she breathed hoarsely, touching his heaving chest to his powerful chest and trying in vain to maintain an impassive expression on her face. But rapid breathing, clenched teeth and tense muscles betrayed her growing desire to cling to him and offer her lips for a hot kiss. Her blue eyes were half-lidded, she threw her head back, losing control of herself, but Nick rolled over her and resumed his previous position in his chair. Danielle breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, and Nick had a hard time suppressing a triumphant grin.
  
  
  Daniella pressed the button again, and the submersible began to rise to the surface.
  
  
  Having climbed onto the deck of the Triton, Nick exclaimed with emphasized admiration:
  
  
  - It was just great! I got a lot of new impressions. And you? - He looked closely at Daniella.
  
  
  Without saying a word, Dr. Fraser turned her back to him and walked away majestically. Nick just grinned after her: his first experience in removing the emotions of a arrogant learned lady from the control of her trained mind was very successful.
  
  
  The mechanic told him that the problems had been fixed and the plane was ready to fly. Thanking him, Nick immediately got into the cockpit and lifted the amphibian into the air. He again flew over the strange schooner, hoping this time to see someone on it, but again to no avail. Deciding to resume the examination of the suspicious vessel in the morning, he returned to the Triton.
  
  
  Entering his cabin, the first thing Nick did was send a message to Hawk. It consisted of the same terrible word: “No.” Then he fell on the bed and closed his eyes, thinking that, apparently, he would still have to drink the bitter cup of defeat. There was already a distinctly unpleasant taste in my mouth. Nick soon dozed off, and when he woke up, he felt alert, rested and hungry. Putting on trousers and a shirt, he went to the galley, made himself a sandwich and walked back to the cabin along the narrow passage. There was light coming from under the door of Daniella's cabin. Knocking, Nick pushed the door - it swung open, and he saw that the cabin was empty. Nick went up to the deck, there was not a soul there either. The schooner slid lazily along the water surface, illuminated by the light of bright stars. Nick breathed in the warm, salty air with pleasure, stretched and listened: from below, from the wardroom, the animated voices of Howie, Ray Anders and Consuela could be heard playing cards. The lights in Bill and Cynthia's cabin were turned off, which didn't surprise Nick at all, but only made him smile. The bathyscaphe reluctantly floated next to the port side, its hatch was battened down. “But where is Daniella then?” Nick thought anxiously and looked at his watch. The hands showed half past ten. - When did she leave the schooner? And where could she have gone in the middle of the Caribbean Sea?
  
  
  Nick sat down on the rope bay next to the lifeboat and hid. Finally, his sensitive hearing caught a quiet splash overboard. Standing up, he peered into the darkness and saw a rubberized raft approaching the ship. Daniella Fraser sat on it in a swimsuit, with her hair pulled back into a bun, confidently working with an oar. Hidden in the shadows, Nick watched as she climbed the rope ladder onto the deck of the Triton and pulled the raft out of the water. Then she let the air out of it, rolled it up and, holding the roll under her arm, hurried down the ladder to her cabin.
  
  
  Nick thoughtfully scratched the stubble on his chin with his nails. He had long ago learned that sometimes the impossible becomes possible, and he made doubts the main criterion in assessing the world around him. Has Hawk really fallen into the cunning nets laid by Judas? After all, this genius of villainy undoubtedly foresaw that sooner or later he would encounter an agent of the US special service, and could not help but think through, like an experienced chess player, a response combination. He probably had a presentiment that they would be looking for him in this particular area of the Caribbean Sea, and he set up Doctor Fraser as bait. And Hawk took the bait! Nick has noticed too many suspicious facts over the past few days! Coincidence? Hardly. “In any case, we should keep an eye on Daniella and find out where she disappears at night,” Nick Carter decided.
  
  
  The next day did not dispel his dark suspicions. He flew around one sector - and again to no avail. But this time he returned to the Triton before sunset. Having sent Hawk a disappointing report, Nick turned off the light in the cabin, lay down on the bed and waited for darkness to fall. When darkness completely enveloped the schooner, he slowly got out of the cabin and hid behind the ladder leading to the engine room.
  
  
  He didn't have to wait long. Leaving the light on in her cabin, Daniella, dressed in a swimsuit, walked out into the corridor with a rubber raft under her arm and climbed onto the deck. Nick quickly went into his cabin, pulled on a wetsuit, which he had prudently carried from the amphibian, and ran upstairs just at the moment when Daniella’s blond head was ready to disappear among the waves.
  
  
  The full moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and Nick, tightening his scuba straps, fell backwards into the water. Swimming underwater, he soon caught up with the raft, silently sliding along the surface. The moon silvered the sea with a long path of ghostly light, and Daniella's figure stood out clearly against its background. Nick did not like to swim at night in a sea infested with sharks; they could get close to their victim absolutely suddenly and tear him to pieces in the blink of an eye, leaving no chance of salvation.
  
  
  Nick guessed that Daniella was heading towards a small atoll protruding from the depths of the sea, and began to work harder with his flippers. Soon Daniella jumped onto the sand and pulled her raft onto it. Poking his head out of the water, Nick waited for her to dig out a portable radio transmitter from under a stunted palm tree and begin transmitting a secret message. But instead, Daniella unfastened her hairpin and, shaking her head, scattered her gorgeous hair over her shoulders. Then she took off her swimsuit and walked ankle-deep into the water, beautiful in her nakedness, like the daughter of Neptune from the painting of the great Botticelli “The Birth of Venus.”
  
  
  Nick took his breath away at the sight of her round, full breasts and wide, inviting hips, magnificent in their classical proportions. She entered the water up to her waist and began to splash happily, arousing desire in his loins. Finally, she sank up to her pink nipples, like ripe peaches, and, pushing off from the bottom, quickly swam, frolicking and wriggling, like a mermaid - the mistress of the watery kingdom. A beautiful swimmer, Daniella enjoyed the long-awaited opportunity to relax in solitude with the sophistication of a nymph, throwing off the mask of a strict scientist and washing away all worldly worries.
  
  
  But the longer Nick watched her, the more acutely he felt his growing frustration and anxiety: these games under the moon in the silver water of the Caribbean Sea were fraught with serious danger. A sudden muscle spasm or cramp, as well as any other unforeseen attack, and Daniella could die, because there is no one here to come to her aid! Near the atoll, a wide variety of marine predators scoured in search of prey, knowing that small fish feed here on shrimp, crustaceans and worms.
  
  
  Suddenly Daniella dove and stayed underwater for too long. Nick looked around the entire beach with alarmed eyes, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then he, too, plunged into the water, illuminated by the moonlight, and swam along the reef. Behind one of its bizarre protrusions, he saw Daniella's blond hair, reminiscent of strange seaweed, and something ribbon-like clinging to her leg above the ankle. It was a giant moray eel holed up in its hole, one of the most predatory creatures living in the area. Its strong jaws and needle-sharp teeth left the victim little chance of escape.
  
  
  Nick pulled out a long knife from its case and cut the moray eel with it. The sharp blade cut the thick green skin of the reptile, and the moray eel opened its mouth, releasing Daniella’s leg. She began to quickly rise from the depths to the surface. Nick stabbed the predator again, trying to forestall her lightning-fast retaliatory attack, then grabbed her with both hands just below the head. The moray eel dodged and, slipping out of his hands, hid in a hole, obeying the instinct of self-preservation. Without wasting a second, Nick also emerged from the blood-stained water and saw that Daniella had almost crawled to the shore. He swam to her and helped her cover the last meters, laid her down on the sand, then pulled off his wetsuit and, squatting next to her, began to examine her ankle. It was necessary to stop the blood gushing from the wounds, and Nick, without hesitation, tied her ankle with the top of her swimsuit.
  
  
  Daniella's pale face turned slightly pink, she looked at Nick in embarrassment and reached for her panties, but he stopped her:
  
  
  - Forget about it, now is not the time. You behaved stupidly, you can't be so arrogant. Is it wise to swim in the sea alone at night?
  
  
  “Thanks for your help,” she said. - You saved my life. Still, I must point out that I don't like being spied on.
  
  
  “You’ll have to forgive me for this liberty,” Nick said, laying her back on the sand. Leaning over her, he pulled her hands behind her head with one hand.
  
  
  “An ordinary woman cannot resist you,” she whispered, breathing quickly.
  
  
  “But you’re not like everyone else,” Nick said, admiring her naked body and her breasts, swelling with uncontrollable passion. Her blue eyes became cloudy, he gently touched her nipples with his lips and began to cover her all over with quick kisses. Opening her mouth voluptuously, Daniella closed her eyes, and a slight trembling ran through her body. The hips began to move on their own.
  
  
  - Well, how does your trained scientist brain feel? - Nick asked quietly. — Controls emotions?
  
  
  - Yes Yes! — she exhaled, without opening her eyes.
  
  
  - Amazing! - Nick exclaimed, rolling to the side and sitting down on the sand. “It’s time to check what’s wrong with the ankle.”
  
  
  He pulled the bandage tighter and looked mockingly at her face, distorted with annoyance.
  
  
  “You like to demonstrate your superiority over others,” she remarked. -You enjoy your power.
  
  
  “Extremely,” he admitted. “However, I have to note that you also have a very strong will.” This is simply amazing!
  
  
  “Spare me your ridicule,” she snorted, pulling on her panties.
  
  
  - I swear, I'm serious! - He made big eyes.
  
  
  “It’s time for us to go back,” she said coldly.
  
  
  “I agree,” he nodded. “This time I will also sail with you on the raft.” Sharks are no joke.
  
  
  - But how can I appear on the schooner in this form? - Daniella asked.
  
  
  “Everyone is asleep, so you have nothing to be afraid of,” he reassured her. “Besides, I’ve earned the right to admire your beauty.”
  
  
  Throughout the entire journey back, Daniella frowned, covering her chest with her palms, although this was of little use. Everything on the Triton froze at this late hour, and they slipped down, unnoticed by anyone.
  
  
  “Thank you so much again,” Daniella said quietly, turning to him near the door of her cabin. - I am very grateful to you.
  
  
  “You will still have the opportunity to express your gratitude to me,” Nick smiled, taking her hand.
  
  
  Her eyes flashed, and he barely had time to intercept her other hand, raised to slap him.
  
  
  - Not good, Doctor Fraser! — Nick shook his head reproachfully. — Physical violence is clearly an emotional act! What about our agreement?
  
  
  - You are mistaken, Captain Carter! - she snapped, freeing her hands. - This is a thoughtful decision!
  
  
  And Daniella slammed the door in his face. Nick laughed and went to his cabin. He was glad that his suspicions were not justified. In the morning it was necessary to inspect that strange schooner again. Perhaps she interested him only because during all three days of searching he was unable to find anything else. It seemed that his secret mission would turn out to be a disgraceful failure.
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Another clear, cloudless morning arrived, and Carter's airplane took off again over the Caribbean Sea. Quickly gaining maximum speed, he rushed straight towards the old lonely schooner, still rocking in the same place on the waves, with no signs of life on board.
  
  
  Sitting on the water next to the schooner, Nick tied a rope to the anchor chain and, getting out of the pilot's cabin, swam to the ship. The cool water pleasantly invigorated his hot body, he swam a little around the schooner, loudly calling out to its inhabitants. Having received no answer, Nick began to climb onto the gunwale, pulling himself up on his hands, and had almost climbed onto the deck when he suddenly heard someone’s voice. It came from the dark hatch on the ladder leading into the hold.
  
  
  - Do not move! - the invisible man said decisively. - Stand still!
  
  
  A hand stuck out of the hatch, clutching a .38-caliber police revolver, and then a woman’s head appeared. The stranger slowly climbed onto the deck, limping on her left leg. Nick straightened up to his full height.
  
  
  - Calmly! - the woman warned. “I wouldn’t want to make a hole in such a beautiful body.”
  
  
  She was wearing yellow shorts and a yellow swimsuit bra. She looked about twenty-eight years old. Tall, with brown eyes and brown hair, she made a pleasant impression. Nick noted her high cheekbones, neat straight nose and involuntarily kept his gaze on her sharp breasts, bursting out of her bra.
  
  
  - What do you need? - the woman asked.
  
  
  “I wanted to know if my help was needed,” Nick smiled. - Maybe you could put this thing down? - He nodded at the revolver. - Or is it not charged?
  
  
  “Loaded,” the woman said gloomily.
  
  
  - Who are you?
  
  
  Nick nodded towards the amphibian. The stranger glanced quickly at the inscription on the side, but remained silent.
  
  
  - What's wrong with your leg? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Everything is fine,” the woman answered. “A week ago I stepped on a sea urchin, but now my foot is almost completely healed.
  
  
  Nick felt sincerely sorry for her: in tropical seas, sea urchins are distinguished not only by their very long and sharp spines, but also by their poisonous spines, the injection of which is extremely painful and dangerous.
  
  
  - And you treated yourself here? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Yes,” the woman nodded. — I have a first aid kit. I felt so bad that I couldn’t even get out of bed. And now it’s just painful to step on.
  
  
  “Maybe you’ll put the revolver away after all?” - Nick noted with concern. “But what are you doing alone on this schooner?” Where are you from?
  
  
  “First, tell us about yourself,” the woman said, without lowering the barrel of the revolver.
  
  
  “I’m Captain Carter from the oceanographic expedition,” Nick said. “We are conducting special research in this area on a scientific vessel.
  
  
  - This is true? — the stranger asked incredulously.
  
  
  “I swear,” Nick smiled.
  
  
  The woman once again read the inscription on the side of the plane, written in large black letters, looked Nick up and down with an attentive glance and tucked the revolver into the waistband of her shorts.
  
  
  - God, if only I knew what to do! — She tiredly rubbed her forehead with her palm. - Maybe you can help me?
  
  
  She sat down on the visor of the wheelhouse and silently stared at Nick, her hands helplessly dropped on her knees. Nick sat down next to her, causing her to immediately shrink, and asked:
  
  
  - What are the problems? By the way, what is your name? Where are you from?
  
  
  “My name is Joyce Tanner,” the woman answered with a sigh. — I'm from Miami.
  
  
  “And you came all the way from there on that old boat alone?” - Nick exclaimed in surprise. - Yes, it’s about to fall apart! “He looked around at the cracked deck plating and the rigging eaten away by sea grinders.
  
  
  “The schooner is not mine,” Joyce Tanner said. “I rented it; I didn’t have enough money for a better boat.” I sailed along the islands and carefully followed the weather reports. This old vessel has a perfectly equipped radio room! Her owner is passionate about radio and has installed so much equipment on his schooner that any owner of the most luxurious yacht would envy him! The people from the agency where I signed up for the lease taught me how to use it correctly.
  
  
  “But you still haven’t explained to me,” Nick interrupted her, “what attracted you to these places?”
  
  
  “I’m looking for my missing sister,” Joyce said sadly. “I hoped that I would be lucky, but now I am in complete despair.
  
  
  She smiled an embarrassed, guilty smile and, sighing heavily, continued:
  
  
  - It will be better if I start telling you everything from the very beginning. I work as a store manager in Miami, divorced my husband, and now live in a nice apartment with my younger sister, who recently came to stay with me from Michigan. June is nineteen years old, has completed a secretarial course and is full of energy and enthusiasm. One day she read an advertisement in the newspaper that a rich man living somewhere on an island in the Caribbean needed a secretary. June contacted a recruitment agency, and they asked her to fill out an application. They checked her for a long time and carefully, and she had to lie to them that she had no close relatives at all, otherwise she would not have been accepted for this job. People from this bureau were not even too lazy to come to our house and check who I was, but I introduced myself as the owner of the apartment, and everything worked out.
  
  
  Nick actually felt cold as he listened to Joyce Tanner's story.
  
  
  — What is the name of this agency? - he asked her.
  
  
  “The Hammer Agency,” she answered.
  
  
  Nick remembered Betty-Lou talking about another agency, Walton, but that did little to reassure him.
  
  
  “Go on,” he said to Joyce.
  
  
  — My sister promised to write me a letter. But six months have passed, and I still have not received any news from her. You know, this doesn't sound like June at all. She used to always write letters to me, often and regularly, because I am her only living soul mate. I got worried and tried to make inquiries about her, but no one really could tell me anything. I contacted the police, but they told me that until there were serious grounds for searching for her, they would not lift a finger. What reasons do I have? For example, who can I complain about? I thought about it and decided to rent this schooner and go in search of my sister. I used to go sailing on Lake Michigan when I was young. So, I explored all over the Caribbean, but no matter who I asked, no one had heard of any rich man living alone on his own island!
  
  
  “And you never managed to discover anything yourself?”
  
  
  “No,” Joyce shook her head. “Although perhaps one suspicious place should be checked.” But I stepped on that damned sea urchin, got sick and fell ill. And now I’m stuck here for the second week.
  
  
  -Where is this suspicious place? - Nick asked, feeling his pulse quicken.
  
  
  “You know, it’s quite creepy there, on this island.” It is not listed on the map, but is located between the islands of Cayo Noreste and Blanquilla.
  
  
  “But I flew over it,” Nick frowned. “I also remember the atoll to the right of it. I didn't notice anything except trees and bushes.
  
  
  “It’s impossible to see anything from above,” Joyce said. “However, there is a house in the rock; it is completely invisible behind the trees and sand. I saw it by chance, sailing past the very entrance to the bay, because I was looking at the shore with binoculars. I'm telling you, I've never seen anything like it before! However, these old hermits may have strange tastes... Now I don’t know what to do next. What if everything was fine with my sister, she just didn’t have the opportunity to write to me or send a letter? If I trespass on this weirdo's property without warning, my sister might get into trouble. But if trouble happens, I myself can get into a bad story...
  
  
  Nick listened to Joyce's story, and a plan for further action was already ripening in his head. Many years of experience told him that he definitely needed to study this strange island better. This is, naturally, a risky business, and can turn out in the most unexpected way: the old hermit is quite possibly just a legend, a cover for a trap into which naive girls are lured. And it is possible that something worse lies there...
  
  
  Nick felt like he was finally on the trail. It was not for nothing that Hawk jokingly called him a bloodhound. The chief was not so far from the truth: as soon as Nick smelled the scent, amazing metamorphoses happened to him. His face changed, he tensed up: ready to grab his victim with a death grip, all his senses became heightened, his brain feverishly scrolled through hundreds of different options for further events. It was this ability to instantly mobilize that saved him in many tough alterations, thanks to him Nick Carter became not just a good, but the best agent in his secret service unit.
  
  
  Nick looked at Joyce's serious face and smiled.
  
  
  - So what do you think about it? she asked. - Can you help me?
  
  
  “I’ll try,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. She straightened up to her full height and did not look away.
  
  
  “It’s possible that you helped me a lot without knowing it, Joyce,” Nick switched to a confidential tone. “I won’t tell you anything yet, but if this island is what I’m looking for, many people will be grateful to you.” But first I have to check everything thoroughly myself.
  
  
  - How can I be useful? she asked, squeezing his muscular arm.
  
  
  “Wait for me here, I’ll come back,” he answered.
  
  
  But Joyce did not let go of his hand, looking inquisitively into his eyes.
  
  
  Nick glanced interestedly at her bodice, through the fabric of which sharp breasts with erect nipples were visible, and patted her on the back soothingly:
  
  
  - I will definitely return, you can be sure.
  
  
  Having climbed over the handrail, he jumped into the water and quickly swam towards the amphibian. Soon the plane took off into the sky and headed for a tiny island at the southern end of the Los Roques ridge. Nick wanted to hope that both the naive Sister Joyce and the trusting Betty-Lou were completely safe on this island, but a chill in his chest told him that these were just his empty dreams. The story of recruiting girls to work for a rich elderly recluse looked extremely strange. Nick sensed something was wrong when he first heard it from Betty-Lou. The scattered facts had not yet formed a mosaic in his head, but were already in motion. One way or another, Nick took the trail and was not going to refuse such a tempting chance. But what awaits him in the beast's lair?
  
  
  As soon as the point he needed appeared on the horizon, Nick began to gradually descend. It was risky to approach the island quickly; he could be spotted. Nick took the binoculars and placed them on the seat next to him. The island and the small atoll along it could already be seen from above and with the naked eye. Nick flew over them, but saw nothing but sand, palm trees and bushes. The islet was hilly, but with a fairly flat border of the beach along the shore and a small cove in its northern part - this is what Nick chose for landing.
  
  
  He turned off the engine, turned it on again and immediately turned it off. The engine sneezed and fell silent, Nick turned it on again, and the engine hummed displeasedly, as if warning that it would not tolerate such treatment. Nick made a circle over the bay and, having chosen a suitable place on the water surface, abruptly turned off the engine. He sneezed loudly, choking, and fell silent. The plane descended smoothly exactly at the intended location - just opposite the narrow entrance to the bay that Joyce had told Nick about.
  
  
  Nick opened the cabin door, climbed out onto the pontoon and carefully made his way forward along the hull of the amphibian. Leaning over the engine, he pulled back the hood and pretended to try to find the problem. Nick knew he was being watched. Leaving the hood open, he returned to the cabin and carefully began to examine the shore through binoculars. Meanwhile, the amphibian slowly swam closer and closer to the suspicious hillside, carried away by the current, and Nick had only a few seconds at his disposal. Finally he saw what Joyce had been talking about: a long, squat concrete structure, no longer resembling a house but an underground fortification, with steel slabs above it resting on steel arches and covered with a thick layer of soil and sand from which bushes and trees grew.
  
  
  “Amazing disguise,” Nick whistled in surprise. From the sea side, the object can only be noticed when sailing past a narrow passage into the bay, and from above it is not visible at all! Four men stood near the building with some long objects in their hands. “Security,” Nick grinned. “Is this really the lair of Judas?” Or is some other crazy hermit based here? Well, he'll soon find out."
  
  
  Nick put his binoculars aside and climbed out of the cab, this time with a wrench in his hand. After rummaging a little in the engine to divert his attention, he slammed the hood and, again sitting at the helm, took off over the bay. Having made a circle over the island, he headed for the schooner, very pleased with what he saw.
  
  
  And he saw quite enough for the first time: a camouflaged house, armed guards, the location of the strait. All that remained was to request some additional information from the center, compare it with the data it had, and decide whether it was worth continuing to examine this suspicious island. After all, he has very little precious time left...
  
  
  As Nick approached the schooner, he remembered the beautiful radio room on it that Joyce had told him about. “If the equipment there is really good,” he thought, “he could contact Hawk now, saving the time it would take to get to Triton!”
  
  
  - I was right? - Joyce exclaimed, running out to meet him.
  
  
  - Absolutely! - said Nick. “Take me to the radio room that you praised so much.”
  
  
  From the first glance at the equipment, it became clear to Nick that Joyce was not exaggerating its advantages: powerful radio transmitters made it possible to transmit a message to Hawk. Nick decided to replace the encryption device with a simple code: for one broadcast, this was allowed by the instructions. Turning on the transmitter, Nick tuned it to the desired wavelength and, expressing his main message with just the word “maybe,” asked the center for information about the Walton and Hammer employment agencies. He then turned off the transmitter, turned the receiver on full power and returned to the deck. He knew that the chief had already deployed the entire apparatus and the entire intelligence network of the secret service, so now he could only wait patiently for the results.
  
  
  Joyce was lying on the deck, wearing tight shorts. She pulled down the straps of her bra until it barely covered her breasts. Nick knew she heard him go on air and sat down next to her to find out what she thought about it.
  
  
  - Why are you trying so hard for me, captain? - she asked seriously.
  
  
  “The thing is,” he answered thoughtfully, “one of my friends got into a very similar story, and I want to fully understand it.” Let's wait to see what my friends, to whom I turned for help, will answer. Do you mind if I stay here a little longer?
  
  
  - Well, captain! - Joyce exclaimed passionately. — I am eternally grateful to you for your concern! You don't bother me at all.
  
  
  Nick smiled back at her and lay down on his back, closing his eyes.
  
  
  “You know, captain,” Joyce said after a pause, “no one has ever taken such care of me.” No, it’s true,” she hastily added, noticing an ironic smile on his lips.
  
  
  - Even your ex-husband? - Nick raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  - Husband? - she snorted. - He didn't care about me. He always said that I wanted too much from him. It looks like he was right, he couldn't give me anything. It's a pity that I realized this too late.
  
  
  - Why did you marry him? - Nick asked.
  
  
  - This is an old and banal story. I was just a young fool, that's all. At that time, I still did not understand men at all and was not able to discern their true essence under the mask of pretense, I believed any of their boastful chatter and easily succumbed to false compliments.
  
  
  “But now you won’t repeat your previous mistakes,” Nick noted, catching the tension in Joyce’s voice when she talked about men, and feeling her greedy gaze on his body. “You have become an experienced woman, haven’t you?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she agreed weakly, “I’ve seen a lot in this life.” You can’t trust a single word they say, sometimes even their actions! You need to trust exclusively your own feelings. Women's intuition will never let you down! A woman’s heart will immediately tell whether a man is worthy or not. As is the case with you, for example...
  
  
  - What does it mean? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “There is something about you that any woman can unmistakably guess,” Joyce said. -You don't need to talk much. And you don't even need to do anything. It is enough for a woman to just look at you, and everything becomes clear to her...
  
  
  Joyce's voice suddenly sank, and Nick felt the touch of her hand on his chest, hot from the hot sun. The schooner rocked rhythmically on the waves, bringing back memories of another rhythmic movement. Nick opened his eyes: Joyce was looking at him, her mouth slightly open and her breasts almost touching his muscular body.
  
  
  - And what is clear to you? - he asked quietly, although he knew the answer in advance.
  
  
  Before him was a woman exhausted by the feeling of emptiness, a woman who saw in him a man who could fill her emptiness.
  
  
  The taming of the obstinate Daniella did not pass without a trace for Nick. He was acutely aware of the need to relax after his dangerous flirtation with her, and his body was also filled with unsatisfied desires. The proximity of the sultry woman, the hot sun and the cool sea breeze aggravated the unsatisfied hunger of the flesh, and Nick turned on his side, hugging her shoulders.
  
  
  She immediately clung to him and eagerly pressed her sensual mouth onto his lips, sending signals of passion with her tongue. The bra fell and Nick saw her large pear-shaped breasts with erect brownish nipples. “Joyce cannot boast of Daniella’s divine beauty, but only a few are blessed with it,” Nick thought. “But she has slender legs, a graceful waist and a flat stomach.”
  
  
  Joyce pressed her breasts against him and he felt his loins tighten. He carefully took her nipple into his mouth and began to gently circle it with his tongue. She squeezed him in her arms and moaned with pleasure, trembling with impatience. Continuing to caress her breasts with his tongue, Nick stroked her back and buttocks with his hand, bringing Joyce into feverish excitement with his skillful touches of sensitive spots. She was already exhausted from passion, and then he lay down on her and began to work his torso in time with the waves rocking the ship. Joyce experienced an orgasm completely suddenly and quickly, but did not let it go.
  
  
  - More! - she whispered hoarsely. - More, now! I beg you!
  
  
  Nick did not disappoint Joyce's hopes, easily bringing her to a new ecstasy, but this time he was not satisfied with what had been achieved, but continued with redoubled energy to throw more and more logs into the flaming center of unprecedented voluptuousness, accompanied by her wild cries and moans.
  
  
  Her wide-open eyes became clouded, and only when he loosened his embrace, rolling onto his side, did they regain clarity and look at him with undisguised admiration.
  
  
  “I’ve never experienced anything like this before,” Joyce said quietly. - Nothing even like it.
  
  
  Nick smiled and hugged her again. Lulled by the rocks and the sun, they dozed off, but their sleep was soon interrupted by the loud crackling of the radio. Nick jumped to his feet and ran to the radio room. The message from the center came in a simplified encrypted code. Having recorded it, Nick turned off the equipment and quickly decoded the text. Hawk brought to his attention the following:
  
  
  “The Walton Employment Agency, licensed in New York, closed after only one month of operation. The same goes for Hammer's Miami bureau. None of the large enterprises hired a single woman with their assistance. A review of all such agencies in all cities on the east coast is underway.”
  
  
  Nick chuckled, but immediately frowned as he read the message to the end. The last lines said:
  
  
  “We have received instructions to pay a ransom for the boat. Time is running out. If there is any reason, act immediately.”
  
  
  Nick tore the paper into small pieces and burned it. The words of a French intelligence officer about an eccentric scientist named Harold Fratke came to mind. What did he have to do with the murder of an Arab human trader? Could this have something to do with recruiting secretaries for a wealthy recluse on the island? Why were such strict requirements imposed on candidates? After all, only those who had no close relatives had a chance to get a place.
  
  
  However, during her travels, Joyce never heard of any hermit on the Caribbean islands! Random coincidences? But for some reason this chain of facts smells of the familiar smell of Judas! Nick knew this genius of villainy well. “This little monster of the underworld attracted to himself, like a magnet, all the evil around him. He did not ignore any opportunity to expand his influence and increase his wealth and power. And if he met a perverted genius, Judas probably forced him to work for himself, creating all the conditions for satisfying his painful fantasies. No doubt he did all this with his usual caution, Nick thought. “Well, it’s time to confuse this villainous couple with all their insidious plans,” he decided and, trying not to remember the fate of Sister Joyce and little Betty-Lou Rawlings, returned to the deck.
  
  
  - Well, what's new? asked Joyce. — Did your friends manage to find out anything?
  
  
  “We need to take a better look at this mysterious island,” said Nick. “No matter how dangerous it is, I just need to go there.”
  
  
  -Can I be of assistance to you? asked Joyce.
  
  
  “Yes, staying here on this schooner,” Nick said. “I promise I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I figure something out.”
  
  
  He kissed her on the cheek and, without waiting for her to object, jumped overboard. He had to return to the Triton, take special equipment obtained from the technical support department for secret operations, refuel and only then fly to the island. According to his estimates, he could get there only after sunset. “Well,” thought Nick, “that will be even better.” Joyce waved at him from the deck, getting smaller and smaller as the plane gained altitude and moved away from the schooner. She finally met a real man. Of course, it was only passion, the unsatisfied hunger of exhausted flesh and confusion of feelings that threw them onto the deck. But this casual intimacy gave them both deep satisfaction, and they did not regret it. Nick felt cheerful and full of energy. He had waited too long for the fight with Judas and was now ready to put an end to this satanic spawn once and for all.
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Returning to the Triton, Nick immediately went down to his cabin and laid out on the bunk a special wetsuit issued to him by the technical support department, equipped with secret pockets. They contained: miniature explosive charges in the form of capsules with gelatin, a small flashlight the size of a cigarette, a roll of rubber-coated wire, a special underwater lighter, a special detonator for underwater explosive devices, as well as a flat case, the thickness of a matchbox, in which was built transmitter for communication with Secret Service headquarters in Washington.
  
  
  Stewart, the head of the special effects department, warned that the chemical fuse would go off in fifty-five seconds, and the explosive device would be capable of blowing the battleship's hull to pieces. The transmitter is designed for only one emergency message, after which it becomes unusable.
  
  
  As soon as Nick carefully folded his wetsuit, which looked no different from an ordinary one, Bill Hedwin entered the cabin. He said that Daniella had returned from diving in the submersible to the bottom of the sea and was waiting for Nick in her cabin. Nick immediately went to her.
  
  
  Daniella opened the door to his knock, and he involuntarily froze in the aisle, enchanted by her beauty: hair pulled into a bun, cherry swimsuit...
  
  
  - You look great! - Nick exclaimed, unable to take his eyes off her magnificent bust, bursting out at the top of her bikini.
  
  
  “It’s easier to work in a submersible this way,” she said coldly. - You returned early today.
  
  
  “I’m leaving again now and won’t be back for the night,” he said, looking down at the bottom of the swimsuit.
  
  
  - When will you return? - she asked calmly.
  
  
  “In the morning, if everything goes well,” Nick answered.
  
  
  — How do you mean “if everything goes well”? — she flushed, piercing him with her radiant blue eyes.
  
  
  “Let’s not go deeper into this question,” Nick grinned, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  She backed away towards the wall, but he came almost close to her.
  
  
  “It’s a pity I don’t have time to finish our argument,” he said, looking at her heaving chest, so charming in the moonlight. “But I could have done this a long time ago, as you know, right?”
  
  
  “I don’t know anything like that,” she muttered, lowering her eyes.
  
  
  - Really? - Nick smiled, pressing his stomach against her and spreading her legs with his knee. With his left hand he took her chin and, raising her head, asked:
  
  
  - Well, how are we doing with controlling our emotions? - His knee at that moment rested on the bottom of her stomach.
  
  
  “Damn you,” Daniella whispered barely audibly, hugging him with trembling arms and holding him tightly to her. Her half-open lips touched his, but at that moment a shot shook the sultry midday air, breaking the silence and charm of the moment. Daniella pulled away from him, and Nick ran to the porthole.
  
  
  “Some kind of military boat,” he said. — Under the flag of the Venezuelan Coast Guard. It is approaching at high speed, apparently, the border guards want to inspect the ship and check documents. It’s better to prepare them in advance,” he added, turning to Daniella.
  
  
  Taking on a serious and unapproachable appearance again, she went to the deck. Nick ran into his cabin and began to watch through the porthole the boat approaching the Triton from the left side. On its deck stood six men, one of whom was in an officer's uniform, the rest in sailor's robes. One glance at the giant, leaning his back against the wall of the wheelhouse, was enough for Nick to understand who had come to visit the ichthyologists. The border guards had nothing to do here; the Triton was hundreds of miles from Venezuelan territorial waters. The boat came from a mysterious island.
  
  
  The boat with the “officer” and his two assistants left the boat and began to approach the “Triton”. The lanky “officer” had a somewhat suspicious, deliberately prim appearance. Nick jumped out of the cabin, ran along the narrow corridor and, carefully lifting the aft hatch cover, climbed out, trying not to lean out from behind the side. Then he slowly climbed over the low starboard railing and, hanging by his hands, slowly sank into the water.
  
  
  Once in the water, Nick pressed himself against the hull of the Triton and began to listen to the conversation between the “officer” who had already stepped onto the deck of the ship, Daniella and Bill Hedwin.
  
  
  “I would like to inspect the entire ship,” said the uninvited guest in a tone that brooked no objection.
  
  
  Clenching his teeth, Nick froze, overcome with foreboding.
  
  
  What he feared most was happening. If now everything goes smoothly and the curious guests do not suspect anything, then he will still have a chance to complete the assigned task. But if they smell anything, all is lost: the boat's heavy machine gun will riddle the research schooner, and the four-inch gun will send her to the bottom.
  
  
  All Triton equipment was intended exclusively for scientific purposes and could not arouse suspicion. But is it possible to predict what will come into the heads of these types? Nick suddenly felt ashamed in front of the scientists for putting them at mortal risk without even warning them of the danger that threatened them. Now their lives hung in the balance. The voices on deck died down, apparently, the self-proclaimed inspectors went down. After some time, they went up on deck again, got into the boat and set sail. Nick sighed with relief.
  
  
  As soon as the powerful engine roared, he swam to the rope ladder lowered from the side of the Triton in the middle of the ship, and, climbing it, slipped down while everyone else watched the retreating patrol ship with anxious glances, huddled on the port side.
  
  
  “So,” Nick mentally summed up. “Hawk was right: the legend stood the test because the cover was completely legitimate.” Nick dried himself with a towel, changed his wet swimming trunks for dry ones, and, sitting down at the radio, sent a short message to the center: “I’m following the trail. I'm starting to take active action. Take your time."
  
  
  Suddenly he felt someone's gaze behind him and turned around sharply. Daniella looked at him searchingly, silently entering the cabin.
  
  
  “You need to knock on the door,” Nick noted, frowning. - Otherwise, unpleasant consequences are possible.
  
  
  - Who are you in fact? - she asked him seriously. “You are not who you say you are, now I no longer doubt it.” And you are not a captain of the navy, but an impostor. Why did you hide from the Venezuelan border guards? Where were you during the examination?
  
  
  In her eyes, Nick read not anger, but rather the annoyance and disappointment of a deceived woman. “It’s time to set the record straight,” Nick decided.
  
  
  “I’m not an impostor,” he said with a sigh. “And these people from the military boat are not border guards.” I am a US Special Service agent. Now listen to me carefully, I will tell you the truth. I can afford to do this, because now there is no point in hiding it from you: one way or another, this fantastic story must soon be resolved.
  
  
  After listening to his story, Daniella, sparkling with amazed blue eyes, exclaimed:
  
  
  - Incredible! You hope to find something that you don’t even have the slightest idea about yet! Let's say that the villain named Judas really is on this mysterious island. But his inconceivable device could be anywhere! What do you know about him?
  
  
  “Only that it is capable of capturing and holding a modern submarine,” Nick spread his hands.
  
  
  - So, it turns out that this thing just swallows submarines like a giant clam? - she squinted mockingly.
  
  
  - What did you say? - Nick perked up. — A giant clam? Why a mollusk?
  
  
  “Because the mollusk is the simplest sea creature most adapted to underwater life,” Daniella laughed. “A giant clam could easily swallow even an entire submarine.” By the way, individual shellfish living in the Pacific Ocean weigh five hundred pounds. Here, take a look!
  
  
  She took a book off the shelf and, opening it, showed Nick the illustration.
  
  
  — This bivalve mollusk has such a powerful loop-shaped muscle that the valves it holds cannot be opened. When the mollusk is relaxed, the valves open, and the valves, like siphons, ensure the flow of oxygen and food into the muscle, as well as the release of decay products of this organism.
  
  
  “So, if you make a working model of a giant mollusk,” Nick developed her thought, “then it will function without any powerful motors, simply on the principle of two siphons or valves: an inlet and an outlet.” Right?
  
  
  “Theoretically, this is quite possible,” Daniella nodded. “But in practice it will be necessary to develop a device to control the operation of siphons and valves of the model.
  
  
  “I don’t quite understand,” Nick continued to think out loud, “how a slow mollusk can grab a fast submarine.”
  
  
  “It’s very simple,” Daniella smiled. - The fact is that not all mollusks are slow. For example, a scallop clam uses the principle of a jet engine to move, or, more simply put, it shoots a stream of water, closing the valves, and quickly flies forward.
  
  
  - So that's it! — Nick scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “So, if some evil genius managed to combine the principles of functioning of a mollusk and a scallop, he ended up with a giant device that moves quickly under water, capable of capturing a submarine with its doors and moving with it.”
  
  
  Turning to Daniella, he squeezed her head with his hands and looked into her eyes, again covered with languid darkness.
  
  
  “You’re just smart,” he exclaimed with a smile. - You gave me a great idea! I hope that I will be able to acquaint you with the results of testing our fantastic theory.
  
  
  - But this is practically impossible! - she exclaimed in fear. “You have no real chance of defeating the army of Judas alone!” You will die, Nick!
  
  
  “On the contrary, only one can penetrate their secret facility,” Nick objected. - You do not know me well.
  
  
  He kissed her on the cheek and walked out of the cabin with a spring in his step, waving the flippers he held in his hand.
  
  
  After watching him thoughtfully, Danielle Fraser frowned and called Bill Hedwin.
  
  
  “We need to have a serious conversation,” she told him. - Sit down and listen to me carefully. We will talk about one tiny island east of Cayo Noreste...
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  Nick flew low over the sea, heading for the schooner Joyce. Several possible plans for further action matured in his head, but he settled on one: leave the amphibian tied to the schooner, and get to the island himself on a rubber raft in order to land ashore in the dark. Again and again he mentally returned to the conversation with Daniella. A giant mollusk, apparently, should be not so much wide as elongated in depth, vertical. This should have been taken into account during the search.
  
  
  The sun had already begun to sink towards the horizon when Nick saw the schooner. Raising a fan of spray with its pontoons, the amphibian sat down on the water next to her. Nick waited for Joyce to appear on deck, but she did not run out, smiling joyfully, to meet him. Nick himself tied the cable to the cleat, climbed onto the deck and, very worried, went down to inspect the ship. Joyce was nowhere to be found; only the masts and the old planks of the hold responded to his call with an ominous creak. The life raft stood in the same place, leaning against the bow frames. Nick was at a loss. “Apparently, Joyce was taken away on a boat by people from the island, either by force or by deception,” he finally thought.
  
  
  Nick immediately changed his plan, deciding to get to the island not on a rubber raft in the dark, but on this schooner at sunset, and openly, without hiding. It would take at least five hours to reach his goal, but he would still have a chance to save Joyce, if, of course, she was still alive by then.
  
  
  Having untied the cable from the cleat, he tied it to the anchor and pulled the schooner away from the amphibian, raising the mainsail. A strong wind immediately carried the ship through the waves, like a high-speed yacht guided by the experienced hand of a seasoned skipper. The pinkish-gray twilight was already beginning to deepen when an island with an atoll along it appeared ahead. Nick grinned and steered the schooner straight into the narrow passage into the bay. Having prepared the ropes in advance to secure the tiller, he waited for the right moment to quickly carry out his plans.
  
  
  From the window of a house on the island, a little man watched the schooner in amazement. At first he thought that this was some kind of bizarre play of twilight light, but, looking closer, he realized that both the sail and the ship were not ghostly at all, but real, and he shook with anger, uttering a piercing squeal. The dwarf pressed the red button to urgently call Harold, Tartarus or the bodyguards. The angry brain of the evil genius feverishly analyzed the situation. Who is to blame for what happened? He himself, who allowed Harold to participate in the inspection of the scientific vessel? Or these idiots who captured the girl from the old schooner on the way back? Judas remembered how furious he felt when he first saw them returning with the spoils. Harold was happy, like a child who had received a new toy, and Tartarus grinned contentedly, because he managed to abuse the girl twice before the boat reached the island. They dragged her into his office and threw her on the floor at his feet, like a cat throwing a mouse at the feet of its owner, proud of its prey. They assured him that there was no one left on this schooner, that the girl was there alone. And now...
  
  
  Harold entered first, followed by a huge Mongol.
  
  
  - Did you see it? - Judas shouted, pointing his finger at the window. “Did you see this, I ask you, damned idiots?!” You deceived me, you lustful fools! So, that means there was no one else on the schooner, right? - Judas wiped his chin, wet with saliva, with his palm.
  
  
  “I swear that there really wasn’t a single living soul there anymore!” - Harold shouted, rolling his eyes wildly. - Ask Tartarus or others! “All three guards, who came running at the owner’s call, nodded their heads.
  
  
  - We searched the entire ship! - Harold continued. “There was no one on deck, in the hold, or overboard at that moment. It's true!
  
  
  Judas noticed the fear in the eyes of the guards, the guilty expression on Tartarus’s face and the offended expression on Harold’s gloomy face and softened somewhat. Perhaps they simply searched this vessel poorly, or perhaps one of the girl’s acquaintances ended up on it later and became worried when they did not find it. One way or another, it no longer mattered, the main thing was that they had violated his instructions.
  
  
  “I ordered you to inspect the scientific vessel and return immediately,” he said sternly. “And you not only stopped near an unknown schooner, but also took a girl with you.” Are there not enough other girls for you, Harold? Did I supply you with them poorly? Why was it necessary to drag this one here as well? You're just a brainless idiot, Harold!
  
  
  Harold, not used to such treatment, pouted offendedly. “Nothing,” thought Judas. “I’ve had enough of babysitting you, after all, it’s time for you to understand who’s boss.”
  
  
  “Listen, old man,” Harold exclaimed peacefully. “We have almost everything ready, the job is done, so why be afraid?”
  
  
  Judas sighed heavily and stared out the window. The schooner was approaching quickly. He was tempted to put a bullet in Harold from the pistol built into the prosthesis, but he restrained himself: this idiot was still needed to complete the operation.
  
  
  “Do you understand that one mistake can ruin all our gigantic work, Harold?” - Judas asked, turning to his offending partner, in a creaky, high-pitched voice. “We are up against dangerous and experienced people. There is one subject who...” he paused, deciding for now to refrain from unnecessary word debate. “Your greed can ruin all my carefully thought-out plans!” And get it in your head, Harold, that we are not finishing the job, but just beginning it. Is it clear?
  
  
  Judas turned away from his bowed companions and looked out the window again.
  
  
  -Who's on board the schooner? - he asked concerned. - Maybe her lover? Tartarus, take your men immediately and destroy this schooner. I want you to smash it to pieces! Kill everyone on it! There shouldn't be any traces left of her! Clear? Then act quickly!
  
  
  Harold started to follow the others to carry out the order, but Judas stopped him:
  
  
  - Not you, Harold! - he ordered. - You will stay on the island, you will cause nothing but trouble.
  
  
  Throwing an offended look at Judas, Harold silently left the office. The dwarf guessed that he would take out all his anger on the new girl, and he was not mistaken: a minute later a desperate cry of horror was heard. Judas turned on the monitoring system monitor for the testing room and saw the unfortunate woman standing in one of the shallow pools with her hands tied and handcuffed above her head to a counter. Harold stood in front of her, and two long, wriggling sea creatures protruded from the naked body of his victim - they were predatory lampreys. Deprived of jaws, sea lampreys attached themselves to the prey and ate its flesh. Judas noticed a third lamprey in Harold's hands. Without hesitation, the fanatic stuck it to the cheek of the screaming girl and laughed wildly, watching how the wriggling creature with a disgusting chomping sound bit into the skin of the distraught Joyce. Judas winced with disgust and turned off the monitor: now he was more worried about something completely different. He turned to the window and began to watch the patrol boat coming out of the secret dock towards the schooner.
  
  
  Still holding the tiller, Nick Carter also looked at the warship roaring across the bay. After waiting another minute, he put the rudder to starboard, secured the tiller with ropes and crawled like a seal along the deck, pushing awkwardly with his flippers and elbows. The high side reliably covered it from observation from the boat and from the shore. Having reached the bow of the schooner, he fell over the side, hung for a moment by his hands and plopped into the water. He was thrown to the side by the wave and turned over, but Nick desperately worked with his arms and legs and went into the depths. My ears were blocked by the noise of the boat's propellers. Nick waited another minute and surfaced just as a cannon shot shook the air. The shell hit exactly in the middle of the stern, scattering fragments of the hull like splinters. The second shell demolished the mast, and the old sail slowly began to fall to one side, fluttering like a shot seagull. The third shell cut off the transom and tore off the stern; water rushed into the gap, rushing to take possession of yet another damaged toy of a strange creature called a man.
  
  
  Nick dived to a shallow depth and swam to the island. He knew that the schooner was about to sink, but those who sank it would not rest on this and would begin to look for the helmsman. They will shoot at all floating objects to be on the safe side and prevent him from escaping in the dark.
  
  
  Suddenly, Nick noticed something huge and dark to his left, quickly emerging from the depths of the sea. At first he thought that it was either the skeleton of some sunken ship, rising from the bottom after explosions, or a small submarine. But the strange object came closer and he could make out the large dorsal fin and thick side fins of a whale shark. Luckily, the sea monster swam by, but so close that the telltale spots on her skin were visible. Nick grinned, mentally thanking God for not sending him a sea fox, tiger or great white shark as travel companions: these predators certainly would not have spared him. The shadow of the whale shark disappeared into the darkness, and Nick was again left alone in the bay, except for the small fish that teem with the Caribbean Sea - a true paradise for fishermen.
  
  
  Looking around, Nick realized that he had deviated a little from the course and, having corrected the mistake, swam without plunging into the water. Soon he saw a stone structure resembling a pillbox, built in the belly of a rock and protected for greater reliability on top with steel plates and a thick layer of soil. In the uncertain light of the rising moon, this gloomy structure seemed like the lair of a sea devil. Its cunning owner made sure that from the sea side the dwelling had the innocent appearance of a hillside overgrown with palm trees and bushes, at the foot of which stretched a narrow strip of sandy shore.
  
  
  Hearing a noise behind him, Nick turned around and saw the signal lights of a boat approaching him: he was returning to base. Nick worked harder with his arms and legs, moving to the right. The people on the boat were probably sure that they had destroyed it, and he didn't want to disappoint them. Having plunged into the water opposite the shore, Nick accidentally noticed the blackening hole of a large sewer pipe nearby. A little further away another pipe was visible, followed by another. Pipes hidden underwater protruded from the shore every hundred feet. Nick swam closer and looked inside one of them. “An ordinary drainage or waste pipe,” he thought. - But why isn’t she alone here? Even an island with a population of hundreds of thousands of inhabitants does not require so many sewer pipes, and here there is only one house.” Nick examined several more pipes, but did not find anything suspicious. Disappointed, he turned and swam to the strait, deciding to examine the bottom at depth.
  
  
  The current soon carried him along an atoll sticking out of the water just a hundred feet from the island, and he found himself in a kind of underwater corridor, a deep-sea pit with vertical walls. Nick was overcome with an uneasy feeling. He turned on a special flashlight and began to dive deeper and deeper. Suddenly he saw a huge oval object standing upright, the height of a three-story building. So Daniella hit the nail on the head, Nick thought. This is a giant steel clam.
  
  
  Nick approached him and examined him from all sides. In the lower part of one of the valves, he noticed small holes, apparently for the release of jets of water. Daniella was right here too: the designers borrowed the principle of movement for their artificial mollusk from the scallop. How powerful the artificial muscle was that opened and closed the steel doors, Nick could only guess.
  
  
  Nick tried to push the giant doors apart more impulsively than consciously, overwhelmed by the involuntary thrill of touching this masterpiece of design, both unimaginably complex and extremely simple at the same time. His efforts, naturally, remained fruitless. To push the doors apart it would probably require a knife of the appropriate size and the hand of a giant. It would have been possible, of course, to use explosives, but Nick first decided to find out whether there was a submarine inside the steel clam. It was necessary to act for sure and save, and not destroy the boat along with its crew.
  
  
  Nick began to rise to the surface, moving away from the ingenious sea trap, but suddenly he saw dark figures approaching him through the tunnel. Noticing the beam of his flashlight, they froze, as if they had encountered a transparent wall. Nick thought that these were some kind of fish, but a thin and long object that rushed near his hand destroyed these illusions. The second harpoon, jumping out of the darkness, narrowly missed his head. Turning off the flashlight, Nick dived, going to the right, but four dark figures began to approach him again. He was not prepared for serious underwater combat against an enemy armed with lethal weapons. Throwing from side to side, Nick tried to break away from his pursuers. The harpoon launched after him passed near his ear. Nick swore, cursing himself for losing his vigilance. Underwater television cameras spotted him as soon as he approached the sea trap, but he was so carried away by his discovery that he did not even think about them. And now scuba divers from the coast guard, who were very determined, were chasing him.
  
  
  Another harpoon, flying out of the darkness, hit his shoulder with a trident. In a pocket on the sleeve of Nick's wetsuit was a stiletto, lovingly called by its owner Hugo, but the scuba divers were unlikely to let it get too close before they turned it into an underwater kebab. There was no time to hesitate. Nick rolled over and, putting his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small bottle. Handing it to him, Stuart proudly said: “We borrow from nature everything that can be useful to us. This is a gift from the giant squid.”
  
  
  Nick squeezed the neck of the bottle and felt a slight shock - a stream of inky-dark liquid rushed out, enveloping him in a saving cloud. Mentally thanking Stuart, Nick began to quickly rise to the surface.
  
  
  Emerging from the water, he looked around and discovered that he was near the shore opposite the atoll. Wasting no time, Nick got out onto the sand, pulled off his wetsuit and, taking out all the contents of his pockets, buried an explosive device and a transmitter under the roots of a palm tree, taking with him only a lighter pistol with one cartridge and two capsules with gelatinous explosives, just in case. Then he crouched low and ran towards the headland at the entrance to the harbor.
  
  
  At this time, a small, clumsy man, who was watching the underwater hunting scene on the monitor screen, jumped in rage around the bunker room, squealing with a distorted mouth:
  
  
  - They missed him! They missed him! Those damned fools let him get away! Now he is probably already on the shore! Grab him immediately! Declare general alarm! Turn on the spotlights! Move over, you clumsy loafers! Catch him quickly, lazy parasites! Catch or destroy on the spot!
  
  
  With a loud hiss, flares soared into the night sky, tearing apart the protective cover, and the entire island was filled with a bright bluish light. The bullet scraped a pebble near Nick's feet, and he fell flat on the sand, immediately rolling under a palm tree. A chain of armed men appeared on the hillside and they opened rapid fire at him. Nick cursed quietly. Crouching behind a tree trunk, he looked at the narrow stone path that stretched along the water along the shore, estimated the distance to it and, drawing his Luger, fired three times at the approaching guards. All bullets hit the target. Nick fired three more shots, forcing the attackers to the ground, and ran towards the path leading to the pier.
  
  
  Soon he saw a pier and a boat moored to it. In several desperate leaps, covering the remaining distance to him, Nick jumped onto the side of the ship and rushed into the weapons cockpit. He found two machine guns and a machine gun there. Nick left the bulky heavy machine gun and, with two machine guns in his hands, ran out onto the deck again, firing a long burst at the instrument panel in the wheelhouse as he ran.
  
  
  His pursuers had already appeared on the pier. Nick opened fire on them - and three of them fell into the water screaming. The rest tried to escape, but Nick's bullets were faster, and only a few lucky ones managed to escape. Nick threw away the machine gun with the empty magazine and, jumping from the boat onto the pier, ran towards the house. Opening the door with his foot, he jumped, stretching his arms forward, into the first room, rolled on the floor and, hiding around the corner, looked around.
  
  
  In front of him was a small vestibule, a narrow stone staircase to the right, and another door to the left. There was a loud stomp of feet, the door swung open, and Nick fired a burst of machine gun fire into the opening. The guards stepped back, Nick pulled the trigger again, but the machine gun jammed, and the two thugs rushed forward. Nick threw the machine gun forcefully in their faces and ran up the stairs. Suddenly, a huge figure of a ferocious Mongol appeared on the platform. Behind Nick he could hear the stomping of his pursuers. He was trapped. Stretching his arms forward, the Mongol was waiting for him, ready to fight. Nick, with a lightning-quick movement, pulled out a stiletto and threw it at the giant. The stiletto stuck into his shoulder, but the Mongol pulled it out with his hand, baring his teeth ominously. Nick jumped and grabbed the Mongol's knees, but he didn't even stagger. The next moment, a crushing blow fell on Nick's neck. Another blow hit him in the temple, and Nick fell into silent blackness, losing consciousness.
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Nick woke up on a cold tiled floor. He sat up and shook his head. Someone's vile laugh was heard, Nick opened his eyes and saw in front of him the well-known figure of a little freak. Next to Judas stood a Mongol with a bandaged hand and another man, whom Nick recognized as the “officer” inspecting the scientific vessel. It was a tall and thin man with glasses.
  
  
  “Meet my old friend, Harold,” Judas told him in a raspy voice as Nick rose to his feet.
  
  
  They were in a spacious room, in the center of which stood a long instrument panel with many buttons, levers and dials.
  
  
  “This is the famous Nick Carter, Agent Number Three of the US Secret Service,” Judas announced with a wry smile, taking a step forward. “Our meeting gives me mixed feelings,” he continued, turning to Nick. “Strange as it may seem, I wanted you to be sent here, my friend.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear that,” Nick chuckled. “I’m in front of you, full of strength and doubly dangerous.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are dangerous, Carter,” Judas admitted, darkening. “But this time you made a fatal mistake.” You can't leave this island. Harold took care of this in advance, and nature itself suggested the right decision to him. He learned a lot from her, I have to tell you, my friend.
  
  
  “For example, I borrowed the idea of creating a giant clam,” Nick noted.
  
  
  “You’re right,” Judas nodded. “As far as I understand, you are curious to know more about this ingenious trap.” I'm ready to satisfy your curiosity, Carter. Now, when I look forward to my triumph, and you stand on the threshold of death, I will be generous. I want to inform you, my friend, that at this very moment the assistants of the president of your country are preparing to transfer one hundred million dollars to me. You're too late this time, Nick Carter.
  
  
  - So, you really have the X-88 submarine? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “Do you want to know where I hid it, my friend?” - Judas grinned.
  
  
  - In your clam? - Nick asked.
  
  
  “You guessed right again,” Judas laughed, drooling down his chin.
  
  
  “So the sailors died,” Nick darkened. “You deceived my government.”
  
  
  “But here you are mistaken,” Judas raised his head arrogantly. “They are all alive and well and are inside their boat, fully provided with air and food. They naturally understand that something unusual has happened to them, but they don’t know what exactly. Look over there! “Judas pressed a button on the remote control, and one of the wall panels moved to the side. An image of a giant clam flashed on the TV screen.
  
  
  - Open the doors, Harold! - Judas ordered.
  
  
  Harold walked over to the control panel in the far corner of the room and began flipping switches and pressing buttons. The giant sea trap slowly opened, and Nick saw a safe and sound submarine inside. Taking a closer look, Nick noticed a thick rubber cable at the bottom of the mollusk, acting as an artificial muscle that closes and opens the steel doors.
  
  
  - You seem to want to ask why the submarine crew is not trying to escape from the trap? — Judas guessed Nick’s thoughts. “The thing is, my friend, that Harold came up with a way to neutralize the entire power supply system of the boat. But now is not the time to go into detail, and besides, this is not my field.
  
  
  “Our artificial mollusk is equipped with remote control and monitoring systems, which allows us to monitor it around the clock without leaving this room,” Harold said proudly, smiling the shy smile of a modest genius. “We don't need to guard it, so most of the armed guards don't even know it exists.”
  
  
  “I took care of a significant reduction in your expenses for maintaining the island’s security,” Nick noted with a grim grin.
  
  
  “That’s true,” Judas said thoughtfully. “But I can easily hire new people if necessary.”
  
  
  -What happened to the other two submarines? - Nick asked him, trying to gain time.
  
  
  “They died, squeezed by the shells of the mollusk,” Judas answered with a sigh. “At that time we were just experimenting with a remote control system. Well, this, unfortunately, happens during testing.
  
  
  “Why don’t you just sell your device to the United States?” - Nick asked. — You could receive a large reward for your invention.
  
  
  “We have our own plans for this,” Judas grinned. “And when we earn enough money, we can continue other research.” Right, Harold?
  
  
  “Yes, it’s just a matter of financing,” his partner smiled back at him.
  
  
  Harold launched into lengthy discussions about existing projects, and Nick began feverishly to think about how best to destroy the remote control system. By blowing it up, he would kill two birds with one stone: he would disable the control of the artificial mollusk and disrupt the power supply lock of the submarine. It was not difficult to imagine how desperate the sailors were now, stunned by what had happened and depressed by their own powerlessness.
  
  
  “You’re not listening to Harold,” Judas suddenly noticed. “Apparently you are dreaming of escape.” In vain, nothing will come of this. Listen, Harold, shouldn't we entertain our dear guest with our girls? I heard that he became famous not only as a great agent, but also as a sexual giant. Just look!
  
  
  “Take off your swimming trunks,” Harold said, glancing over Nick’s athletic figure.
  
  
  “Try to take them off me yourself,” Nick grinned.
  
  
  Harold approached him, giggling nervously and licking his dry lips with his tongue. But as soon as he grabbed Nick's swimming trunks with both hands, a powerful blow from below on his limp chin threw him into the far corner. Tartarus rushed forward, but Judas stopped him with a gesture of his hand. Harold groaned as he lay on the floor, rubbing his chin.
  
  
  - God, I think he broke my jaw! Yes, he broke my jaw!
  
  
  “No, I swung poorly,” Nick grinned.
  
  
  At a sign from Judas, the Mongol helped Harold to his feet.
  
  
  “You amuse me, Carter,” said Judas. “You haven’t lost your characteristic self-confidence.” An ordinary person would not risk such insolence in your position.
  
  
  “Consider me mentally retarded,” Nick grinned.
  
  
  Harold silently glared at him, not knowing what to do. The beginning of the experiment with a man clearly did not inspire him to continue the experiment.
  
  
  Finally, he timidly stepped towards Nick again, but Judas raised his hand in warning:
  
  
  - Don't go near him! He may be mentally retarded, but he is still an extremely dangerous guy. Let's better show him what your fantastically inventive mind is capable of! Tartarus, show off your guest!
  
  
  The giant Mongol forcefully pushed Nick into the door, which Judas opened, and Nick found himself in a large hall with cages along the walls. In each of them there was a female creature, completely naked and completely lost her mind. Nick almost felt sick from the terrible appearance and heartbreaking screams of these unfortunate people. Some of the girls laughed, some cried, some howled in different voices. It was easy to go crazy from this cacophony alone. The bodies of the unfortunate captives of the sexual maniac were completely covered in bruises, bloody scars and fresh wounds, some had broken limbs, mutilated breasts and torn nails. They no longer looked much like people, shaggy, crippled, maddened. Nick thought that what was worse for them than all the most savage tortures was the awareness of hopelessness, the premonition of imminent death in complete oblivion. Nick had seen many terrible scenes in his life, but he could not even imagine anything like this. It was real hell.
  
  
  Nick looked away from the cages with living corpses and looked at the middle of the hall, where there were four small pools. In one of them, in bloody water that covered only a foot of the bottom, a girl with traces of terrible wounds on her body wriggled, and well-fed sea lampreys swam around her. Her open eyes looked at the ceiling, the skin was torn off one cheek, and there were dark clots of blood on her neck and shoulders. Nick took a closer look at her and was dumbfounded with horror. It was Joyce! Looking sideways at him, Judas ordered two guards to drag the girl into a free cage.
  
  
  Harold calmly contemplated the disgusting scene taking place in the neighboring pool, also only slightly filled with blood-red water. Having difficulty coming to his senses, Nick looked there and shuddered: the body of the girl in the pool was covered with some kind of brown, moving mass.
  
  
  “Leeches,” the sadist explained, turning to him with a shy smile. His face shone with complacency and bliss.
  
  
  — Harold orders them specifically from the Far East; such large specimens are not found in the Caribbean Sea.
  
  
  The girl tried to tear one of the leeches away from herself, but her hand fell powerless. Nick noticed that the free areas of her skin were extremely pale. The bloodthirsty creatures sucked almost all the blood out of the poor thing.
  
  
  “Isn’t it time to take them off, Harold?” - asked Judas. “Harold removes the leeches in time and infuses the experimental subject with fresh blood and plasma. When she returns somewhat to normal, he places her back in the pool. He achieved that just at the sight of a box of leeches, the girl begins to squeal terribly, huddled in a corner. It's funny, isn't it?
  
  
  Nick looked closely at both scoundrels and sighed heavily: the devil himself blessed this union of a complete scoundrel and a godless pervert, he thought.
  
  
  They walked along the rows of cages, and Nick looked down, knowing that Betty-Lou Rawlings was in one of them. Now he didn’t want to see her; his nerves were already overstrained. He had the feeling that not only madness reigned here, but also hatred. It filled the room, concentrated to the point of tangibility. The girls, with wild screams, shook the bars of the cages, bared their teeth and growled, and tried to reach them with their hands. Even those who could only kneel or only lie were drawn to the hated tormentors. Yes, Nick thought, these poor creatures are mad, but they are still capable of hating their executioners.
  
  
  “Don’t get close to the cells,” Judas warned, as if reading his thoughts. “These crazed females are very dangerous.”
  
  
  Finally they came to the last, free, cage, and the guard unlocked the door, nodding his head, inviting Nick to come inside. Nick was tempted to pounce on Judas and Harold and tear them to pieces, destroy these monsters, even if he died in the process. He was filled with the desire to avenge Joyce, her sister and Betty-Lou, but an inner voice immediately reminded him that he was here on a special mission and must fulfill it first, and only then pay tribute to Judas and Harold for all their atrocities. Nick unclenched his fists and calmly entered the cage, hearing the door slam behind him. Harold immediately jumped up to her and, in a voice broken with hatred, shouted:
  
  
  - I'll come up with something special for you!
  
  
  “I have no doubt,” Nick answered calmly. - And it will inspire you! “He stuck his hands between the steel bars and, grabbing Harold by the throat, slammed his forehead against the cage with all his might. Harold's glasses shattered, pieces of glass stabbed into his face. Harold screamed in pain: like all sadists, he himself could not stand it. Nick pushed him away and retreated to the corner so the guards couldn't hit him with their rifle butts. Covering his bloody face with his hands, Harold moaned and cursed. The Mongol hastily took him away from the room.
  
  
  “You will die a slow and painful death,” Judas hissed. - I will take care of it. If Harold goes blind...” he didn’t finish his threat, choking with rage.
  
  
  “I’ll just die of pity,” Nick remarked caustically.
  
  
  Judas turned and hobbled towards the exit. Nick sighed with relief and squatted down in the corner of the cage. He tried not to think about what he saw and not to hear the heartbreaking screams, concentrating on developing a plan for his further actions.
  
  
  So, he mentally summed up, he had already learned a lot. Firstly, Judas let slip that his army had suffered significant damage. Nick counted the number of incapacitated guards and came to the conclusion that there were no more than eight of them left. Now one of the guards was walking between the cells. Nick wondered in bewilderment how he could withstand this terrible howl. Taking a closer look at the sentry, he noticed plugs in his ears. The guard glanced at him and calmly retreated to the far end of the room. There were no more than two hours left before dawn; Judas was about to receive a colossal ransom from the US government. Therefore, you need to get out of the cage at all costs and free the submarine from the sea trap. After this, Nick decided to return to Judas’s lair to deal with him and his henchmen and free the unfortunate girls. But for this it is necessary to somehow distract the guards...
  
  
  Nick's thoughts were confused, the crippled girls could not get out of his head, their wild screams and sobs would not leave anyone indifferent. They, of course, must find freedom, but do they need it now, after everything that happened to them? The terrible and bitter truth was revealed to Nick in all its unsightly nakedness. After all, they will have to spend the rest of their lives in psychiatric hospitals, their health is completely undermined by torture and bullying, they will not find themselves again in the world of healthy and full-fledged people. Even those who still retain the remnants of reason will shudder, remembering everything that befell them on this island. One look at themselves in the mirror will be enough for them to plunge back into terrible memories. Yes, Nick sighed heavily, no one and nothing will make up for the damage done to these poor things by Judas and Harold.
  
  
  Nick’s heart told him that the girls themselves understood this. No surgeon can restore the disfigured face of the crippled Joyce. And she will probably prefer death to life and freedom. Moreover, this sadist not only mutilated his victims, he deprived them of their femininity, robbed them of the meaning of further existence, their beauty and attractiveness, and aroused disgust for sex with his sadistic experiences. And if they still need freedom, it is only for one thing - the opportunity to take revenge on this monster for all the humiliation and torment.
  
  
  About fifty captives languished on the island, guarded by eight guards, Judas, Harold and a Mongol. Even armed, they could not cope with a crowd of angry women, Nick thought. And if he managed to release them from their cages, they would create such chaos here that he could quietly get to the submarine.
  
  
  Nick felt the explosive capsules in his trunk pocket. One would be enough to open the cage door, but what about the security? This means that you must first neutralize the guard, waiting for the right moment for this. Nick took out two treasured capsules and a small lighter. The terrible screams of the distraught captives prevented him from concentrating for a surprise attack. But finally he heard the sound of the sentry's footsteps and, jumping to his feet, approached the door. The guard paused near his cage, glanced at him with an indifferent glance and went back.
  
  
  Nick lit the fuse of the explosive capsule, now he had exactly fifteen seconds at his disposal. Sticking his hand between the steel bars, he threw the capsule at the feet of the retreating guard. The next moment, a blinding flash flashed, and the blast wave threw the guard into one of the pools with sea lampreys. The predators immediately grabbed the new victim.
  
  
  Nick set fire to the second capsule, stuck it in the lock and ran to the far corner. The explosion tore the door off its hinges, and Nick immediately ran out. He jumped into the pool, kicking the lamprey away, pulled out a bunch of keys from the guard's pocket and, jumping out of the water, ran along the passage from cage to cage, unlocking them as he ran. He paused near Joyce, she looked at him, but even if she recognized him, she didn’t show it. Her look was terrible, worse than her disfigured face and mutilated body. He finally opened all the doors, came back, threw some of them wide open and ran out of the hall before the distraught women tore him to pieces under the hot hand. A general cry of jubilation shook the air, and the captives began to get out of the cages - limping, hobbling, and even on all fours. This entire angry crowd rushed down the aisle towards the exit, uttering war cries and wanting immediate revenge.
  
  
  The rifle of the sentry dozing outside the door stood leaning against the wall of the corridor, and Nick managed to run past him and jump out into the yard before he woke up and grabbed it. Two shots were heard behind him, then the roaring crowd crushed the sentry, and Nick slammed the door behind him.
  
  
  Nick looked around: the pink dawn had already illuminated the earth. Screams and machine gun fire could be heard from the house; the guards now had no time for him. Without wasting a second, Nick ran down the hill to the shore, to the palm tree under which he hid his equipment and weapons.
  
  
  There were only a few steps left to reach the palm tree when he heard loud voices and screams behind him. He fell on the sand and looked around: naked women ran out of the house, chasing a tall, thin man in a torn shirt. Disheveled and bloody, with twisted mouths and crazed eyes, these furies seemed to have stepped out of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch.
  
  
  - Not there! - Judas’ voice came from the loudspeaker. - Run into the courtyard, the guards will cover you with fire!
  
  
  Harold stumbled in surprise, twisted his ankle and fell. Naked women leaned on him, one of them sunk her teeth into his face, another into his ear, and a third into his buttock. Harold screamed, but immediately fell silent, deafened by the blows of dozens of fists. The women bit him, tore him apart with their nails, and literally tore off his legs and arms. These were no longer people, but brutalized wounded females, wild creatures that had overtaken a hated enemy. Nick didn't feel the slightest pity for Harold. He was just sickened to watch how a predatory beast awakens from under the guise of a man.
  
  
  - Save him! - the loudspeaker blared. - For help!
  
  
  Two guards running around the corner of the house did not dare to shoot, for fear of killing Harold himself, who was barely visible under a pile of naked female bodies.
  
  
  Nick winced: unlike the guards, he could clearly see that Harold no longer needed help. All that was left of him was a half-gnawed skeleton. The Mongol Tartarus appeared from somewhere. The women abandoned Harold's mutilated corpse and turned their gaze to the delicious fat man. The giant stopped in confusion and began to back away. The women rushed to catch him, and Tartarus ran away from them up the slope towards the house. The women rushed after him. The guards looked at each other and also hurried to take refuge in the bunker, where Judas was already safely hidden in the armored room.
  
  
  Nick quickly dug out the equipment from under the roots of the palm tree, leaving only the transmitter near the trunk, wrapped himself in a special cord for underwater blasting, and entered the water. From the side of the bunker came the sounds of gunfire and desperate screams. The siege of Judah's lair was entering a new phase. Nick dived and went into the depths.
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  He could now rely only on his trained lungs, because the people of Judah had taken his scuba gear from the beach. The sea trap was located at great depths, and even with his lung capacity, he was not able to do all the necessary work in one dive. Consequently, he had to dive several times, performing it in stages. Working energetically with his legs, Nick tried to use precious air sparingly, feeling the water squeezing his chest more and more.
  
  
  Finally, the outlines of a giant sea trap appeared ahead. Nick intended to attach a blast cord along the joint of the steel doors so that they would burst open from the explosion, but to his chagrin, he discovered that the doors were so tightly compressed that there was no way to attach the cord to them. With the last of his strength, he swam to the base of the trap, feeling terrible pain in his chest, and, wrapping a cord around it, began to rise to the surface.
  
  
  Emerging from the water, he took a greedy breath of air, waited until the pain in his chest subsided, and dived again. This time he swam even faster underwater to gain time to complete the job. Imagine his surprise when he did not find the blasting cord in the same place! Nick felt the bottom near the base of the trap, looked again at the hinges - there was no cord anywhere. The air in my lungs was running out. Nick made a circle, carefully peering into the surface of the bottom near the giant clam, but found nothing. The cord disappeared without a trace! Finally Nick realized that he could have been dragged away by a shark, ready to swallow anything if it got hungry. Feeling unbearable pain in his chest, Nick began to rise to the surface. Suddenly he felt a strong push from below, the water began to boil, mixing with sand, stones and dirt, and Nick was pulled into the whirlpool.
  
  
  Nick's brain told him the only possible explanation: the shark bit the cord, a chemical reaction followed, and the explosive device went off. The giant clam tilted and fell onto the coral reef, frozen at an angle of forty-five degrees.
  
  
  The whirlpool twisted and turned Nick like a washing machine, and he involuntarily swallowed salt water before he was pushed to the surface. Hitting his face on the sand, he took a deep breath and climbed onto the shore of the atoll on all fours.
  
  
  He vomited for a long time, but finally he managed to catch his breath and look around. Desperate screams and shots were still heard from the island, which means that Judas and his few guards are still alive. “Surely they are holed up in an armored room with equipment and are controlling the situation,” Nick thought. So what to do?
  
  
  You can try to break into this room. But how will the women surrounding the house behave? He shuddered as he remembered what had happened to Harold. Nick resolutely stood up and stepped towards the water, still seething after the explosion. Suddenly it dawned on him: what if the explosion also damaged the mollusk’s remote control system? If this is the case, then there is no longer an electrical field neutralizing the submarine, and its own electrical system is functioning normally again. You just need to let the crew know about this, desperate to bring the mechanisms and launchers into working condition after many fruitless attempts. Nick picked up the stone: the doors of the trap were made of steel, so if you knocked on them, the sailors would probably hear a knock, he realized.
  
  
  Swimming up to a giant artificial mollusk, even more similar to the real one in an inclined position, Nick fell to its shell and began to tap out a message in Morse code with a stone: “Listen, listen, listen!”
  
  
  The air in his lungs ran out, he surfaced, took a deep breath and dived again, confident that the sailors would eventually hear him.
  
  
  The sudden shaking of the boat and the subsequent list forced the crew to jump out of their bunks, but the deathly silence that followed put the desperate sailors back in their places. The first to react to the strange sound was a young torpedo launcher operator. He reported this to the radio operator, who reported this to the captain.
  
  
  “This is Morse code,” he said, writing down what he heard.
  
  
  The boat became silent, waiting for a new message.
  
  
  “You can escape,” someone was tapping on the metal outside. - You can be saved. Try to turn on the mechanisms."
  
  
  As soon as the radio operator conveyed the unexpected message to the others, all crew members rushed to their jobs. The engines came to life and hummed, as if rejoicing along with the sailors at the happy return to life.
  
  
  — Prepare for a salvo from the bow torpedo launcher! - the captain commanded.
  
  
  At this time, Nick dived into the depths again, this time at a decent distance from the giant clam. Did the submariners hear his message? Is the electrical system of the sea trap out of order? He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
  
  
  The mollusk shuddered, and four torpedoes, pushing at the junction of the steel doors, burst out. The shock caused the top of the trap to fall apart, and the submarine slowly emerged to freedom. Nick immediately rose to the surface and climbed to the shore of the island. The crew commander had probably already given the radio operator the order to go on the air and report to the center about what had happened. Nick still had to deal with Judas, this time for good. He crawled to the palm tree and pulled out his transmitter from its hiding place.
  
  
  “Destroy the island,” he broadcast. — Longitude 65.5, latitude 12.4. Deliver a massive blow. Wipe it off the face of the earth."
  
  
  Throwing aside the now useless disposable transmitter, Nick stood up and headed towards the house. He had no more than an hour at his disposal, after which the planes sent by Hawk would drop powerful bombs on the island. It was necessary to manage in the remaining time not only to finish off Judas, but also to save himself.
  
  
  A graveyard silence hung over the island.
  
  
  - I see you, Carter! — the loudspeaker suddenly croaked. “Don’t worry, I can’t kill you from my room, but I’m monitoring your actions on the monitor,” Judas laughed as Nick fell to the ground, waiting for the shots. “And you can’t kill me.” No one can get into my bunker. By the way, only you and I were left alive, everyone else died.
  
  
  Looking around, Nick noticed a television camera on a palm tree branch and, throwing a stone at it, broke it.
  
  
  “This is stupid of you, Carter,” Judas’ voice came again. “Because I don’t see you, nothing changes.”
  
  
  Nick moved forward carefully, avoiding piles of corpses of women and guards. Entering the house, he stepped over the lifeless naked bodies of the women shot by the sentry and thought that he had done the right thing by calling the bombers. This lair of the devil in the flesh should have been destroyed in any case.
  
  
  -Can you hear me, Carter? — a familiar voice came from the speaker. “You entered the house, but you cannot enter my room.” So don't even try, the door is made of thick armor and the windows have bulletproof glass.
  
  
  The armored room, as Nick remembered, was located next to the hall with the cages. Walking quickly through it, he pulled the handle of the thick door. Judas did not lie; it could only be opened with a powerful explosion. He pushed the next door and found himself in the security room. There were several chairs, three tables and two sofas.
  
  
  “That’s better, Carter,” the loudspeaker came to life. - Now I see you again. I suggest you stop fussing and think carefully about my proposal. You can talk to me right from this room, the intercom system is on.
  
  
  Nick winced and sat down on the sofa, thinking only about how he could get to this disgusting freak. Or maybe it would be better to try to lure him out of there?
  
  
  “Listen to me carefully, Carter,” said Judas. “There are only two of us left here, you and me.” And we will have to come to an agreement. In exchange for my freedom, I will give you the opportunity to leave the island.
  
  
  “I’m not authorized to make a deal with you,” Nick barked. - You're finished. And if you want to stop me from swimming away from this damn hole, you will have to come out of your den.
  
  
  “You won’t be able to leave the island alive,” Judas threatened. - I will take care of it.
  
  
  “Then come out and try to stop me,” Nick grinned, squinting.
  
  
  Judas said nothing in response, and an alarming silence hung in the room.
  
  
  Suddenly Nick felt a chill run down his spine and fell face down on the floor. Something whizzed past his head, and a large hunting knife stuck into the wall. He jumped to his feet and saw a Mongol rapidly approaching him. Nick decided to accept the challenge and punched him in the chin. Tartarus's head jerked, but the carcass continued to move forward like a locomotive, forcing Nick to back away into the corner. Tartarus leaned on him with all his weight, but Nick managed to dodge and elbow him in the throat. The Mongol wheezed, and Nick broke free from his steel embrace. With amazing speed, the giant also jumped to his feet and unleashed a series of crushing blows on Nick. Deftly dodging the huge fists, Nick himself dealt him a couple of terrible blows. The Mongol froze in place, shook his head and went on the attack again. Nick stepped aside and made two more successful strikes. Tartarus roared furiously and responded directly to the head. Nick deftly dodged and tried to use judo, but suddenly he found himself on the floor, flying over the back of the sofa: Tartarus threw him there like a toy. Without waiting for the Mongol to finish him off, Nick rolled on the floor onto his back and kicked the giant in the chest with all his might.
  
  
  The chest cracked, unable to withstand the collision of the accelerating carcass with an unexpected obstacle, and the Mongol fell heavily on his side, letting out a cry of pain. Bloody foam appeared on his lips. Without giving Tartarus a chance to catch his breath, Nick jumped up and kicked him in the chin. The Mongol wheezed, got on all fours and suddenly jumped on Nick, stretching his hands to his throat. This time the steel fingers reached Nick's neck and grabbed it with a death grip. Nick's eyes bulged out of his sockets, he was gasping for breath, but with the last of his strength he still managed to poke his fists at the giant's cracked chest. Roaring in pain, he fell to his knees, loosening his grip. Nick immediately freed himself from the grip and with the edge of his palm slashed the Mongol at the base of the back of the head. Tartarus hit his forehead on the floor with his arms outstretched, but immediately began to rise, shaking his head like an enraged elephant. Blood poured down his chin in a stream, he was breathing hoarsely and heavily, like a driven horse, but again raised his fist to strike. Nick ducked under the outstretched arm, grabbed the hand clenched into a fist and, twisting it, threw the Mongol over his shoulder like a heavy sack. Tartarus fell heavily onto the floor, passing out for a moment, but immediately opened his eyes and tried to jump to his feet. A piercing pain in his chest pinned him to the spot, he grabbed the sore spot with his hands and roared like a dying animal. His body convulsed and Tartarus gave up the ghost. Nick kicked him, made sure that the Mongol was dead, and, stepping over him, headed towards the exit.
  
  
  - Stop, Carter! - the loudspeaker barked.
  
  
  Judas, of course, watched their entire fight on the monitor. Nick continued to walk towards the door, not paying the slightest attention to his shout.
  
  
  “I still won’t let you leave the island alive!” - Judas threatened,
  
  
  - Then try to stop me! - Nick exclaimed as he left the room.
  
  
  The planes were already very close to the target. It was necessary to have time to sail further away from the island in the remaining minutes. Jumping out of the house, he ran down the slope to the shore, but Judas’ cry was heard again from the loudspeaker.
  
  
  -You're trapped, Carter! - he croaked. “You still have to make a deal with me!” Look at the water, Carter!
  
  
  Nick looked out to sea and saw a blood stain spreading across the surface of the water. Nearby another red spot began to spread, and then another and another. The spots connected, forming a continuous bloody film.
  
  
  “I threw about a ton of chopped meat into the bay!” - He heard the little freak’s voice behind him and turned around: Judas was standing near the house and waving his hand.
  
  
  “You understand perfectly well what kind of fish will swim to the smell of blood,” he laughed.
  
  
  As if spellbound, Nick silently stared at the red spot.
  
  
  Now it became clear to him what the drainage pipes were intended for. Yes, he knew what kind of fish would gather in the bay in a few minutes, but still he did not lose hope of being saved.
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  Throwing a contemptuous glance at the freak standing on the hill, Nick resolutely jumped into the water, as if cutting the bloody film with his outstretched hands with a knife. Disgustingly scraping off pieces of meat and entrails, he swam at a shallow depth, mentally cursing the treacherous Judas and his cunning assistant Harold. Sea predators were about to gather for their bait, and then he would not be able to break through the ring of thousands of toothy creatures, ready to tear apart everything that caught their eye. When the shark smells blood, it goes berserk and nothing can stop it. Nick had a chance to survive only if he swam out of the bloody spot in time.
  
  
  He almost believed in the successful outcome of his desperate breakthrough when he saw the dark outlines of sharks approaching him ahead. They surrounded him on all sides, anticipating easy prey. Nick emerged from the water to take a fresh breath of air into his lungs, and was horrified: shark dorsal fins were sticking out all around him. He dove again and swam back to the island. Very close to him, a huge shark grabbed a large piece of meat with its teeth. Other sharks also began to grab bloody items and guts, rushing a few feet away from him. Nick recognized among the predators a tiger shark, a white shark, a hammerhead fish and a sea fox. The swordfish and barracudas didn't waste any time either.
  
  
  Finally, he felt the coastal sand under his feet and, getting out of the water, fell onto the shore. The water in the bay foamed and seethed, purple with blood, the sharks were already eating each other. Several hundred huge fish took part in this crazy feast, and the bay was teeming with fins and tails. Judas' voice, heard again from the loudspeaker, distracted Nick from this rare sight.
  
  
  - Glad to welcome you back to my island, Carter! - he gloated. “Now we can talk calmly.”
  
  
  The next moment the air was shaken by the roar of aircraft engines. Nick looked up at the sky and saw that the first flight of bombers was already landing. The first bomb hit the far end of the island, the second - nearby. Thank God, Nick thought, that they were not atomic: Hawk had shown prudence.
  
  
  “There won’t even be a wet spot left of both of us!” - Judas screamed. - Don't be an idiot, Carter! Stop the bombing!
  
  
  Nick laughed loudly in response. Ironically, their protracted confrontation was supposed to end in a draw: inevitable death awaited them both. Nothing could stop the bombardment of the island. All that remained was to choose how best to die - from a bomb or from the teeth of sharks. Having preferred the first option, Nick leaned his back against a palm tree and waited until he was blown to pieces by the explosion.
  
  
  Suddenly, a naked woman with a shock of brown hair flying in the wind jumped out of the thick bushes and ran towards him, stumbling and falling. Her face was disfigured beyond recognition, only her brown eyes glittered from a terrible mask with insane despair in her gaze fixed on him. The woman fell to her knees in front of Nick, wrapping her arms around his legs, and tried to tell him something, but all that came out of her mouth was an inarticulate grunt. Nick realized that her tongue had been torn out. His gaze slid over her disfigured face and body covered with scars and ulcers and lingered on her slender, strong legs. Nick suddenly felt a lump in his throat: he finally recognized Betty-Lou in the woman sobbing at his knees!
  
  
  - It's you? - he asked in a choked voice. - Betty-Lou?
  
  
  The girl nodded, jumped to her feet and, giving him a sad farewell look, rushed to the water. Nick ran after her, but Betty-Lou took a running dive into the sea and swam into the midst of bloodthirsty predators. Her hand waved at him one last time, and Betty-Lou's head disappeared into the seething mess. Nick leaned against the trunk of a palm tree, unable to cope with the cramps in his stomach, and at that moment a disgusting voice came from the loudspeaker. Nick even grew cold with hatred for Judas.
  
  
  - You win, Carter! - he heard. - Recall the planes! You can use my transmitter! They will listen to you! Hurry up, run here, I'll unlock the door for you!
  
  
  Nick ran to the house, burning with the desire to destroy this devil with his own hands. This time he must not leave him. It's time to end it once and for all. Running into the room, Nick saw that Judas was hiding from him behind a long table, huddled in a corner. The house was shaken by bomb explosions, more and more deep cracks appeared on the walls, and plaster fell from the ceiling.
  
  
  - The transmitter is over there! - the villain shouted in a high, shrill voice, pointing his artificial hand to the center of the dashboard. After hesitating for a second or two, Nick decided to use the transmitter, but he was alerted by the crazy gleam of the dwarf’s eyes and the barely noticeable movement to the left of the black leather-covered prosthesis. Nick crouched down and the bullet struck the panel an inch from the top of his head. Nick leaned his shoulder on the table and pressed Judas against the wall with it. At that moment, a powerful blow shook the room, and one of the walls collapsed. Nick fell on his back from the blast wave, losing consciousness for a moment, and when he woke up, he saw that Judas was crawling towards him on the table, aiming a miniature pistol at his forehead. Nick managed to kick the steel arm, and the bullet went into the ceiling. A dagger blade flashed in the villain’s other hand, Judas jumped on Nick, and only an exceptional reaction saved Nick’s life. The blade lightly grazed the skin on his throat, leaving a cut from which blood flowed in a thin stream.
  
  
  Waving a knife, Judas advanced on Nick, twisting his mouth and baring his teeth. Dodging the blow, Nick caught his foot in a crack in the floor, tripped and sat down on one knee. The blade of the knife whizzed past his head. Nick deftly twisted Judas' hand, and he dropped the knife, screaming in sharp pain. Nick sat astride him and punched him in the face, flattening his nose. The tenacious bastard grabbed his palm with his teeth like a rat, but Nick threw him into the far corner. The dwarf hit his head on the corner of the dashboard, it cracked, unlike his surprisingly strong head, Nick ran up to him and began slamming his forehead on the table - for Betty-Lou, for Joyce, for all the tortured women.
  
  
  Another direct bomb hit on the bunker, shaking him to his core, brought Nick back to reality, extinguishing his furious anger. Throwing aside Judas, who showed no signs of life, he managed to dive under the dashboard before the steel support beam, breaking through the ceiling like a giant mythical hammer, slammed the crouched freak and fell with him into a crack in the floor, like into hell.
  
  
  Having got out from under the ruins, Nick found the transmitter and tried to revive it. Alas, he was dead, like his owner. Then Nick looked around and began to slowly make his way to the exit. Broken glass tinkled pitifully in time with the echoing hooting of explosions, there were holes in the walls, and something threateningly crackled and creaked overhead. Suddenly the house burst into flames. Nick walked out the doorway and began to calmly walk down the hillside towards the shore.
  
  
  The island was finished, he knew it. The planes roared in to bomb from all sides, link by link, methodically destroying it, as they were ordered. Stepping onto the sandy beach, Nick raised his head and, covering his eyes with his palm, began to watch their destructive work with admiration. Soon all that will remain of this island will be underwater rocks and reefs, he thought. His gaze slid over the water - it was still seething and foaming with blood, the feast of sea predators continued. Any accidentally wounded shark immediately turned into a victim for all the other participants in the bloody feast, and so on until one of two things happened: either the meat ran out, and with it the smell of blood disappeared, or all the underwater killers were completely exhausted. But while their dorsal fins were still briskly furrowing the bay, and more and more crimson spots appeared on its surface.
  
  
  Bombs rained down on the remaining half of the island, gnawing out huge chunks of earth. Nick thought that he had no more than five minutes to live, ten at most.
  
  
  He looked at the sea for the last time, saying goodbye to it, and suddenly saw a bright yellow ball rocking on the waves thirty yards from the shore. He rubbed his eyes, thinking that he was imagining things out of fear, but the hatch cover of the submersible opened, and the beautiful blonde waved her hand to him. Nick jumped on the spot in despair: only about thirty steps separated him from salvation. What to do? After all, sharks will tear it apart in the blink of an eye, eat it and not choke! But the roar of the planes left him no time for doubt: he had to go for broke! Daniella did not have time to swim closer to the shore; at any moment a bomb could destroy both of them.
  
  
  Nick entered the water, dived and immediately went sharply into the depths, away from the crazy orgy of predators frolicking on the surface. If they don't pay attention to him, he will be able to swim to the submersible in a few seconds. Otherwise - a painful death. Nick swam with powerful, even strokes, turning over onto his back so as not to miss the moment when some dark shadow rushed in pursuit of him. Finally he saw the bottom of the submersible at the top left and began to ascend. A huge tiger shark rushed across him, apparently catching an unfamiliar smell. It was impossible to resist her; at best, he would have managed to dodge her first throw. Nick continued to swim quickly on the same course until he saw the shark's mouth right in front of him. He abruptly moved to the side and grabbed the shark's tail with both hands. The fish twitched, trying to get rid of the impudent creature hanging from its tail fin, like the feathers of a kite. Having first dived into the depths, the shark sharply went up, hoping to throw off unnecessary cargo. Nick let go of the fin and surfaced next to the submersible. Daniella noticed him and threw him a rope. Grabbing onto it, Nick climbed onto the yellow steel ball, miraculously dodging the terrible teeth of a sea predator that jumped out of the water, and slipped into the open hatch. Danielle immediately slammed the lid shut and Nick fell into his seat exhausted, catching his breath and listening to the explosions on the island. Daniella immediately worked the levers, and the bathyscaphe began to plunge into the water, shaking from the blows of the sharks attacking it. Only when the Octopus reached the bottom, leaving far behind both the bloody carnage started by people and the fury of wild nature, there was complete silence. Daniella turned off the engine, and the Octopus froze, swaying slightly on its spider legs.
  
  
  Closing his eyes, Nick tried to summarize the events of the past twelve hours. He had had the opportunity to look death in the eye more than once, but he had never encountered anything similar to what he had experienced during these half a day. Everything that happened in this short period of time was like a cruel joke by the insidious Parka, who held the strings of his fate in her hands. Never before had Nick felt as helpless and alone as he did now, after plunging into the stinking atmosphere of perversity and inhuman cruelty that reigned on the island of Judas. And therefore, the bombers, erasing this hotbed of evil and vice from the face of the earth, carried out a truly godly mission of the punishing heavenly sword.
  
  
  Nick opened his eyes and looked at Daniella, dressed in a cherry bikini. She smiled softly at him and he closed his eyes again, enjoying the peace and quiet and gaining strength.
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  He opened his eyes, feeling the touch of something cold on his skin. Bending over him, Daniella wiped him with a damp cloth.
  
  
  “I simply don’t have words to express my gratitude to you,” Nick said with a smile. “You can’t even imagine how surprised and delighted I was at your appearance.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t do otherwise,” Daniella smiled wryly. “When you flew away, telling me in general terms about your mission, I realized that something needed to be done to help you. We approached the island at night on the Triton, and at dawn I decided to enter the bay on the Octopus, not even imagining how I could be useful to you. It was a crazy move, as I now understand.
  
  
  “But it was he who saved my life,” Nick burst into a smile. “I didn’t know that this was an autonomous underwater vessel; it seemed to me that it was an ordinary bathysphere.
  
  
  “No, we lower the Octopus on a cable only when we explore the bottom next to the ship,” Daniella explained.
  
  
  “And how long can we stay underwater in it?” “Nick already felt that he was full of strength again and ready to act.
  
  
  “A few more hours until evening,” Daniella said.
  
  
  —Have you told your colleagues about my mission? - Nick asked. - Do they know where you went on the Octopus? Do they know what's happening on the island?
  
  
  “I didn’t explain anything to anyone,” she replied. — Everyone thinks that I am studying deep-sea currents near the atoll.
  
  
  Nick grinned, imagining how Hawk was now seething with rage: after all, he did not know whether his best agent managed to escape or not. The crew of the Triton, with whom he probably already contacted by radio, cannot help him either. That's great! Let the boss suffer, Nick decided and turned to Daniella.
  
  
  - What are you thinking about? - she asked, noticing the strange expression on his face.
  
  
  “That now is the time to end our argument,” he reached out to her. - Admit it, I was right!
  
  
  - No! - She pulled away from him. “That’s not why I rushed to your aid!” I acted intelligently and calmly.
  
  
  - Really? We can easily check this,” he hugged her shoulders.
  
  
  - Just try! - Daniella hissed, trying to push him away.
  
  
  Nick deftly unfastened the bra clasp and began to finger the elastic nipples, swollen from the man’s first touch to them. Daniella's heart began to beat faster, she breathed impulsively, losing control of herself under the pressure of his flesh, and, clenching her teeth, arched, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, scattering her golden hair over her shoulders.
  
  
  “Relax,” Nick whispered in her ear. - And don't be afraid of anything. He kissed her lips and felt the gentle touch of her tongue. Daniella went limp, completely capitulating, and also hugged him, obeying a rush of passion.
  
  
  - Oh Nick! Nick! - She exclaimed in a low, chesty voice, pressing his head to her heaving chest. - Love me! I beg you, do it now!
  
  
  He slowly ran his hand down her back and pulled off her panties. Arching her back, Daniella hurried him, but he deliberately slowly kissed her breasts, enjoying her divine beauty, like aged cognac, which is savored drop by drop, paying tribute to the unique taste and aroma. At last he did what she had begged him to do, and she screamed, becoming frantically excited and squeezing him in her arms. Gradually speeding up his body movements, Nick lifted her to the peak of bliss and soared with her, feeling for a moment like God. Daniella dropped her hands, shaking in sobs from ecstatic happiness.
  
  
  “You lost the argument,” Nick said, catching his breath, stretching out in exhaustion next to her on a special chair. - I won.
  
  
  Daniella smiled back at him and laid her head on his chest. He squeezed her pink buttock, reigniting the fire of desire in her, and said:
  
  
  - Well, do you admit defeat?
  
  
  “I am entirely in your power, my conqueror,” she purred and knelt down, beautiful as a nymph.
  
  
  Nick held his breath, afraid to frighten off this divine creature, who had once again given free rein to the natural feelings that she had so long and stubbornly hidden. She smoothly sat down between his loins, overflowing with male power, and began to perform a belly dance, gradually increasing the pace and accompanying her movements with light moans. Nick just breathed loudly, captured by the magic of the enchanting action, which was watched with curiosity by colorful fish through the porthole. Then they lay next to each other for a long time, without saying a word, until Daniella finally came to her senses and said with sadness in her voice:
  
  
  - It's time to rise to the surface. Our time is up. Triton will find us easily.
  
  
  She turned on the engine, the submersible shuddered and began to float up.
  
  
  And Nick thought with regret that Daniella looked much better naked than in a swimsuit.
  
  
  “I will have the opportunity to take a few days off,” he said, hugging her shoulders from behind. — I invite you to New York. Come up with some excuse.
  
  
  “I’ll think about your proposal,” she answered in a stern tone, blue eyes flashing.
  
  
  Finally they floated to the surface of the sea, opened the hatch and looked out.
  
  
  “So be it,” Daniella breathed, clinging to Nick. - I'll fly with you.
  
  
  Smiling contentedly, Nick looked around.
  
  
  The quiet sea again acquired an emerald hue.
  
  
  The island and atoll disappeared under water.
  
  
  Half a mile from the submersible, Nick spotted the Triton.
  
  
  The bright yellow Octopus has also probably already attracted the attention of the crew of the scientific vessel.
  
  
  They smiled - first at the sun, then at each other - and kissed.
  
  
  Nick thought that at that moment hundreds of loving couples were doing approximately the same thing, and his soul felt light and pleasant.
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  Nick and Daniella entered Hawke's office together.
  
  
  Her dark tan perfectly complemented her elegant white open dress with an immodest neckline.
  
  
  Nick mentally grinned, noticing how the boss’s steely eyes flashed: he clearly approved of his choice.
  
  
  “Let me introduce you to Dr. Fraser,” Nick said in a pointedly official tone, secretly glancing at the dumbfounded boss.
  
  
  “I already guessed it myself,” he quickly pulled himself together. “I must admit, doubts arose in me after I read your telegram. It's unlikely that you would book a ticket for a bearded professor.
  
  
  “Nice to meet you,” Daniella said with a smile. “That’s exactly how I imagined Nick’s boss.”
  
  
  Hawk's eyes began to dance with funny little devils.
  
  
  “I ordered dinner for two at a restaurant for you,” he said. — I left the choice of wines to Nick, he understands them better than me. I wish you a pleasant holiday, you did a great job, I must tell you both. The US government expresses its gratitude to you. — In parting, the boss gave Nick a charming smile.
  
  
  However, doubts and suspicions did not leave Nick even when they sat down at a table in the restaurant.
  
  
  “You’re too suspicious,” Daniella remarked. “I think your boss is a very nice gentleman.” It was so kind of him to book a table for us.
  
  
  “It’s his kindness that worries me,” Nick chuckled. “It doesn’t look like him at all.” He cannot forgive me for not making myself known for so long, and he will certainly take revenge on me. You will soon see this for yourself. Should I not know my boss!
  
  
  - Nonsense! — Daniella waved it off. - Better order some wine!
  
  
  Nick buried his nose in the wine list and did not look up, even when the waiter placed a large dish on the table. Daniella giggled quietly at first, then burst out laughing. Nick looked at the dish and opened his mouth: a mountain of steaming shellfish appeared to his amazed gaze.
  
  
  Nick took a deep breath, smiled broadly and exclaimed:
  
  
  - Well, what did I tell you? You see, I always end up being right. Is not it? Yes, you know that yourself.
  
  
  - How did you guess that I know this? — Daniella narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that I deliberately played along with you then, in the submersible, portraying an unapproachable learned lady?”
  
  
  - This number will not work for you, my dear! - Nick jokingly shook his finger at her. “I see right through you, you just can’t come to terms with your defeat.” And this is what I also want to tell you, Daniella: you may be an expert in marine biology, but you are a useless artist, put it on your nose.
  
  
  He patted her cheek and they both laughed.
  
  
  And at night, lying in the arms of this strong and amazing man in every way, Daniella suddenly burst into happy laughter again and whispered in Nick’s ear:
  
  
  “You know, my love, then, in my cabin on the Triton, you were absolutely right!” I really didn’t want to defeat you in our argument...
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Berlin
  
  
  <
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  Berlin;
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I could never wait that long. They say this is characteristic of action-oriented people. I waited for hours for an agent of Communist China to appear or for me to lay my hands on a particular sadist. But this is a different kind of waiting. I don't even know if this is waiting or a quiet form of action. But the wait I was doing now was definitely not for me.
  
  
  The central part of the Rhineland is undoubtedly a beautiful, lush area. The hills are green. Purple, pink and gold flowers decorate the mountain slopes to the riverbank. The roads are winding and exciting at every turn. Little fairytale farms and half-timbered houses suddenly appear. The large castles on both banks, fortresses of medieval robber knights, are indeed very romantic and amazing. The girls are powerfully built and intimidatingly friendly, almost impatient. Most of them have the downside of too much sausage to be my ideal, but I still wish I had the time to get to know the people and landscape properly. Perhaps because everything is so great and exciting, it challenges you even more when you're in a hurry to catch a boat and your Opel rental lets you down. You want to see it all, you want to enjoy it, you want to be absorbed in it, but you cannot. All you can do is wait, get impatient, get frustrated, and wonder how much more miserable you'll feel when your boss finds out you didn't show up.
  
  
  My German is more than passable, so I stopped a passing motorist and asked him to help. From where my rental car broke down I could see the Rhine below and the rooftops and church tower of Braubach to the north. Ahead, out of sight, was Koblenz, where I was to catch a Rhine boat. I had no choice but to wait, I opened the car door, let in some fresh air and remembered the fun I had this morning in Lucerne.
  
  
  After my relatively small part in the Martinique-Montreal affair, I went to Switzerland to visit Charlie Treadwell at his ski and sun chalet near Lucerne. It was a grand reunion of old friends, filled with drinks and memories. Charlie introduced me to Anne-Marie. Swiss French with a bit of German, open and pleasant.
  
  
  Average height, short hair and dancing brown eyes, a terror on the ski slopes and a dream in bed.
  
  
  Of course, like any AX agent, I had to regularly call headquarters and tell Hawk where I could be reached. It was part of the AX Instant Action Network, and Hawk could point his finger at his people anytime, anywhere. As I discovered long ago, this was a sure-fire way to ruin an enjoyable vacation. I realized this again in Lucerne with Anne-Marie. It was six in the morning when the phone rang in my room and I heard Hawk's flat, dry voice. Anne-Marie's charming hand rested casually on my chest, her breasts forming a soft blanket that pressed against me.
  
  
  “With the United News Agency,” Hawk's voice actually sounded. Of course, it was an open line and he used regular camouflage. "Is that you, Nick?"
  
  
  "I'm listening," I said. "Nice to hear from you."
  
  
  “You are not alone,” he said immediately. The old fox knew me like an open book of proverbs. Too good, I often thought. He asked. - "Is she very close?" "Enough".
  
  
  I saw his steely gray eyes behind his rimless glasses as he tried to figure out how close it was.
  
  
  "Close enough to hear us?" the next question came.
  
  
  "Yes, but she's sleeping."
  
  
  "We can't let competitors take over this story," Hawk continued under his disguise. One of our photographers, Ted Dennison, is doing big things. I think you've already worked on a story with Ted?
  
  
  “Yes, I know him,” I replied. Ted Dennison was one of the top AX agents in Europe and we did a mission together many years ago. I remembered that he was very knowledgeable about information.
  
  
  “You will see Ted on the Rhine boat in Koblenz at 3:30,” Hawk’s voice said. “He has something very important, so if you miss the boat in Koblenz, continue to the next pier and get on there. It's in Mainz at five o'clock.
  
  
  The phone clicked, I sighed and looked away from Anne-Marie. She didn't even move. It was one of the first things I noticed about her during our four glorious days. When she skied, she skied. When she drank, she drank. When she made love, she made love, and when she slept, she slept. The girl did not know moderation. She did everything at the highest level. I got dressed, left her a note saying my boss had called me, and slipped into the early morning Lucerne, which was still cold and quiet. I knew that if she had broken heart syndrome, which I doubted, Charlie Treadwell would have patted her on the head and held her hand. I took a plane to Frankfort and the famous Rhine.
  
  
  And here I was in the same area where Caesar, Attila, Charlemagne, Napoleon and many modern conquerors marched with their legions, and I was in a broken down rented Opel. I tried not to let it get to my head too much. I was about to get out and apprehend the other driver when I saw Strassen's security guard with a small box on his back. The young mechanic had a round face, dark hair and was very polite. He dove into the car with Teutonic thoroughness, for which I was grateful, but also with Teutonic slowness, for which I was less grateful. He quickly realized from the cut of my clothes that I was not German, and “when I said I was American, he insisted on explaining every procedure he did.
  
  
  Finally, I managed to convince him that my German was good and that he did not need to explain all the terms related to the car. He discovered that the problem was the Vergaser carburetor, and while he was putting in a new one, I saw the Rhine boat pass underneath us, gritting its teeth.
  
  
  When he finished, the boat was out of sight. I paid him in dollars, which made him smile happily, jumped into the small car and again tried to pretend it was a Ferrari. To its credit, I have to admit that the car tried. We raced down the winding road, past picturesque houses and eerie ruins, and came dangerously close to the border, where weight and speed diverged.
  
  
  The road descended through several twists and turns as it approached the Rhine, and in front of me from time to time I glimpsed a pleasure boat, gliding serenely. Finally I caught up with him where the road leveled out and continued along the river. I found myself level with the boat and slowed down. I'll get to Koblenz on time. I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought about Dennison on the boat. At least he could relax and enjoy the sun when I spent the day trying to catch up with him. I looked at the long, low pleasure boat with a small cabin in the middle and open decks for tourists to hang over the railing when it happened, right before my eyes. It was surreal, the craziest thing I've ever seen, almost like watching a slow motion movie. First there were explosions, two of them, a small explosion, and then a huge roar as the boilers flew into the air. But it wasn't the explosions that shocked me. It was the sight of the cabin heaving and falling apart. Along with the cabin, I saw other parts of the boat flying in different directions. Bodies flew into the sky like rockets during the fireworks display.
  
  
  I braked sharply and the Opel came to a sudden stop. When I got out of the car, debris was still falling into the river, and the pleasure boat "Rhine Boat" had almost completely disappeared. Only the bow and stern were still above the water and sliding towards each other.
  
  
  I was struck by the curious silence after the explosions. Except for a few shouts and the soft hiss of steam on the water, there was silence everywhere. I undressed except for my underpants, put Wilhelmina, my Luger and Hugo, a pencil-thin stiletto tied to my forearm, under my clothes, dived into the Rhine and swam to the scene of disaster. I understood that very few people would survive the disaster, but there was still a chance that someone else could be saved. I also realized that the police and nearby hospitals had already been called from houses along the river, and ahead I saw a small tugboat turning to return.
  
  
  Pieces of wood, sharp, splintered pieces of hull, railings and flooring floated past. As well as bodies, some of which were completely dismembered. A little further on, I saw a hand slowly rising out of the water, trying to make a swimming stroke. I swam to the blond head that belonged to the hand. Approaching the girl, I saw a round, beautiful face with beautiful regular features and eyes like blue glass, confused and frozen. I swam after her, hugged her neck and swam to the shore. Her body immediately relaxed and she let me take charge, resting her head on the water. I looked into her eyes again. She almost lost consciousness.
  
  
  At this point on the Rhine there were still powerful rapids, not far from the fast and dangerous Gebirgsstrecke. We were already several hundred yards downstream from where I had left the car when I finally pulled the girl ashore. The pink cotton dress clung tightly to her wet skin, revealing a particularly beautiful full figure with large breasts that had something majestic about it. Her long, round torso had enough waist to be plump and enough belly to be voluptuous. The typical German had wide cheekbones, fair skin and a small, pointed nose. Blue eyes looked into another world, although I thought I felt she was starting to get better. I heard the screams of sirens and the voices of people crowding on the shore. The girl's full breasts rose and fell in a delicious rhythm as she took a deep breath. Small boats searched for survivors. It seemed to me that this would be a fruitless search. It was a huge explosion. I could still see that cabin flying into the sky like a rocket launched from Cape Kennedy.
  
  
  The girl moved and I sat her down, the wet dress stuck to her skin, revealing all the curves of her still young body. The glassy look disappeared and was replaced by an expression of memory, a sudden return of the horror that had taken possession of her consciousness. I saw the fear and panic in her eyes and held out my hands. She fell into my arms, and her body twitched with heartbreaking sobs.
  
  
  “No, Fräulein,” I muttered. “Bitte, don’t cry. Everything is fine ".
  
  
  I let her cling to me until her sobs stopped and she calmed down until her blue eyes searched my face.
  
  
  'You saved my life. Thank you,” she said.
  
  
  “You probably would have reached the shore yourself,” I said. I meant it. It could be.
  
  
  "Were you on the boat?" she asked.
  
  
  “No, honey,” I replied. “I was driving along the river when the explosion occurred. I was traveling to Koblenz to board to meet a friend. I dived into the water, found you and brought you to shore."
  
  
  She looked around, fear still evident on her face as she looked at the river and shore. She shivered in the wet dress as the wind blew and the sticky dress exposed the tiny buttons on her nipples. She turned her head and found herself looking at her, and I saw her blue pupils light up for a moment.
  
  
  “My name is Helga,” she said. "Helga Rutten."
  
  
  “And my name is Nick Carter,” I said.
  
  
  "Aren't you German?" - she asked in surprise. “Your German is excellent.”
  
  
  “American,” I said. "Did you have company on board, Helga?"
  
  
  “No, I was alone,” she said. “It was a beautiful day and I wanted to go on a trip.”
  
  
  Now her eyes were looking at me, sliding over my chest and shoulders. She had almost six feet of flesh to explore and she took her time. Now it was my turn to see the gratitude in her eyes. She did not pay attention to the place of death on the river and recovered very quickly. The eyes sparkled, the voice was collected. She shivered, but it was because of the cold, wet clothes.
  
  
  "You said you have a car here?" - she asked, I nodded and pointed to the car further.
  
  
  “My uncle lives here,” she said. “I was just looking at it when it happened. I know where the key is. We can go there to dry off."
  
  
  “Excellent,” I said, helping her up. She staggered and fell on top of me, her breasts pressing softly and hotly against my skin. “A standing woman,” I decided. I walked her to the car, threw my things in the back seat and took one last look at the rescuers who were now rushing across the river. However, their main activities will relate to identification and recovery. I thought about Ted Dennison. He could survive, but it was unlikely. It seemed to me that Helga should almost be the only survivor. I would call the police and hospitals if I could find a phone number and contact Hawk later. Poor Ted, he had lived in danger and death all his life, and now he died because the boiler of the pleasure boat exploded.
  
  
  Now Helga was shaking from the damp and cold. She pointed to the old fortress that stood majestically not far from us.
  
  
  “At the first intersection, turn right and take the narrow road at the end of... Zaubergasschen,” she said.
  
  
  “Little magical street,” I repeated. 'Beautiful name.'
  
  
  “This is a separate road,” she continued, “that leads to the gates of my uncle’s castle. The castle grounds slope down to the river. My uncle has a doc there, but he is there only on weekends. He is not one of the poor nobles who have to turn their houses into tourist resorts or museums. He is an industrialist.
  
  
  I found a narrow road called Magic Lane and walked along it through a dense forest. Along the steeply rising road I caught a glimpse of wide open lawns surrounded by bushes. Helga shivered almost continuously, and as we rose higher, I noticed that the air had changed and I felt cold. I was glad to see the drawbridge of the great castle, surrounded by a deep moat, however gloomy and forbidding it seemed. Helga said I could cross the bridge and I stopped in front of a huge wooden gate. She jumped out of the car and felt for several large stone blocks in the corner of the high wall that surrounded the castle. She came out with a bunch of large heavy iron keys, inserted one of them into the lock, and the large gate slowly swung open before I could get out and help her. She jumped back into the car and said, “Pull into the yard and we'll stop this wet mess.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I replied as the little Opel drove into the huge empty courtyard where knights and pages once moved.
  
  
  "Does your uncle have a telephone?" - I asked Helga.
  
  
  “Yes, of course,” she said, running both hands through her blonde hair and shaking her head to remove the moisture. “Phones are everywhere.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “I already told you that I was on my way to your boat to meet an old business friend. I want to find out what happened to him."
  
  
  There was an eerie silence in the large castle as I stood in the courtyard and looked at the walls and loopholes.
  
  
  "Are there any servants here?" - I asked Helga.
  
  
  “Uncle only allows them to come over on weekends when he is there,” she said. “There’s a gardener and an old cellar there, but that’s all. Come on, I'll take you to a room where you'll feel better."
  
  
  She led me through the large hall, where I saw two long oak tables, medieval banners hanging from the ceiling, and a huge fireplace. Eventually I found myself in a spacious room with a truly royal four-poster bed, luxurious curtains and tapestries, as well as sturdy, high-backed wooden chairs and thick brocade cushions. There was a tall Renaissance cabinet against the wall, from which Helga took a towel and threw it at me.
  
  
  “It’s like a guest room,” she said. “I slept there myself. I walk down the corridor to change clothes. See you in five minutes.
  
  
  I looked at her, her wet dress still tightly fitting to her round, slightly plump ass. I thought Helga was a big woman with a solid build, but she took it all. I dried off and then lay down on the bed. I had just come to the conclusion that I was living in the wrong century when Helga returned wearing tight brown jeans and a dark brown blouse that she tied in the front so that her midriff was exposed. I was confused by her appearance. I
  
  
  knew women who would lie in bed with a fever for a week after what she had just experienced. Helga, who wore her blonde hair in shiny waves and looked at me with tingling eyes, saw no sign of the ordeal.
  
  
  “Oh, I completely forgot that you wanted to use the phone,” she said, smiling warmly. Phone under the bed. I'll be waiting for you in the corridor. Come back when you're done. I watched her walk out of the room, her pants hugging her bottom. She walked with slow, smooth movements. I quickly came to the conclusion that this century had been quite successful for me, and I reached under the bed for my phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gloomily and painfully slowly I searched. I called every hospital and every Red Cross station in the area. I was almost at the bottom of the list when I heard news I didn't want to hear. Ted Dennison's body was found and identified. Besides Helga, there were only four survivors: two men, a woman and a child. Reluctantly, I asked Hawk to call overseas and got through to him unusually quickly. After I told him about the tragic incident, there was a long pause, then his voice was flat and icy.
  
  
  This was not an accident,” he said. This is all. He just threw it at me and left it at that, knowing that now I would understand the brutal real deal.
  
  
  'You are sure?' - I asked a little rudely.
  
  
  “If you cite the evidence, you know better,” Hawk responded. - If you mean, if I'm sure. yeah, I'm damn sure.
  
  
  While he was talking, I again saw the boat next to me and heard explosions again. Apparently there were two of them, right after each other, but two nonetheless, the smallest first, immediately followed by a huge impact as the boilers exploded. Two explosions. I heard them again, but this time in a more correct light.
  
  
  “They killed all these people to get Ted,” I said, impressed by the enormity of the idea.
  
  
  “So that he doesn’t talk to you,” Hawk said. Besides, what does a few hundred innocent lives mean to some people? God, Nick, don't tell me that after all these years of work, something like this still shocks you."
  
  
  The boss was right, of course. I shouldn't have been shocked. I've experienced this before, the shameful denial of life, the murder of innocents, the ends justifying the means. I have long understood that those who considered themselves chosen by lot always seemed to proceed from a terrible indifference to the interests of mankind. No, I was not shocked in the literal sense of the word. Perhaps "anxious and angry" would have been a better word.
  
  
  “Whatever Ted learned,” I told Hawk, “was important. They don't seem to be taking any risks."
  
  
  "Which means it's important to us as well," Hawk said. “I want to see you tomorrow in West Berlin, at our station. You know how things are now. I'm leaving on a plane tonight and arriving tomorrow morning. Then I'll tell you what we know.
  
  
  I hung up and felt a sudden surge of anger within me. While Ted Dennison's fate had a natural impact on me, I was deeply influenced by the other victims. Ted was a professional, just like me. We simply lived by death. We laughed, ate and slept with death. The hunt for us was obvious. However, if they wanted to catch Ted, they had to find a way to hit just him. But they made it easy and tough. And before that, they brought me in, Nick Carter, as an N3 agent, but also as a human. Whoever they were, they would be sorry. I could give them this as a note.
  
  
  I got up from the wide bed, opened the massive door and walked out into a gloomy, damp, rough stone corridor. Suddenly I felt that I was not alone. I felt eyes piercing my back. I quickly turned around, but saw only faint shadows. However, I felt that someone was there. Then I discovered a man at the end of the hall: tall, well-built, with flaxen hair, small blue eyes and a narrow mouth. He didn't look like a gardener there. nothing more than an old sommelier. He looked at me for a moment and disappeared into one of the countless arched corridors leading from the corridor. Me: I turned and walked into the hall, where Helga was sitting on one of the long oak tables with her legs curled shamelessly. “I just saw someone,” I said. "There in the hall."
  
  
  "Oh, it's Kurt." She smiled. 'Security.
  
  
  I forgot about him. At this time, you need someone here to keep an eye on what's going on."
  
  
  She stood up, walked towards me and grabbed my hands. I realized that she had seen my gaze move over those deliciously plump breasts that were pressed against the thin fabric of her blouse. I told her that I heard that my friend died in the explosion and she apologized. When I said that I would be in West Berlin the next morning, Helga smiled at me warmly and meaningfully.
  
  
  “This is great,” she exclaimed, squeezing my hands. “I live in West Berlin. We can stay here at the castle tonight and leave in the morning. It’s almost evening, but why drive in the dark? Besides, I'd like to prepare you a treat. Please, is it possible?
  
  
  “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” I said, not very convincingly, I’m afraid. I really liked the idea of ​​spending the night with this exceptionally smooth girl. I always appreciated such pleasant company more, but I realized that you never know when such an opportunity will arise. And if Helga suggested it now, it would be a shame not to act.
  
  
  “It’s not difficult at all,” she said. “You saved my life, remember? You earned a lot more than food. But let's start with this first."
  
  
  I quickly discovered that Helga was one of those women who says things that can be interpreted six different ways, but then immediately switches to something else, so that you no longer have any clues as to the one correct interpretation.
  
  
  “Come on,” she said, taking my hand. “Go and sit in the kitchen while I prepare dinner. Then we can talk a little."
  
  
  The kitchen was a huge, well-functioning space with large copper and stainless steel cauldrons hanging from the ceiling on long hooks. Racks with pots, pans and shelves along one wall with dishes and cutlery. Uncle apparently loved to throw spectacular parties on the weekends. On one wall was a large stone oven of the old-fashioned type, and the freezer was, in this context, soberingly modern. Helga took out a good steak, took a large knife and began to deftly cut it. In the blink of an eye, several pots and pans appeared: a large stove was on fire and still burning. While she was doing this, and I was sitting in a wide, comfortable chair, she told me that she worked as a secretary in West Berlin, that she was from Hanover and that she liked the good life.
  
  
  When she was able to move away from her pots, she took me to a small bar off the hall and asked if I wanted to pour something. Then, with our drinks in hand, she led me around the castle, walking like this, holding my hand in mine, stroking my thigh with each step, she proved to be an extremely provocative guide. The castle consisted of several small rooms on the first and second floors of the main building. All sorts of medieval objects hung on the walls, and there were only primitive spiral staircases without railings. I saw a large modernized room on the ground floor with rows of bookshelves and a desk. She called it her uncle's office. Helga chatted happily, and I wondered if she was doing this to not let me know that she was staying away from the entire left half of the first floor, where I saw three locked doors. If that was truly her intention, she had failed. These three doors stood in stark contrast to the rest of the castle. Downstairs I said I still wanted to see the wine cellar and thought I noticed she hesitated for a moment. It was barely noticeable and I wasn't sure about it, but I thought about it.
  
  
  “Oh, of course, the wine cellar,” she smiled and walked up the narrow stairs. Large round barrels stood in long rows, each with a wooden tap and a sign indicating the date and type of wine. It was an extensive wine cellar. As we walked back up, something was bothering me, but I had no idea what it was. My brain always functioned in this unusual way, giving off signals that only became clearer later. But they served as a series of leads that usually turned out to be very useful at the right time. This was a great example! The wine cellar looked completely normal, and yet something was bothering me. I pushed the thought away because there was no point in thinking about it right now. Back in the kitchen, I watched Helga finish dinner.
  
  
  “You know, Nick, you're the first American I've ever met,” she said. “Of course, I met a lot of American tourists, but they don’t count.
  
  
  And none of them were like you. I think you are a very handsome man.
  
  
  I had to smile. I didn't like false modesty. Helga stretched.
  
  
  "Do you find me attractive too?" - she asked frankly. I saw her breasts stick out as she put her hands behind her head. “That word is unattractive, honey,” I said. She smiled and took several plates.
  
  
  “Dinner is almost ready,” she said. “Give us one more time while I set the table and change.”
  
  
  After our second drink, we ate at one side of a long table, lit by candles and a fire in the large fireplace. Helga wore a black velvet dress with buttons and loops down the front to her waist. The hinges were wide, and under each hinge there was nothing but Helga. The V-neck dress did its best to keep Helga's breasts under control.
  
  
  Fortunately, it was not a very successful attempt. She brought two bottles of excellent country wine, which, she said, did not come from the castle vineyard, because her uncle bottled very few bottles, but mostly delivered the wine in barrels to the merchants. The food tasted great and the drinks and wine created a nice atmosphere between Helga and I. She poured a nice armagnac as we sat down on a comfortable sofa in front of the fire. The evening was cool and the castle damp, so the fire was a welcome oasis of warmth.
  
  
  “Is it true,” Helga asked, “that America is still very puritanical about sex?”
  
  
  I asked. - “Puritan?” 'What do you mean?'
  
  
  She was playing with her brandy glass, looking over the edge at me. “I've heard that American girls feel like they need to find an excuse to sleep with a man,” she continued. “They think they have to say they love him, or they drank too much, or they felt sorry for him, things like that. And American men apparently still expect excuses like that, lest they believe the girl is a whore."
  
  
  I had to smile. There was a lot of truth in her words.
  
  
  Helga continued. - “Would you have thought that the girl was a whore if she had not shrouded her feelings in such ridiculous pretexts?”
  
  
  “No,” I replied. “But I’m also not the average American.”
  
  
  “No, that’s it,” she muttered, running her eyes over my face. “I don’t believe you are mediocre in any way. There is something about you that I have never seen in any man. It's as if you could be terribly sweet, but at the same time terribly cruel."
  
  
  “You're talking about American girls' pretenses and excuses, Helga. Can I assume that the average German girl doesn't need an apology?
  
  
  “Hardly,” Helga said, turning fully to me, her breasts rising above the velvet like white hills. “We have not given up such excuses. We are faced with the reality of our human needs and desires. Maybe it is the result of all those wars and suffering, but today we no longer deceive ourselves. We recognize power as power, greed as greed, weakness as weakness, strength as strength, sex as sex. Here, the girl does not expect the man to say that he loves you when he means that he wants to sleep with you. And a man does not expect a girl to hide her desires behind stupid pretenses."
  
  
  Very enlightened and praiseworthy,” I said. Helga's eyes were now a dull blue color, and they constantly darted from my face to my body and vice versa. Her lips were wet as her tongue slowly ran over them.
  
  
  Her unvarnished desire acted like an electric current that set my body on fire. I put my hand on the back of her neck, squeezed it and slowly pulled her towards me.
  
  
  “And if you feel the urge, Helga,” I said very softly, “what do you say?” Her lips parted further and she walked towards me. I felt her hands sliding along my neck.
  
  
  “Then I say I want you,” she muttered hoarsely, barely audible. 'I want you.'
  
  
  Her wet lips gently and impatiently pressed against mine. I felt her mouth open and her tongue stick out and flutter back and forth. I lowered my hand, the loops of the dress immediately parted, and Helga’s breasts fell softly into my palm.
  
  
  She threw her head back for a moment, pulled her lips away from mine, and her body suddenly stretched out, her legs moving forward.
  
  
  Her soft breasts were strong and full, white with tiny pink nipples that popped out to the touch. All the loops of her dress were open and Helga slipped completely off. She was wearing only black shorts, and when I pressed my lips to her firm breasts, she involuntarily raised her legs. She pushed forward, pressing her chest against me, her hands shaking and grabbing me. She gasped and made strange noises of pleasure as her hands clenched and relaxed again.
  
  
  I got up and undressed. It was very slow and pleasant, with Helga clinging to me as I undressed, her hands moving up and down my torso and her face pressed against my stomach. I took two full breasts in my hands and slowly turned them in a circular motion. Helga lowered her blonde head and moaned softly. I traced a slow, oozing trail of pleasure along her upper body with my tongue until her moans turned into screams of ecstasy. Helga was shaking all over, she arched her back, lifted herself up, begging with her hips for the moment she longed for. And it really was a surrender, but of a strange kind. It was not so much unbridled freedom and ecstatic delight, the pure pleasure of complete submission to the senses, as a surrender that seemed to burst out of some inner impulse, out of a huge need.
  
  
  Helga's hips were wide and massive. I thought it would be comfortable to snuggle up to him. There was something divine about her body and her passion. If I answered her desire with my body. she tensed for a moment, then pushed herself up and down, wrapping her legs around my back. I felt like I was being carried away to heaven by a Valkyrie. Helga moaned and sobbed, cried and sighed, her breasts rolled and turned under my hands, her lips did not kiss me, but were drawn into my shoulder, sliding towards my chest. Her irresistible desire was irresistible, I felt carried away by it, responding to every movement with my own body until the wide, heavy bench began to tremble. Then, so suddenly that it took me by surprise, she clung to me, her hands pressed to my back, and a long, shaking sob ran through her body. “Oh my God,” she said, as if the words had been torn from her soul, and then she fell and lay there, her legs still hugging me, her full breasts swaying up and down. She took my hand and placed it on one of her breasts as her belly, soft and round, slowly began to relax.
  
  
  Finally I lay down next to her and realized that I had reacted very curiously to what had happened. It was definitely exciting. And very nice. I enjoyed every moment, but somehow felt unsatisfied. Somehow I felt that I was not making love to Helga and bringing her to unprecedented heights of sensual joy, but that I was just an object, something she used to please herself. As I lay there, looking at the full outline of her body, I felt like I wanted to get into bed with her again to see if I would have the same strange reaction. It was worth it in itself, but it added to my appetite. Of course, I knew that despite the qualities of the first hour, the first time was never the most satisfying for any woman. To elicit maximum pleasure from a woman, you need to learn how her sensory and mental centers react, and this takes time. Helga stirred, sat up, and stretched out her arms, raising her arms so that her unrivaled full breasts rose up.
  
  
  “I’m going to my room, I want to sleep.”
  
  
  I asked. - 'One?'
  
  
  “Alone,” she said, to my surprise, evenly and matter-of-factly. “I can't stand sleeping with anyone. Good night, Nick.
  
  
  She stood in front of me, pressed her chest against my face for a moment, then hurriedly disappeared from the room, like a ghostly white figure in the dark shadows. I stayed for a while and looked at the fire and then went to my room. Lying in the big bed, I realized that Helga was a very unusual girl. I felt that she was far from typical of the average Fraulein.
  
  
  Woke up early in the morning. The huge castle was as quiet as a crypt.
  
  
  At night I was amazed because I thought I heard a cry of pain. I sat down and listened for a while
  
  
  silence. I guess I just dreamed it and fell asleep again. No one bothered me and I slept like a baby for the rest of the night. I got half dressed and went downstairs to get my shaving supplies from the car. The door to Helga's room was slightly open, and I looked inside. She was still sleeping, her breasts looked like two snow-capped mountain peaks, and her blonde hair formed a golden circle on the pillow. I realized again that she is an amazing creature. A bright and unusual, bewitching combination for every man. But after I shaved, I realized that the day would be too stressful to think about Helga much. I was walking to Helga's room to wake her up when I found a feather in the hallway, a long brown feather with black spots. I've seen sources like this before and tried to remember where and when. I was watching this when Helga appeared, dressed again in her now-dried dress, which made her look bold. I showed her the feather.
  
  
  “Oh, there are all sorts of birds flying here,” she said, coming up to me and pressing herself close to me to press her lips softly and warmly against mine. Her hands slid over my thighs. “I wish we could stay here,” she muttered. I dropped the pen and held it tightly.
  
  
  “Me too,” I said. - Now stop. You're only making it harder." Helga smiled and stepped back. Her hand found mine, and we entered the yard to the small Opel. As we drove back along the winding road to the main road, I noticed that she had a smile on her face that was less about pleasure than satisfaction. “A very unusual girl, this Helga Rutten,” I thought again, and as we drove to West Berlin, my thoughts kept returning to last night. It was the first night I spent as a guest in the castle, and as I thought about it, I suddenly realized that, despite everything Helga had said about her uncle, I actually knew nothing about the man. I wanted to ask his name, but decided not to. It was a wonderful delay. What else did I need before this? In a few hours I will see Hawk, who will come to give me God knows what order. Helga will be a fond memory. And if I met her again, I would have plenty of time to go into detail.
  
  
  We reached Helmstedt, the checkpoint for all daytime traffic to and from West Germany on the Autobahn. My documents were checked and returned. Helga showed her residence permit in West Berlin. From Helmstedt to West Berlin there were still one hundred and fifty kilometers remaining along a rather bad road. I have come to the conclusion that the highway is in dire need of repair. But the only good thing about it is the unlimited speed. The little car drove as fast as it could and after a final check by the Volkspolice we finally reached West Berlin, an oasis of freedom surrounded by the communist world of East Germany. Helga pointed me in the direction of her house, not far from Tempelhof Airport. She pulled her young, strong legs out of the car, took a key from the keychain and handed it to me.
  
  
  "If you stay in West Berlin," she said with an impassive look in her blue eyes, "it's cheaper than a hotel."
  
  
  “If I stay, you can count on it,” I said, putting the key in my pocket. She turned and walked away, swaying her hips. I saw her enter Ulmerstrasse 27, speed up and drive away before I was tempted to follow her. The key in my pocket burned with a delicious melancholy, which I knew full well would be extinguished by my meeting with the Hawk. I headed to Kurfürstendamm and to the AX headquarters in West Berlin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My rental car had been through a lot and as I drove to Kurfürstendamm it began to feel more and more like a coffee grinder. I had put Helga out of my mind and was now a completely different person. Busy, attentive and intense. This has always been the case with me. There was always a moment when Agent N3 was in complete control of the situation. Part of this was due to practice, and part of it was an internal mechanism that seemed to turn on automatically. Perhaps it was the smell of danger, the sight of battle, or the excitement of the hunt. I really don't know, I just know that it happened without fail and I could see the difference in myself too. Whether it was hypervigilance or normal behavior, I don't know, but when I looked in the rearview mirror, I suddenly realized that I was being followed. The traffic was heavy, and I drove through the side streets to look around,
  
  
  and every time I looked in the mirror I saw a Lancia car two or three cars behind me. It was a powerful gray car, probably from 1950, that could easily reach 150 kilometers per hour, a car whose performance was not much superior to the last models of fifteen years ago. I turned a few more corners. My suspicion was correct. Lancia was still there, like a good agent who stayed away, a few cars away, so as not to arouse suspicion. They didn’t know, but I was well prepared for something, and, naturally, suspicious.
  
  
  At first I wondered how they tracked me down so quickly. However, when I thought about it more deeply, I realized that they could have met me in a variety of places: when I entered East Germany, at a checkpoint in West Berlin, or even when I rented an Opel in Frankfurt. It wouldn't surprise me. I began to have a grim respect for this group, whoever they were. They had a great network and proved to be ruthless and efficient. And now they were watching me, waiting for me to lead them to AX headquarters in West Berlin. “Forget it, guys,” I told them angrily. This would never happen to me, even if it meant I wouldn't be on time.
  
  
  I drove the small Opel to the intersection, drove around it twice and turned into a narrow street. I was glad to see that the Lancia had to slow down quickly and struggled to get to the corner. I made a sharp turn at the next bend and then went left. I could hear the Lancia's tires squealing in the tight corners. If these narrow winding streets continue, I may lose them. But, cursing myself, I found myself on a wide street with warehouses and freight depots. In the mirror I saw the Lancia gaining momentum. Now they knew that I realized that they were behind me, and not only were they following me, but now it was all on me, suddenly driving past the trucks and starting to overtake me. Lancia's heavy chassis with large wings and powerful bumpers could crack a small Opel like an eggshell. I knew the game too well. A collision, an accident, and they immediately disappeared. Then the police would begin to deal with the remains.
  
  
  The Opel had a hard time: it made more noise and moved slower, and those damn warehouses along the street seemed endless. There was nowhere to turn, and the “lunch” was quickly approaching. Suddenly I saw a narrow passage between two warehouses. I pulled the car out there and heard the tires squealing in protest as the car tilted! One bumper hit the corner of the loading dock of one of the depots and created a deep passage in front of it, but I was in the corridor, sagging by a hair on both sides. I didn't hear the Lancia stop and that bothered me. I discovered the reason when I saw a steel gray van turn the corner two blocks away at the end of the hallway. I saw that they had a second advantage over me. They knew West Berlin better than me...
  
  
  I again found myself on a wide street and again saw a Lancia rushing towards me. I headed into the alley, but suddenly realized that I had no room to maneuver. The Lancia hit me in the side at full speed. I jerked the steering wheel as a heavier vehicle approached me. She hit me in the rear bumper, and the little Opel spun. Lancia missed, had to slow down and go back a little. I pulled the Opel out of the turn and raced across the wide street into one of the narrow streets. A few moments later I heard the Lancia's engine roar as they came back behind me. I was not able to observe the Lancia's occupants, but I saw that there were at least three, but most likely four, people in it.
  
  
  I turned off the alley and found myself in an area of warehouses and a large open-air market. People and cars passed by the market and I moved through it, catching a glimpse of a Lancia coming out of an alley. Again, I had a head start in the chaos of people and streets, but I knew that everything would end as soon as the Lancia squeezed through the chaos. I pulled up to a large, square, unsigned building with boarded-up windows and stopped in front of two wide cargo doors that were closed. I looked back and saw that the Lancia was approaching me with increasing speed. I jumped out the door, landed on the ground and rolled a little further as soon as I heard the impact. I looked up and saw that the hood of my Opel had been smashed against the heavy steel warehouse doors. I also saw that Lancia when
  
  
  She drove in reverse, was not only heavier, but also had a reinforced bumper, which was practically not damaged.
  
  
  I saw a smaller entrance next to the heavy steel doors, and my shoulder hit it as they fired the first shot at me. The door opened, I stopped for a moment and looked back. I was right, four men flew out of the Lancia. I decided to delay them for a while with the help of Wilhelmina. I did it in one shot and they scattered like leaves in a sudden gust of wind as I ran into the building. It looked more like a warehouse than a store, a dim, cavernous building with countless rows of crates, bales and boxes stacked on top of each other. A network of steel stairs and passages led to exposed steel plate floors where more boxes and crates were stacked.
  
  
  My plan was to run through the building and disappear out the back door. It was a good idea, except for the bad luck. Everything was locked and boarded up. I heard voices and footsteps and pressed myself against a row of boxes. They dispersed to look for me. The strategy is from the book, but it’s pretty stupid and may not justify itself. I heard one of them walking quickly and very carelessly along the path. I could have turned it off quickly, silently and easily with Wilhelmina's punch, but the board creaked under my foot when he was close to me. He turned quickly and I looked surprised. I was expecting a good German or a cool Russian.
  
  
  However, he was a short man with black hair, dark skin and a pronounced hooked nose. I saw his right hand come up, raising the gun, and I hit him in the jaw. He collapsed, but the gun had already fired, and the walls of the warehouse echoed the shot.
  
  
  Immediately after this, I heard more footsteps in my direction and ducked down one of the passages between the boxes, ran through the second passage and jumped behind a pile of boxes. I heard them help the little man up, and then dispersed along the corridors to move towards each other. I looked around and saw that I could still go this way, but it would only mean a delay. Then my back would be to the hermetically sealed back wall, with no cover or room to maneuver. The boxes in front of me were folded in stages. I pulled myself up, climbed onto the top row, lay flat, crawled to the edges, keeping in sight the passages between the stacks of boxes. They moved forward slowly, carefully looking around the corners of each path. Two of them were blond and had the body type I expected. The other pair were smaller, had black hair and dark skin.
  
  
  If I wanted to get out of here, there wouldn't be fireworks. In a gunfight the odds are four to one and I can easily be cornered. The warehouse turned out to be a mousetrap, and I had to get out of here as quickly as possible. Suddenly one of the boxes began to slide underneath me. I stepped back and looked at the searching people. One of the blondes was slightly shorter than me. I quickly calculated the distance between the rows of boxes. A little more than a meter. It was worth a try and it surprised them. This was exactly the element I needed to give me an advantage for a few seconds.
  
  
  I pushed the top box hard. He rushed forward, focusing perfectly. But the sound of the box gave the man the opportunity to look up and immediately dive into it. However, he was hit on the shoulder and fell to the ground. I jumped over the passage and landed on the opposite row of boxes. I tried to stop working quietly, moving boxes and bales. Now speed was important. I took the next jump without stopping, and this time I landed on all fours. I fell to the ground on the sides of the boxes and ran towards the entrance. I heard them coming after me, but the few seconds in which I surprised them gave me a much-needed advantage. A moment later I was outside the barn and running across the cobblestones before they even got to the door. A group of curious people gathered around the badly damaged Opel, no doubt waiting for the police to arrive. Lancia, a dark, terrifying symbol, was waiting...
  
  
  I looked over my shoulder and saw three men approaching me. I was running towards the market, hoping to hide in the crowd between the stalls, when I saw a girl with an armful of purchases approaching a Mercedes 250 Coupé.
  
  
  p. I just needed it. The car, of course, is not a girl. I knew that Mercedes is faster than Lancia. In an instant I saw that the girl was tall, beautiful and lithe, wearing gray trousers and a lighter shade of sweater. I walked up to her car as she opened the door and was about to get in. She turned around with a scared look in her brown eyes as I plopped down next to her and pushed her away from the steering wheel. “Relax,” I muttered. "I won't hurt you." I realized I was speaking English and started to translate it into German when she interrupted me.
  
  
  “I know English,” she snapped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
  
  
  I started the engine and heard the sweet, but very efficient purr of the Mercedes.
  
  
  “Nothing,” I said, sending the Mercedes straight towards the three men. They ducked under the protection of the Lancia as I passed them. The girl looked back and saw that the Lancia immediately came to life and followed us.
  
  
  “Stop this immediately,” she ordered vigorously.
  
  
  “Sorry,” I said, pulling the Mercedes around the corner on two wheels.
  
  
  “You are not German,” she said. "You are an American. What are you running from? Are you a deserter?
  
  
  “No,” I said, turning the corner on two wheels again. “But now is not the time for questions, dear. A little more patience.
  
  
  I saw her look back at the Lancia. I walked out into the open area and accelerated even more. The Mercedes rushed forward and I smiled with relief. “I’m glad you’re so happy,” the girl said sharply. But where are you going? What are you planning to do with me?
  
  
  “Nothing,” I said. "Take it easy."
  
  
  “And leave the driving,” she added. I glanced at her quickly. She was very pretty, and her open face was unusually cool and confident. Her breasts easily filled the sweater. I was just about to ask her something when a bullet ricocheted off the roof.
  
  
  Down! ' I shouted at her and she immediately fell to the floor and looked at me.
  
  
  "I don't feel at peace," she said.
  
  
  “Me too,” I replied, turning another corner. She turned out to be very cold-blooded. She looked at me from her hiding place with calmness, as if she were sitting in the living room. Another bullet hit the roof of the Mercedes. They probably understood that they had little chance of catching up with me. Now was their only chance to stop me. We were now walking parallel to several railroad tracks. A high-speed passenger train passed in the opposite direction. I had a good idea. I began to realize that as long as I stayed in the city, even without a Mercedes, it would be difficult for me to get rid of my pursuers. There were too many turns and traffic obstacles. I needed a freeway to get off them, and there clearly wasn't one nearby. But there was something else I could do, and the first thing I did was increase the distance between the Lancia and the Mercedes. I accelerated and watched as the girl sitting on the bottom froze as we accelerated, cutting through other cars with dangerously little play and avoiding collisions at the very last minute.
  
  
  "Why don't you give up?" she asked. “It's always better than death. So you will let us both die."
  
  
  “If you do as you are told, nothing will happen,” I replied. I was catching up with the high-speed train and could already read the sign on the sides of the cars: SCHNELLZUG-BERLIN-HAMBURG. To make up for lost time, I had to drive faster than one hundred and fifty kilometers. Lancia disappeared from sight, but I knew full well that they were still following. I saw the girl glance sideways at me. This was a particularly daring undertaking... When the crossing finally appeared, I put the gas pedal to maximum and saw the speed needle rise to 170. We were almost at the crossroads. I looked at the train again.
  
  
  “Sit in the chair,” I roared to the girl, and she stood up. “When I say that, you dive out of the car and run straight down the track, you know? And, dear, you can run very fast, otherwise you won’t be able to ask me any more questions.”
  
  
  She didn't answer. There was no need for this. She saw a speeding high-speed train behind us and a crossing ahead. My hands were damp with sweat, my fingers clenched. I reached out with my right hand, then my left, and changed my grip on the steering wheel. We reached the crossing. I swerved the Mercedes, braked just enough to avoid flipping over, and stopped it on the highway. The train was less than thirty yards away, a huge monster with no chance of stopping.
  
  
  ' I shouted at the girl and saw that she was already busy opening the door.
  
  
  As I immediately followed her, I saw her beautiful ass disappear behind the door. I did a big somersault and got back to my feet before she did. I grabbed her hand, picked her up and ran with her. As soon as it reached the rails, the locomotive crashed into a Mercedes. The fireball rose up, scorched my back and pushed me forward. The sound of metal cracking echoed through the explosion. The girl let go of her hand and stopped to look at the bent burning mass that the express carried for hundreds of meters.
  
  
  She screamed - 'My car!'
  
  
  “I’ll buy you a new one,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with me. I realized that Lancia was now delayed on the other side of the track. The inhabitants will surely be convinced that I miscalculated and ended up in the ruins of the car and am now on the way to turning into charred ashes. I smiled with satisfaction and finally stopped when we reached the intersection and a little further.
  
  
  I looked at the girl who was standing next to me, breathing heavily and trying to catch her breath. Her face was smeared from falling onto a shoulder next to the path. Now I had a chance to look at her properly, I felt an appreciation for the beautiful high line of her chest and her long flexible legs in gray trousers. She retained her cool self-confidence, but now looked at me thoughtfully and curiously.
  
  
  “You are not a deserter,” she said with conviction. "I don't know who you are, but definitely not."
  
  
  “Ten with a handle,” I said.
  
  
  "What are you really?" she asked. "Some idiot?"
  
  
  I shrugged. “If you give me your name and address, I will take care of reimbursement for your car,” I said. She looked at me as if she was seeing a very special object under a microscope. I wish I could be with her. She was not only extraordinarily beautiful, but she also had a charming quality, an imperturbable self-confidence that I had never before discovered in European women.
  
  
  "I can't understand it," she said, shaking her head. “I know very well what just happened, but I can’t understand it with my mind. And now you're offering to pay for my car. Why don't you tell me who you are and what it all means?
  
  
  “Firstly, because I don’t have time for this, dear. Just tell me your name and address and I'll take care of reimbursement for your car." She shook her head again in disbelief. “I have no idea why, but somehow I trust you,” she said.
  
  
  “I have a beautiful face,” I chuckled. “No, you have a charming face,” she said. "But you could be anything, an angel of vengeance, but also a very good member of the mafia."
  
  
  “You're trying, honey,” I said. “Come on, what’s your name? I really don't have much time."
  
  
  “My name is Lisa,” she said. Lisa Huffmann. The car belonged to my aunt. I'm staying here, but if you want to write a check in my name, I'll collect the amount for her. So, Lisa Huffmann, Kaiserslautern Strasse 300.”
  
  
  “Then it’s almost round,” I said, looking at her full lower lip and the soft, attractive line of her mouth. She still maintained her composure and confidence.
  
  
  “Twenty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty marks,” she said quietly. "It was a brand new car."
  
  
  I chuckled. I realized that I wanted to meet this cool, unflappable creature one day. Her parting remark led me to a firm decision:
  
  
  “Plus thirty-eight marks and forty pennies for all my purchases,” she added.
  
  
  “Dear Lisa,” I laughed, “if possible, I will deliver it to you personally.” I hailed a taxi and left her on the corner. When the taxi left, I waved my hand out the window. She didn't wave back. She stood with her arms crossed and watched me disappear. I would be disappointed in her if she waved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The AX headquarters in West Berlin was always hidden behind legal camouflage, which functioned normally in all respects, and never more than two people knew what it actually served. As an additional precaution, all camouflage was changed at least once a year. All AX Lead Agents have been informed of these changes and the applicable identification codes and procedures. While I was paying for the taxi I was looking at this
  
  
  a modest office building with a collection of nameplates on the wall. My eyes caught the name below: BERLINER BALLETTSCHULE. Below in small letters it was written: Director - Dr. Prelgauz.
  
  
  I smiled. Of course it had to be Howie Pryler. Howie was responsible for the creation and maintenance of all AX camouflage patterns in Europe. He had a special group of contacts. We met several times. I took the elevator down and entered a large, cool room where I suddenly found myself among fifteen girls, ranging in age from twelve to twenty, practicing the barre. I saw four young people and three teachers - two men and a woman. Everyone was dressed in tights or tutus, and everyone was engrossed in their work. Only the little brunette sitting at the side of the table noticed my appearance. She beckoned to me and I walked up to her.
  
  
  “I have an appointment with Herr Doktor,” I said. “This is a school report.”
  
  
  The woman picked up the phone, pressed a button, said something to someone, then smiled at me.
  
  
  “Please come in,” she said. “The gentleman from the photo studio is already there. There’s a corridor down there, there’s a second door.”
  
  
  I followed her gaze across the studio and saw a narrow hallway on the other side. I walked through the ballet flats under construction, found the second door in the hallway and entered a small office. A quick glance at the door and ceiling material showed me that the room was soundproofed. Hawk sat in a deep leather chair, and Howie Pryler sat at a small, simple desk. Hawk's immediate question was typical of his years of experience, but it also reflected his concerns.
  
  
  He asked. 'What's happened?' I nodded to Howie, who gave me a quick smile. His eyes were also worried.
  
  
  “I had company,” I told Hawk.
  
  
  "So early?" - he asked, looking at me with gray eyes behind rimless glasses. Only his voice betrayed his surprise.
  
  
  “That’s what I thought about it myself,” I agreed.
  
  
  “Of course you shook them off before you came here.”
  
  
  - No, they probably wanted to meet you. "
  
  
  Hawk ignored me. His usual reaction when he realized I was staying cool with him.
  
  
  "How did you shake them off?" - he asked directly.
  
  
  “They think I lost the match against Berlin-Hamburg on purpose.” He listened carefully as I briefly and succinctly explained exactly what happened.
  
  
  “It was just in time, N3,” he said as I stopped. “It’s too timely,” I admitted. "I wish I knew where they started following me."
  
  
  “Me too,” Hawk said. "I think they caught Ted Dennison, but it's not like they noticed you. At least for now. This is very alarming, N3.
  
  
  “I didn’t feel very good either,” I said. I saw Howie Pryler try to suppress a grin. The bronze eyes of the Hawk looked calmly...
  
  
  “Sit down, Nick,” he said. “I'll tell you what we know. Every time I look at the case I don't like it. Does the name Heinrich Dreissig mean anything to you?
  
  
  I knew something about the man, but not really much more than the average newspaper reader. “He is the chairman of this new German political party,” I replied. “I believe they call it NDHP.”
  
  
  “That's right, Neue Deutsche Herrenvolkpartei. And of course you know what that means."
  
  
  I knew it. Who wouldn't know? Herrenvolk alone smelt of Hitler, although they did not speak out directly, and there was a useful dose of politics in that.
  
  
  “I’ll give you the backstory,” Hawk continued. “NDHP and Heinrich Dreissig have been working underground for quite some time. But about seven or eight months ago they suddenly appeared in broad daylight. No longer an insignificant group, they mounted an impressive campaign in the last elections. So impressive that they won 40 seats in the Bundestag. This doesn’t seem like a lot to me, but only forty places out of five hundred is almost ten percent. For a party that previously had only three seats, this was a particularly dramatic jump. And with your knowledge of politics in our country, you know what it takes.”
  
  
  I nodded. “This requires money. Money and, of course, a lot."
  
  
  “Exactly,” Hawk continued. And since then they have tripled their party leadership, systematically expanded their propaganda and gained five times as many new members. Dreissig devoted his time to fanatical speeches and political machinations.
  
  
  We fear Dreissig and his NDHP for a number of reasons. We know that they have clearly neo-Nazi ideas. That they are extremely chauvinistic. That they are smart enough to be contained and banned... until they are ready to take further steps. We also know that they can upset the particularly fragile balance between Russians and America, between East and West. At the moment this balance is very unstable. The resurgence of a strong neo-Nazi party could cause untold consequences due to fear, suspicion or misunderstanding. We can't allow this to happen. But we know that NDHP and Dreissig are up to something. And what do we need to know? This is why it is extremely important to find out where they are getting all this money from. If we succeed, it could tell us a hell of a lot about what they're doing."
  
  
  “And that’s what Ted learned and had to pass on to me,” I said thoughtfully.
  
  
  “Really N3,” Hawk replied. And they made sure he couldn't pass it on. But there is someone else who I think knows. In fact, I bet he passed the information on to Ted. But he is our agent in East Germany. Sleeping. We can't risk taking him away. You need to go to him."
  
  
  “I understand that the Russians are very careful about who comes to and from East Berlin,” I said. 'Exactly. We need to solve this problem first,” Hawk said. How can we get you to East Berlin. But everything happened so suddenly that we don’t even know how. I thought maybe your fertile brain could come up with some ideas. Howie can get you almost any fake paper. This is not a problem at all. The challenge is to make your presence there so believable that you are not watched at the Brandenburg Gate, and also that you are not constantly watched while you are sitting there. Howie will find a solution. You two will discuss this tomorrow morning. I must return this evening. I leave Tempelhof at six o'clock."
  
  
  Hawk stood up. "From now on, it's your job, N3," he said. “So we first need to know where Dreissig is getting his money. Then we will know what he is up to."
  
  
  “Before you go,” I said, “I need a receipt for that girl’s car.”
  
  
  "I'll send you one from the States," Hawk said gruffly. “Of course I have to issue a coupon; I can't just write a check for $7,000."
  
  
  “You know damn well you can,” I said with a pleasant smile. - And don't try to deceive me. I know better. I really knew better, AX has funds all over the world for every possible emergency, hush money, bribe money and so on. But also for unforeseen expenses, as in my case. The Emergency Fund for Europe had a Swiss bank account. Therefore, his story about the lack of money did not resonate with me, although he continued to try. This was probably one of the main reasons he and I got along so well at work. Both, each in his own way, we always tried. There was a constant, subtle sense of spirit and cunning between two people who deeply respected each other. I knew that Hawk was always afraid to pay AX money for what he liked to call his team's "careless and careless" behavior. It was never meant to be personal. He knew his agents were not careless. Presumably this was a relic of a strict, old-fashioned upbringing.
  
  
  Why didn't you take the girl with the Volkswagen? - he grumbled, taking out his checkbook. “You really should do something about your expensive taste, N3.”
  
  
  I promise. “As soon as I stop living,” I answered. When I reminded him not to forget about her grocery money, he gave me a crushing look with his hard, steel-gray eyes.
  
  
  “We're lucky,” I said with a shrug. 'Why do you think so?' - he asked slowly and sharply.
  
  
  "Surely she could shop at Berlin's equivalent of Tiffany's?"
  
  
  Hawk, with a sullen face, handed me the check. "I should be glad you're still alive," he said gruffly. "Try to be a little more careful next time, N3."
  
  
  For Hawk it was almost a sentimental statement. I nodded. The old grouch had a sensitive disposition. You just had to get into it. I waved to Howie Pryler, walked past the budding ballerinas again, and headed outside. When I put the check in my pocket, h
  
  
  When I touched the key and thought about Helga. I received an unexpected bonus - an extra night in West Berlin with Helga. Of course, I was expected to try to find a good way to get to East Berlin myself, but perhaps Helga could help me with this. She seemed to know her facts. But first we had Lisa Huffmann. Lisa evoked completely different thoughts. Even during the satanic hours I spent with her, she exhaled a rare sophistication that appealed to both the intellect and the body. Helga was purely sensual. I was intrigued by the strange aspect of our sexual experience, but it was also purely physical.
  
  
  I paid close attention when I walked a little. Convincing myself that I was not being followed, I hailed a taxi and sat back on the sofa. I looked at the exclusive, luxurious Kudamm stores, which were on par with similar establishments in London and Paris. There really was a fantastic show here. At the end of World War II, 90 percent of this highway was destroyed and severely damaged. Almost the entire city burned down. Not only was everything rebuilt, but two hundred thousand completely new houses were built. Every piece of trash that could be used was destined for restoration. The city truly was a phoenix rising from the ashes. I thought about Heinrich Dreissig and his neo-Nazi party. Was it unthinkable that today's Germans would allow this phoenix of hatred to rise from the past? However, this past was equally unimaginable for many. But it happened. We reached Kaiserslautern Strasse 300 and I got out in front of a modest middle-class apartment building. I looked at the mailboxes in the hall. There was a card taped to one of the buses.
  
  
  L. Huffmann and Detweiner. I rang the bell and L. Huffmann came to the door wearing a very elegant creamy white dress that showed off her beautiful curves. The dress also served her gorgeous breasts well, revealing the graceful ascending line of her bust. I saw her eyes widen as she looked at me. Surprised? - I asked with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Yes...and no,” she replied. "I definitely didn't expect you so soon."
  
  
  “I don’t have much time,” I said, handing her the check. “Thanks again for using the machine.” Lisa Hoffmann studied the receipt, her smooth white brow furrowed. It was a numbered check on a numbered Swiss bank account. You couldn't tell.
  
  
  “It’s covered,” I said.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she replied, looking at me with a long, thoughtful look. And you are still a mysterious person. I don't even know your name. Is this still a secret?
  
  
  I laughed. "No, I said. 'My name is Nick... Nick Carter.' I just wanted to say something. I wanted to stay, but staying here meant even more distraction. That was enough for Helga. Besides, I had a particularly risky job ahead of me." But in any case, I wanted to see this extremely attractive creature again.Her cool composure was both sophisticated and refreshing.
  
  
  “You see that money for groceries has been added to it,” I said quietly.
  
  
  “I saw it,” she replied.
  
  
  “Besides that, I would like to explain everything as soon as I can,” I said. “Are we really going to forget everything by then?”
  
  
  "How long?"
  
  
  “I can't say it now, but I will contact you. Are you going to stay with your aunt for a long time?
  
  
  "Just another week or so," she said coldly. “Although I would like to stay another six months to hear you explain it all.”
  
  
  Her mind frantically rejected one possible explanation after another. I read it in her eyes and had to laugh. “You are a very special woman, Lisa Huffmann,” I said. "I've never met such a woman."
  
  
  "And I've never met a person like you," she said. I smiled and left. I took two steps, but turned again, extended my hand and pulled her towards me. I kissed her and her soft wet lips remained motionless and without any reaction. Then, suddenly, they separated enough to suggest passion.
  
  
  “I didn’t want you to forget me,” I said, retreating. Her eyes were cold and mocking.
  
  
  "I don't believe it's possible," she said. Even without the last one. You still made a bold impression."
  
  
  This time I went further; I chuckled and looked at her again. This time she waved her hand, but it was nothing more than a controlled movement of her hand.
  
  
  I felt relieved walking along Kaiserslautern Strasse, the way you feel when you have paid off a debt. It always bothers me when I have to involve someone innocent in this dark game. It was often unavoidable, but it bothered me. It was an old-fashioned position, I knew it very well. Hawk spoke about this often. “There are no more innocent people,” he said. “Everyone is busy these days. Many people know about it, others don’t realize it, but they still exist.” Ironically, it was here in Germany that Adolf Hitler declared that there were no more alienated citizens. Everyone was more or less soldiers, including factory workers, housewives and even children. This was a view that the Russian and Chinese communists were happy to make their own. This made moral decisions unnecessary. It was a train of thought in which it became acceptable to blow up a crowd in order to capture one person. Hawke always insisted that we must take this into account in order to understand the enemy and his actions.
  
  
  
  
  My thoughts were still with the Russians and the Chinese when I decided to walk to Helga's apartment. I was wondering which of them might support Dreissig and his NDHP. It seemed unlikely to me that it would be the Russians, unless they cleverly used it in their own actions. Perhaps, after all, their policy was purely Machiavellian. However, the Chinese were more suitable. They brought in a whole battery of agents to make things more difficult for the Russians and for us. They acted according to the old anarchist theory: the more chaos, the better. And, of course, there was also the possibility of a conspiracy by the old German industrialists who supported Dressig in the interests of the Fatherland and their own personal interests, people who were still full of the old militaristic nationalism. Personally, I adhered to this theory. There is more nationalism in the world today than ever before.
  
  
  A dozen new countries emerged, full of the spirit of nationalism. Why won't this affect the Germans? Considering the mentality of the average German, this was not only natural, but also prepared. It is interesting how two main facets of the German national character can be depicted in two genres of music: the march and the waltz. Germans are equally passionate and passionate about both “light muse” products. After World War III, the waltz became the most popular, but now Dreissig returned with the march. And if he plays hard enough, they'll start marching again.
  
  
  I got to Helga's address and found that she lived on the fourth floor and there was no elevator. I decided to ring the bell. The key was more of a gesture.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone in Berlin was surprised to see me. The complete surprise in Helga's eyes when she opened the door reduced Lisa's graceful surprise to almost nothing. But before I could say anything, Helga screamed with joy and hugged me, pressing her chest to my chest. But when she stepped back, her eyes were still amazed.
  
  
  "You gave me the key, didn't you?" I said, I'm afraid, a little annoyed.
  
  
  “Yes, but I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she replied, dragging me into the apartment. 'Why not?' - I grumbled.
  
  
  “You Americans have a saying: out of sight, out of mind. I just didn't expect you to ever come again, that's all.
  
  
  “You underestimate yourself,” I said. “Besides, you shouldn’t rely on such old sayings.”
  
  
  Helga's blue eyes sparkled and she came over and pressed her head against my shoulder. “I'm glad you're here,” she said. "Indeed."
  
  
  While she stood opposite me, I looked over her shoulder at the apartment. He was small and very ordinary, almost without character. Everything pointed so strongly to a furnished apartment for rent that I was very surprised.
  
  
  "How long can you stay?" Helga asked, drawing my attention back to her round, full breasts that were softly pressing against me, and her slightly pouting lips.
  
  
  “Just tonight,” I said.
  
  
  “Then we should make the best of it,” she replied, and her eyes turned glassy blue again, as if she had a layer of varnish applied to her. Her hands moved from my arms to my chest, over which she moved in slow semi-circular shapes.
  
  
  the movements began to rub.
  
  
  “I was just about to eat, I have bratwurst,” she muttered. “Enough for two. Then we can satisfy our second hunger." She left the room and I followed her into the small kitchen with a round table. While we were eating, she talked about going to work and asked what I had done. I said that I had visited a number of business partners. I have a bottle of beer and a glass of schnapps. As I watched her drink her schnapps, I noticed that the top buttons of her blouse were undone. Her breasts, held in place by the tight bra, stood out in all their glory. She finished her glass, stood up and walked over to me. “I’ve been thinking about last night all day,” she said, her breasts inches from my face. She grabbed my head and looked at me. “You were very special,” she continued. “No one has ever been able to put up with this with me, ever.”
  
  
  “I believe it right away,” I told myself. I reached over, took off her bra, placed one hand under her left breast and felt the soft but firm flesh. Helga moaned with pleasure and shook my hand.
  
  
  “I thought it was a one-time thing and that I should forget about it,” she said breathlessly. “But now that you’re here, it all comes back. I want you again as often as possible in one night
  
  
  I realized again the incredible animal sensuality of this girl, her barely restrained desire. But this time I wondered if things would be different if I could sleep with her without feeling like an object. I squeezed it gently and Helga's hands slid back and forth over my chest and her body began to tremble. She stepped back, put her hands on me, pressed her breasts tightly against my hand and led me into a small bedroom. The light from the living room cast a yellow glow on the bed. Helga took off her blouse and I felt her skirt fall to my feet. Her tongue entered my mouth, full of wild passions and feverish movements. Her terrible inner urge was there again, the uncontrollability that ruled everything before it. I thought she was making love as if there really would never be another day.
  
  
  Normally this would mean a feeling of delicious surrender, but Helga couldn't get enough of that surrender. Only madness was expressed. This bothered me, but her hands sliding into my pants bothered me even more. “To hell with all this thinking,” I thought. I could always think about it later.
  
  
  I gently pushed her and she fell onto the bed. I stepped back, quickly undressed and watched her look at me. Her eyes were closed and her breasts were rising and falling. I hid Wilhelmina and Hugo in my clothes and lay down next to her. As my hand caressed her, she screamed and, still closing her eyes, pressed herself against me, her round, creamy white belly twisting wildly. She turned around, sat on me and let her breasts cover my mouth like juicy ripe pears. I tasted their sweetness and she sank down, moaning softly and breathing heavily. She reached out to me, feverish with desire. I turned her over and walked towards her, this time not soft, but almost animalistic, to react to the wild movements of her body. Suddenly she froze, and a cry burst from the depths of her soul. She fell limply and I stopped, but was immediately grabbed again.
  
  
  “Again, again,” she called. "Cook me now!" I stretched again and her eyes remained closed as I took her to new heights. She shook her blond head back and forth, half laughing and half sobbing with joy that she obviously couldn't control. With any other woman I would have felt sadistic, but with Helga I still couldn't shake the feeling that she, not me, was at the center of it all. I heard her cries of passion for what I was doing and then I felt like there was something I would never achieve with her. Somehow, despite all her moans of delight and pleas for more, I could not shake off this strange feeling of being an object, as if her physical pleasure had nothing to do with the person Helga Rutten. It was an imperfection that caused a feeling of dissatisfaction that I couldn't shake. It was a textbook example of the theory that the physical is never complete without the emotional. However, Helga's inner urge was so great that it almost filled the mental void. Almost. She was breathing heavily, her abs working full force, her arms wrapped around my neck, and then she screamed again, a long, delirious scream, then her body relaxed. This time she closed her eyes and almost immediately fell and began to sleep.
  
  
  
  I lay down next to her and also fell asleep. When I finally woke up and saw Helga coming out of the kitchen with an apple in her hand, her round, plump figure stood out against the light of the next room. She resembled Eve, Eternal Eve, who now began to bite the apple.
  
  
  “Stay here tomorrow,” she said. “I only work half a day and then I come back.”
  
  
  "I can't," I said.
  
  
  "Then what should you do tomorrow?" - she asked in a pouty voice. I pulled my leg up so she could lean on it, which she did immediately.
  
  
  “I have to go to East Berlin tomorrow,” I said. “Do you have any idea how to do this?”
  
  
  "Do you want to go to East Berlin?" - she asked, chewing an apple at the same time. 'For what?'
  
  
  “I need to talk to one person about business, purely personal issues. But I've heard that the Russians are very strict about who they let in these days."
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, taking another bite of the apple. "I could take you to East Berlin."
  
  
  I tried very hard to appear more impressed, so I happily accepted her offer.
  
  
  “My cousin goes to East Berlin every day with a truckload of groceries,” she continued. “I could call him and ask him to take you instead of his driver. Russians know that he has a driver with him every day. He has certain obligations to me."
  
  
  “That would be great, Helga,” I said, and this time my enthusiasm was very sincere. It was an absolutely perfect setup. She stood up and walked into the living room.
  
  
  "I'll call him," she said.
  
  
  "At this hour?" - I exclaimed. "It's almost four in the morning!"
  
  
  “Hugo gets up early,” she replied, and I saw her round ass against the light. I smiled at the name. I had my own Hugo, and I could bet my Hugo was slimmer and more dangerous than hers. I didn't think I would lose this bet.
  
  
  “I have to give him time to give up his driver,” she said. I shrugged. It was her cousin. If she wanted to wake up that poor boy, I didn't care. I lay down again, listened to her dial and heard her voice.
  
  
  "Hello, are you with Hugo?" she asked. “You are talking to Helga... Helga Rutten. Well I'll wait. Hugo probably wanted to put on a robe. Central heating was still rare in Germany. “Yes, Hugo,” I heard her answer. “I'm fine, but I want to ask you a favor. I have a friend who wants to go to East Berlin tomorrow. Yes... exactly... he is here with me now. We have already discussed this. I told him that you can take him with you as a driver in your car."
  
  
  There was a long pause as she listened to Hugo's words. “It could be very simple,” I interrupted her. “I told him that you and your driver are going to East Berlin every day. Yes... I'll tell him to look for the Hugo Schmidt truck. Yeah... well, I get it. He will be there. All clear? Just take him to East Berlin. Once there, he'll take care of himself, you know? Thank you, Hugo. Auf wiedersehen.”
  
  
  The phone clicked and Helga was next to me again. “You must promise to come straight here when you return tomorrow,” she said, with a fiery look in her eyes. I promised. It was an easy promise. I was truly grateful to her. “You will find Hugo near the Brandenburg Gate checkpoint. Hugo Schmidt in a truck. Wear old pants and a sweatshirt or overalls if you have one. Ten o'clock in the morning. You can meet Hugo when you return. He will go back in the afternoon.
  
  
  I pulled her towards me and lay on top of her. Immediately her legs spread apart. “Thank you, honey,” I said. “You have no idea what a favor you just did for me. When I come back, I'll take you like you've never been taken before.
  
  
  Suddenly, something strange appeared in her eyes, her pupils suddenly contracted, and she slipped out from under me.
  
  
  "I'm going to sleep in the living room," she said. "There is a sofa." Her eyes scanned my body and her mouth was compressed, almost sullen.
  
  
  “It’s a pity,” she said.
  
  
  'What?'
  
  
  “You need to go,” she said, turning and closing the door behind her. “She was a strange creature,” I said to myself again. Restless man
  
  
  rough water It was as if she consisted of two parts: a sensually driven woman with wild bodily desires and a woman who was cold and distant, whom I could not yet approach.
  
  
  I turned over and fell asleep.
  
  
  I expected Helga to wake me up, but I was awakened by the loud ringing of the alarm clock in the next room. I went to drop him off and found that I was alone in the apartment. The note on the table read: “Going to work. Helga. It was short, impersonal. I shaved, called Howie Pryler and told him about my lucky break. He was as happy as I was and gave me all the details I needed to know.
  
  
  “Your man lives on Warschauer Strasse, under house 79. His name is Klaus Jungmann. Your code is simple. I listened carefully as he mentioned the code and memorized it. “I’ll let Hawk know,” Howie concluded. “It will do the old poacher some good.”
  
  
  I put the jacket in a small suitcase that I bought along the way and quickly headed towards the Brandenburg Gate. I was wearing regular trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It wasn't a great disguise, but I could pass for a truck driver. I waited for a while, feeling grateful to Helga, and wondering what she was like, Lisa Huffmann's cold, reserved face suddenly came into my mind like a refreshing breeze. Finally I saw a black truck approaching around the corner. On the sides were painted the words HUGO SCHMIDT - PRODUCTS. German punctuality: it was exactly ten o'clock. As I approached the truck, Helga's cousin changed his position and opened the door for me. He was a middle-aged man with a rough, wrinkled face. He was wearing a cap and blue denim work clothes.
  
  
  “I thank you very much,” I said by way of introduction. Hugo Schmidt just nodded and nodded. “This Helga,” he said, “is always doing something. I never ask for anything, I don’t pay attention to her affairs.”
  
  
  There was a long line of cars and trucks at the checkpoint. Almost all the trade was there, and the Vopos checked every car as soon as it approached the launch tree. When we ourselves approached the fence, I read on the large sign: Akhtung! Sie verlassen jetzt West-Berlin! “I felt like we were entering another world, which is what we were. When it was our truck's turn, Hugo leaned out of the door and waved to the police. They waved back, the barrier rose, and we moved on. Everything was so simple that I almost laughed.
  
  
  “You have an advantage if you go there every day,” Schmidt said dismissively. He continued walking until we were out of sight behind the barrier, then stopped somewhere on the sidewalk.
  
  
  "Where will I see you when you get back?" I asked. The blank look in his eyes showed that he wasn't even thinking about it.
  
  
  “I'll be back at four,” he said finally. “Meet me here on the corner at four o’clock.”
  
  
  'Agreed.' I said goodbye to him. 'Thanks again.'
  
  
  I left the truck and moved to the middle lane of Unter den Linden. The once beautiful alley looked shabby and sad with huge ruins so long after the war. I saw that the entire East Zone of Berlin was characterized by dirt, like a noble woman dressed in shabby, worn-out clothes. Compared to the sparkling energy of West Berlin, the atmosphere here was gloomy and dull. I hailed a taxi and mentioned Warschauer Strasse, one of the many streets in East Berlin that the Russians had renamed. When we got to Ne, I got out and walked past rows of dirty, sad apartment buildings. I found the number 79 and the name Klaus Jungmann on the first floor door. The title was: Photo Retoucheur.
  
  
  I rang the bell and waited. I heard shuffling inside. Hawk called Jungmann a “sleeper,” an agent who often remains untouched for years and is hired only for certain assignments. Unlike international agents like me, sleepers were valuable because of their absolute anonymity. When the door finally opened, I saw a tall, thin, sad-looking man with dark brown eyes. He was wearing a pale blue jacket and holding a thin retouching brush in his hand. Behind him I saw a room full of lamps, a painting table, cans of paints and books, and an electric sprayer on the side.
  
  
  “Good afternoon,” said the man. 'Can I do something for you?'
  
  
  “I think so,” I replied. "You are Klaus Jungmann, aren't you?"
  
  
  He nodded, his deep-set eyes wary.
  
  
  “I would like to retouch a photo of a very important person,” I said, using the code Howie Pryler gave me. - His name is Dreissig. Have you ever heard of him?
  
  
  "Heinrich Dreissig?" - Jungmann asked carefully. “Dreissig, Dreissig, Dreissig,” I said. “Three times weirder than everyone else.”
  
  
  Klaus Jungmann sighed. His drooping shoulders gave him a dejected appearance. He sat down on a high chair in front of the drawing board. 'Who are you?' he asked. When I told him, his eyes widened. “It’s a great honor,” he said sincerely. "But coming here can only mean that something happened to Dennison."
  
  
  “They caught him before I could get to him,” I replied. "Do you know what he was supposed to give me?"
  
  
  Jungmann nodded as we heard the sound of a car followed by a second and third car. We heard doors slamming and footsteps approaching.
  
  
  Jungman's wide-open eyes were fixed on me. I shrugged and ran to the window. When I looked through the blinds, I saw two men in civilian clothes, one of whom was holding a machine gun, walking towards the front door.
  
  
  I exploded. “How the hell do they do this? These guys must be clairvoyants! Apparently they were friends of Dreissig, and I interrupted my cursing to ask Jungmann: “Is there another way?”
  
  
  “Here, through the back door.” I threw the door open, looked back to make sure he was following me, and ran down the long hallway to the back of the apartment building. As I approached the back door, it opened. There were two men, each with a machine gun. I fell to the floor and dragged Jungmann with me when they opened fire. Wilhelmina was immediately in my hand, and I returned fire. I saw one of them double over when he was hit by a large 9mm bullet. The other one ducked out the door, but I knew he would be outside and waiting for us as soon as we left. I turned and ran down the long corridor again.
  
  
  “On the roof,” I called to Jungmann, who was following me. We were almost at the stairs, right in front of Jungmann's apartment, when a couple of people came in with a Tommy gun and started shooting wildly. I dove sideways back into the apartment, pushing Jungmann ahead of me. I kicked the door and heard the automatic lock slam. They will open the door in seconds, but a few seconds can make a difference. I turned around when I heard glass breaking and saw the black barrel of an automatic rifle sticking out of the window. I shouted to Jungmann to leave me, but he hesitated, his eyes wide open. The rifle rumbled and sent out a deadly signal in a wide arc. I saw Jungmann stagger, turn around and put his hand to his throat, where a red wave of blood became visible. When he fell to the ground, I shot out the window, right above the barrel of the gun. I heard a cry of pain, the roar of a gun on the sidewalk. The lock on the door was now shattered by a hail of bullets, but I was ready when they burst inside. I fired two shots that looked like one. They fell forward and lay face down in the room. I waited and listened, but nothing was heard. I knew there was another one at the back door. I didn't forget him, but I also realized that the shooting would raise the police. Everything was done with lightning speed, deafening and completely merciless. The East German police had probably been called fifty times already.
  
  
  I approached Jungmann. His throat was shot, but there was still life in him. I grabbed the towel from the back of the chair and pressed it to his throat. He immediately blushed. He could no longer speak, but his eyes were open and he could still have the strength to nod. I leaned closer to him.
  
  
  "Can you hear me, Klaus?" I asked. He blinked back.
  
  
  "Who provides Dreissig with money?" I asked. "Are these Russians?"
  
  
  He shook his head for a moment, the movement subtle but clearly not there.
  
  
  consent.
  
  
  "The Chinese... Do they support him?"
  
  
  Another vague negative movement of his head. The towel turned almost completely red. This almost happened to Klaus Jungmann. "Someone from Germany?" - I asked anxiously. “A conspiracy of rich nationalists? Old military clique?
  
  
  His eyes said no again. I saw his hand shaking. He pointed his finger at the corner of the room, where there was a bucket of sand on the floor. I followed the gesture of the fingers again. He clearly pointed to the sand bucket. I frowned.
  
  
  I asked. - "Fire bucket?"
  
  
  he nodded, and as he did so his head fell to the side. Klaus Jungmann could no longer answer. I heard the sirens approaching. It was time to disappear. I walked out the door, stepping over two men. They were tall Germans, fair-haired, straight. It seemed as if there were eyes and ears everywhere at the withers.
  
  
  I ran to the roof, pushed open the fire door and heard the sirens go silent downstairs. Sirens were heard again ahead. Like most roofs, this one was also covered with tar and coals, and there were gutters along the edges. I peeked over the edge and saw a man walking away from the back door holding a gun. It might have been a stupid gesture, but I had to do it. The bastards were just following me in a way that had never happened to me before. I wasn't going to let him escape, it only took one shot. I saw him stumble and fall, then he cowered and lay motionless. I realized that the police would immediately respond to the shot, and I quickly ran along the neighboring roofs until I had run through about a dozen houses. Then I stopped, slipped through one of the doors on the roof and went down the stairs until I was back on the street. Basically, a method that had been used by countless gangsters in New York, and now it was serving me in East Berlin. Walking quietly down the street, I looked back at the huge commotion on the street. I went to a small park nearby and sat on a bench. I still had to wait and I wanted to try to find out what Klaus Jungmann wanted to tell me.
  
  
  The park was an oasis of peace and quiet. Through the yoga method, I have increased my mental capacity through complete physical relaxation. The fire bucket with sand puzzled me. Jungmann reacted negatively to the Russians, Chinese and Germans. Still, Dreissig couldn't pull the money out of the sand. It didn't make sense. Maybe from someone who sold sand? It didn't really make any sense, but it was a possibility. Perhaps this was in accordance with the theory of German industrialists. But Jungmann also reacted negatively to this. My sixth sense whispered to me that I was wrong. So I started again.
  
  
  Fire bucket with sand. Maybe I was wrong. Does the clue refer to the fire bucket or the sand? I thought about a bucket, but it didn't make sense to me. So I still had to hold on to the sand, but what the hell did he mean? I considered many options. I rested my head on the back of the sofa and concentrated on freely connecting my thoughts. Dread and sand...he got money from someone with sand...someone or something or somewhere? Suddenly the light came on. Not with sand, but from somewhere where there was sand. The light became brighter. Sand... desert... Arab countries. Of course it is, and I sat down. Arab oil sheikhs, Jungmann, wanted to make me understand... sand... Arabs! Suddenly everything became completely clear and logical. It only took one rich Arab sheikh. Perhaps Dreissig drew up a plan and sold it to his benefactors. It was quite obvious that the game was being played both ways. They provided him with money to support his plans, and those plans had to mean something important for the Middle East. Whatever it was, I realized that it was not intended to bring peace and tranquility to the explosive Middle East. You can refuse this. I had a particularly unpleasant feeling that if Dreissig was not immediately neutralized at the beginning of his dangerous activities, he could not be stopped at all. There always comes a point when events and movements are so out of control that they can only be stopped by a collision.
  
  
  I didn't even need to hear Hawk's words. I knew what he would say. Go there and find out what they are doing. The first step was to return to West Berlin. The second step was less clear. I was inclined to think about meeting Dreissig himself. I could pretend to be a fan, a rich American fan. Maybe I can win his trust. I would discuss this with Hawk, the idea was attractive. I stood up and walked back to Hugo Schmidt. Dreissig's activities turned out to be far from insignificant and amateurish. This was proven by the way his boys followed me wherever I went. Were they definitely the smartest band I've dealt with in years, or were they just lucky? Perhaps it was both. I bought a newspaper and leaned over
  
  
  wait for the van against the lamppost.
  
  
  Daytime traffic into West Berlin became busier. Hugo Schmidt was not as punctual as he was that morning. It was four quarter past five. At four-thirty I opened the newspaper, at five I threw it away and began to walk back and forth, closely watching every van approaching around the corner. At six o'clock I was wet. The truck didn't come because there was no reason to show up. At 4 o'clock they didn't expect me there at all. I should have been dead, just like Klaus Jungmann...
  
  
  It was a depressing thought, but revealing. Suddenly, many pieces of the stacking map fit together, and some hitherto uncoordinated issues became apparent. The guys from Dreissig, for example. They were neither the best nor particularly effective. They saw me from the very beginning, but the person who told them about me was... Helga Rutten! Assertive, blonde Helga. After all, she was the only one who knew that I was going to East Berlin this morning, where and how. She arranged all this for me. And yesterday, when they tried to follow me to AX headquarters, Helga was the only one who knew that I had arrived in the city. Apparently she called from the castle and made sure they were waiting for me when I took her to her apartment. No wonder they noticed me so easily. And today they waited for me to contact Jungmann, and then they rushed in to kill two birds with one stone. But this fly was alive and well and now very angry. Beside myself with anger.
  
  
  Suddenly everything became so clear that I wanted to kick myself. This also explained the bewilderment in her eyes when I came to see her last night. They undoubtedly called her and told her that I had died near Berlin-Hamburg. The phone call to her cousin Schmidt was, of course, a phone call to Dreissig's people to sell me in front of me. This required a dose of courage and bravery, which I decided to pay back in kind. But one thing, one very clear thing was in my head. Helga and the explosion on the Rhine boat; this cannot be reduced to one denominator. If she belonged to Dreissig's organization, how did she end up on board and almost die in the explosion? She certainly wasn't playing a comedy when I pulled her out of the Rhine. Her shock and the tears that followed were real, as real as those hours spent in bed with her. The pleasure boat disaster remained a troubling note. The only way to find out the absolute truth is to go to Helga. She could also be a signpost in the direction of Dreissig if she was what I thought she was.
  
  
  I walked up to a tall gray concrete wall. It was sinister enough, but the Russians also decorated it with live wires and barbed wire. It walked continuously in both directions, as if it really were the Iron Curtain, as the Berliners called it.
  
  
  Nick Carter, I said to myself, you really have a problem...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Night fell on East Berlin, and the headlights of the cars lined up in front of the checkpoint illuminated Parisian Square. I walked along the Berlin Wall and thought about climbing over it, despite the barbed wire and electric fence. I saw a few places where I thought I could avoid the thread. But this idea disappeared when I saw the spotlight turn on as darkness fell. They illuminated the lower half of the wall. Anyone who tries to climb over it will stand out like a fly on an ice cream cone. I came to the point where the Spree flowed from East to West Berlin. This turned out to be impossible. Border guards patrolled the shores with very large and highly efficient German Shepherds. In addition, the river was also illuminated by floodlights, so anyone who tried to escape while swimming would hardly have a chance.
  
  
  I returned to the corner of Paris Square, watched the cars line up in the traffic jam, and remembered that the Russians and East German police had spared no effort to stop the constant flow of refugees from the People's Republic. I saw first hand that they really did a thorough job. My return to Helga began to develop into a serious problem that I did not expect. From what I saw around me, I could only draw one conclusion. The only way out is to go down the same road as everyone else
  
  
  anyone, through the checkpoint and barrier. It was a short distance and if I was lucky I could get there. But first I needed to find a car.
  
  
  I soon discovered that the streets of East Berlin were deserted at night. Nightlife is limited to Stalinallee in the eastern part of the sector, and even that doesn't mean anything. There were people and even fewer cars, except those going to the checkpoint. Finally I saw one, a small Mini-Cooper, standing in front of the restaurant. It had been converted into a company car with an assortment of tool bags, acetylene torches and pieces of pipe in the luggage rack. Klempner was clearly marked on the back door. When I looked out the restaurant window, I saw a plumber sitting there drinking coffee. I waited in the shadows for him to come out. He just opened the cabin door when I snuck up behind him. This had to be done quickly and silently. He tried to turn around when I hit him in the throat with one hand. I felt him relax. It was a dangerous hold that was fatal if the pressure was applied too much. He'll be fine in about fifteen minutes. I pulled him into the portal and patted him on the cheek. “Sorry, buddy,” I muttered. “But it’s for a good reason. You won't know it, but you belong to the squad of silent heroes."
  
  
  The Mini-Cooper was hardly a means of overcoming the obstacle. When I rode along the neighboring streets, waiting for the traffic jam in front of the barrier, it seemed to me that I was on a tricycle. I needed a start, as fast as I could get out of this little car. I slowed down as two buses passed the checkpoint. The barrier was open and the vans were not queuing. I turned around, gave full throttle and headed straight for the wooden gate on the east side of the Brandenburg Gate. But there were some gruesome details that I didn't expect. First of all, the fact that so many attempts were made to drive through the barrier that a special security team was sent to keep an eye out for cars that arrived suspiciously quickly.
  
  
  As soon as I appeared on the square, the signal bells rang and a hoarse whistle was heard. Directly in front of me I saw thick, pointed rods rising from the ground. Too late I remembered that some enterprising Germans had tried to break through the barrier with tanks, and so the Russians had set up special tank barriers to rip the tracks to shreds. The sharpened steel rods would drill through the Mini-Cooper like a scarecrow's bayonet. The small cart swerved on two wheels and I heard a crash as the side hit the bars. I managed to keep the car from tipping over, and I headed towards the four squatting Vopos, aimed at me. They jumped when I approached them.
  
  
  Now I was parallel to the wall and heard the bullets hit the rear wings. I turned again and headed towards one of the streets leading from the square. When I got there, I saw a large armored car pull up in the alley in front of me and stop to block the street. The four in the armored car jumped out and aimed their guns at me, expecting me to either run into their heavy vehicle or do the sensible thing to stop.
  
  
  I rejected both options. There was plenty of space between the back of the armored car and the row of houses. I sent the Mini-Cooper onto the sidewalk and flew past them. I swerved and turned into an alley when a police car pulled up on the hunt, sirens blaring. I understood that if I stayed in Mini-Cooper, I would now lose the battle. I took the first turn on two wheels and stopped around the bend. I got out and ran. The pursuing police car did exactly what I expected. She turned the corner and tapped the Mini Cooper. I heard an explosion and both cars caught fire. People will continue to do this for now.
  
  
  I ran through the empty house, turned back and mingled with the crowd that had already gathered. More army jeeps and cars arrived, and I walked away almost nonchalantly. It was worth a try, but of course it wasn't enough. I was still in East Berlin and that damn wall looked even more inviolable, if possible...
  
  
  Now I understood why an atmosphere of resignation and despondency reigned in the lives of the residents of East Berlin. When the crowd dispersed, I again hid on the porch, from where
  
  
  could keep an eye on the entrance at the gate. I racked my brain, but couldn't come up with anything except that I didn't dare repeat the same trick again. Now they were alarmed and introduced additional security. As several hours passed, I saw that it was mostly heavy trucks driving into West Berlin late in the evening. I began to feel more and more frustrated, and it was almost midnight when I saw four heavy trailers stopped at a roadblock. The latter stopped almost at the place where I stood in the dark porch. I saw that Vopos carefully checked every truck. They first looked through the driver's documents and then forced him to open the cargo compartment doors. It was a routine job, of course, but it was done very carefully, and as I watched, a faint idea struck me.
  
  
  My gaze fell on two small wheels under the front of the cargo bed. The two wheels, which were only used when the trailer was detached from the cab, were supported by two cross members under the axle. I watched the police return to their post at the fence, and heard the first car of a small column come to life. One after another, the other engines started working, and the first trailer began to pass the obstacle. I ducked under the last car, pulled up on wheels and grabbed the crossbars, wedging my legs between the axle and the bottom of the trailer. I pressed myself to the bottom and held my breath as the car started moving. I saw legs in uniform and a little further on black and white stripes on the fence. We passed. I lingered in my awkward position until the truck finally stopped at a traffic light. I pulled my legs up, fell to the ground, and rolled out from under the truck just before the big wheels started turning again. My legs felt a little numb, but this quickly passed as I hurried through the evening streets.
  
  
  In contrast to the dull and sad atmosphere of the eastern sector, West Berlin was very lively and brightly lit, and I quickly found a taxi. On the way to Helga's apartment, I reloaded Wilhelmina and stuffed the Luger back into the shoulder holster under my shirt. In my pocket was the key that Helga gave me. This time I'll use it.
  
  
  A ray of light coming from under the door told me that Helga was still awake. I quickly opened the door. She was in the bedroom, the door was open, and she quickly turned around when she heard me enter. There was no need for words. Her eyes widened and she stood paralyzed. She was wearing a dark skirt and a light green sleeveless blouse. Her bewilderment was overcome when she suddenly plunged into a tall cabinet leaning against the wall. She opened the drawer and reached into it. She was about to take the gun when I slammed the box on her wrist. She screamed in pain. I took her hand, turned her over and opened the drawer again. Her fingers relaxed and the gun fell back into the drawer. I closed it again and threw Helga onto the bed. The small suitcase she had apparently been packing fell to the floor. She was still bouncing on the bed when I grabbed her blonde hair and turned her head. She groaned in pain and hugged my waist, trying to get down on one knee.
  
  
  "Please don't hurt me," she begged. “I... I'm glad you're alive. Trust me. '
  
  
  “Of course,” I said. “You're delighted. I could see it clearly by the way you dived for the gun. It was a truly touching gesture."
  
  
  “I was afraid you would kill me,” she said. "You... you looked so angry."
  
  
  “Don't be afraid of it,” I said. “You can rest assured that you will answer me very quickly.”
  
  
  I kicked the suitcase on the floor. "You were on your way to see your friends, weren't you?" - I asked, but it was more like establishing a fact. "Perhaps you were on your way to Dreissig's."
  
  
  “I was coming from town,” she said, still clinging to my waist. "I don't really belong to them." Her eyes were wide and pleading. “I helped them because I needed money.”
  
  
  "Try again!" - I snapped. “I don't buy it. I know that Dreissig is financed by Arab money. And you will tell me the details. Who is behind this?
  
  
  "I really don't know anything," she said. "Just trust me."
  
  
  “Yes, of course, I’d better go straight to the psychiatrist.”
  
  
  “You don’t understand,” she began, but I interrupted her. “You're right,” I said.
  
  
  “I don’t understand a lot, but you will explain everything to me. I don't understand how a girl can sleep with a man and then shoot him moments later. And I also don’t understand how you ended up on that boat on the Rhine.
  
  
  “I can explain it all,” she said quickly.
  
  
  "Good but later. First you tell me what you know about Dreissig.
  
  
  She ran her hand down my leg. “I really don’t know anything, believe me,” she said.
  
  
  I pulled her head back hard and she moaned in pain again. “We’re starting over,” I snapped. “How does Dreissig get the money and where is it kept in the bank?”
  
  
  She must have read the message in my eyes, the message that I wasn't joking and wouldn't be picky. In turn, I was warned by the sudden constriction of her pupils, the cold flashes in her eyes. To the side, I saw her clenched fist rise in a short arc upward, and I immediately understood what she was aiming for. I managed to rotate my hip and catch the blow to my hard thigh muscles. I hit her in the face with the back of my hand and heard her teeth grind as she landed on the floor on the other side of the bed. I reached across the bed, pulled her hair, pressed her head against the pillow and pressed one point on the top of her back with one hand. Although her scream was muffled by the pillow, her scream was truly heartbreaking. I pulled her towards me and she screamed again. Her pretty face was contorted in pain, and the left side of her body was twisted. I raised my hand and she crawled into each other, crying.
  
  
  “Oh, God, help me,” she sobbed. “My left side... hurts so much. I only feel pain."
  
  
  I knew the pain would last for a while. I didn't like it either. But I kept thinking that a boat full of people wouldn't want it to just get blown up. I grabbed her by the neck and pressed. Her hands helplessly grabbed mine.
  
  
  “Come on, Helga,” I said. "Who funds Dreissig?"
  
  
  “I swear by Ben Mussaf,” she breathed. I loosened my grip and let her fall onto the bed. Ben Mussaf, Sheikh Abdul Ben Mussaf. He was one of the desert rulers who had long objected to Nasser's prominence in the Arab world. He made billions from oil, was the best friend of the sheikhs, and apparently had other aspirations. It was a wonderful combination. How does he transfer money and where? " I asked. She hesitated. I extended my hand and it took effect immediately.
  
  
  “Gold,” she blurted out immediately.
  
  
  I whistled. But it was there. Gold is the most stable means of payment. Dreissig could trade it on the free market if he wanted, or exchange it for marks, dollars, francs or whatever else he needed. And it also eliminated the problem of attractive deposits in local banks. It was good for anything, anywhere, anytime. But there was one problem. Large amounts of gold could not be transported in a piggy bank. "Where is the gold kept?" I asked further. She propped herself up on her elbow, her hands in her sleeveless blouse trembling with pain and fear.
  
  
  “This... I'll tell you,” she said, looking into my stinging eyes. “But first I need a cigarette. Just one please.
  
  
  I nodded. Now she realized that this was serious. A cigarette may calm her down and make her realize that it is better for her to cooperate fully. On the table next to the bed there was a table lamp, a heavy glass ashtray and a pack of cigarettes. Helga reached for her cigarettes and ashtray. As she leaned forward to reach for the ashtray, she turned her back to me for a moment. Thanks to the sleeveless blouse, I saw her shoulder muscles contract and reacted immediately. Otherwise there would have been a hole in my head, because Helga threw a heavy ashtray in my direction with cat-like speed. I managed to turn my head so that the ashtray only touched part of my skull. But I still saw the stars and heard more than saw Helga rush past me. I tried to grab her, shaking my head to regain my composure. She dodged my hand effortlessly, and when I turned around, she was pressed against the cabinet with a revolver in her hand.
  
  
  Pig! she spat. “You will be sorry. Do you really want to know everything? I'll tell you in detail now. And that's the last thing you'll hear. Did you want to know about the Rhine boat? I'll tell you this. I used a bomb. Yes, I did. Only the damn thing exploded too early.
  
  
  If I hadn't just climbed onto the railing to dive into the river, I would have died along with the others. And now I was just carried away into the water.”
  
  
  I looked at the blue pattern of her eyes. I'd seen her look sharp before, but never with the deadpan cool she was exuding now. I remembered the impatient, feverish creature who remained so strangely impersonal in her unbridled passion. She really was two parts, and one of them was a fake, cold-blooded, perverted bitch.
  
  
  "Are you happy with the boat on the Rhine now?" she continued. Ben Mussaf will arrive for the meeting tomorrow evening. It brings tons of gold. It's a shame I won't be there to see you.
  
  
  She was still yelling at me and I couldn't take my eyes off her. Now I had nothing to lose and wanted to save time. I knew there was another Helga, a Helga who craved me so much she couldn't do anything about it. If I could call Helga just for a moment, I'd have another chance. I saw a cord running from the lamp next to the bed to the socket in the wall next to where I was standing.
  
  
  “You were going to tell me something else,” I said, moving quietly to the right. “About our sexual experience. I don't believe it was purely a comedy."
  
  
  The gun was still pointed at me, but her gaze softened for a moment. "It wasn't a comedy," she said. “I already knew who you were that first night in the castle. I listened to your interesting telephone conversation on the second device. But you are incredibly irresistible. You awakened something in me."
  
  
  "And last night?" - I asked, moving away a little again. “Don't tell me you've already forgotten about it. I don't believe it.'
  
  
  “I haven’t forgotten,” she said. "It just ended, that's all."
  
  
  "But it was good, wasn't it, Helga?" I grinned at her. My foot was just inches away from the outlet. “Don't you want to sleep with me again, Helga? ... Now? Do you remember my mouth on your chest? Do you remember how I fucked you?
  
  
  Helga's breasts swayed with deep, rapid breaths. "Bastard!" - she said, hissing with rage. I heard the click of a hammer as she fired the gun. I lifted my leg and pulled the plug out of the socket. The light went out and I fell to the side as a bullet whizzed past my head. I brought my hand down in a wide arc and hit Helga in the back of her knee, causing her to stumble and hit the ceiling with a second bullet. I was already on top of her and tried to grab the gun. She was still too quick for me to let go and I fell with the gun in my hand as she slipped out of my head and ran out of the room. I watched her disappear from the living room into the hallway, dropped the gun and followed her. I heard her walk up the stairs two steps at a time, heading towards the roof. Climbing the stairs, I almost caught up with her, but she managed to slam the door to the roof, and I had to retreat so as not to get hit in the face with the door.
  
  
  It was pitch dark on the roof, but I spotted her about three feet from the edge of the roof. The nearest roof was at least six feet away.
  
  
  'No!' I screamed. "You'll never make it." She ignored me, ran and jumped. I felt my blood freeze as she reached up to the roof with her hands, hung on the gutter for a moment, and then fell back with a long, night-piercing death cry. I turned around. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but I couldn't. I just wished I had gotten more information from her. Suddenly everything became unbearable for me. I had a hard day. I hurried down the stairs and out into the street. Not far away, I rented a room in a second-class hotel and was glad that I had a place where I could spend the night in peace.
  
  
  I closed my eyes, knowing that the next morning I needed to find out where Abdul bin Mussaf and Dreissig would meet. Of course, it was an important conference that I really wanted to attend. I had a sobering and overwhelming feeling that yesterday's sacrifices and tomorrow's results depended on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I found an espresso bar that opened early and tried to sort out my confused thoughts over a cup of strong German coffee. Despite her denial, it was clear that Helga was an important member of the group that I initially considered so ineffective.
  
  
  Now that I knew how things were going, I thought they had done something stupid. I liked to think that now that they undoubtedly knew what had happened to Helga, they would be very nervous and gradually realize who they were dealing with. They made three assassination attempts against me, in addition to trapping me in East Berlin, and all it got them was at least six dead men plus Helga. And I was still on my feet. They must be very nervous right now.
  
  
  I realized something else. Even though I was preoccupied with this man, Dreissig, I had never seen a photograph of him and wondered what he looked like. Tall, small, calm, nervous? Was he good when it came to fighting, or was he the type to faint? These things are important for what could be expected and what needed to be done. I only knew one thing about him. He had big ambitious plans that I had yet to figure out from A to Z. I remembered Helga's comment about Abdul bin Mussaf. He was due to arrive this evening with a large cargo of gold, and Helga packed her briefcase to attend the meeting. Suitcase. It meant something. She walked to a place that was not close, but far enough.
  
  
  She used the technique of fiction based on reality. There was a truck that took me to East Berlin, but Cousin Hugo was not a real cousin. There was a castle where she knew her way, but now I realized that her “uncle” was not real either. The uncle was most likely none other than Dreissig. What better place for a secret meeting than an old castle? What better place to hide gold than an old castle? It was quite obvious, and I remembered the closed doors in the left wing as she showed me around. Of course it was an old castle overlooking the Rhine. She chose just the right spot to blow up the pleasure boat, so she was close to the castle to dry out...
  
  
  I thought quickly. The drive on the Autobahn, delays at various checkpoints and the distance to the Rhine at Koblenz meant at least a four-hour journey. I needed a fast car and didn't want to go to a rental car company. They may be smart enough to keep an eye on these things, suspecting that I will try to rent a car. But I knew where to get it. I just hoped she had already bought a new one. I couldn't help but laugh as I got out of my espresso. I could already imagine Lisa Huffmann's face.
  
  
  She answered the door herself, wearing a tight red jersey sweater and blue plaid trousers that also fit her perfectly. It was easy to see the rising line of her breasts, but I kept my eyes on her face and saw the slightly hidden caution in her gaze, the slightly amused smile on her beautiful lips.
  
  
  “You really show up at the most unexpected times,” she said.
  
  
  “My very bad habit,” I smiled. “How’s the new car? Do you already have it?
  
  
  “I have a feeling I should say no,” she replied, her gaze growing even warmer. But the answer is yes. Since last night. Like other cream ones.
  
  
  “Okay,” I said, feeling a little guilty. "I'd like to borrow it."
  
  
  Disbelief now settled next to caution in her eyes.
  
  
  “Don’t be stupid,” she finally said.
  
  
  “I’ve never been this serious,” I said, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. This highly absurd situation proved too much for my often suppressed sense of humor. Lisa Huffmann looked at me and then started laughing too, and within seconds we were both laughing out loud.
  
  
  “This is too funny,” she said between fits of laughter. "Do you have your checkbook with you?"
  
  
  “I don’t need it this time,” I said, gathering my strength. 'Not really.'
  
  
  "No trains?" - she asked seriously.
  
  
  “No trains,” I repeated.
  
  
  "No one will shoot at us?"
  
  
  “There’s no one to shoot at us.”
  
  
  “It was a very expensive trip last time,” she said seriously. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper for you if you just rented a car?”
  
  
  I wanted to say something, but she interrupted me. “I already know,” she said. “You can’t answer that yet.”
  
  
  “You’re smart,” I said with a chuckle. Suddenly a thought struck me. I just needed a Mercedes to get there.
  
  
  After that I would be back on my feet and expecting countless unforeseen events.
  
  
  I asked. - "Would you like to go with me?" “When we arrive, I’ll get out and you can drive back. You will also know that your car is in good condition.”
  
  
  She thought about it for a moment. "It's an attractive idea," she said. “Aunt Anna wanted to go shopping with me tomorrow afternoon.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “Then tomorrow you will return your car here on time.”
  
  
  She disappeared into the apartment and returned with her purse and keys. We picked up a Mercedes 250 Coupé from a small garage around the corner and hit the road. I was pleased with my idea. Lisa had quirks that made the trip much more enjoyable than if I had been alone. Never knowing what lay ahead, I long ago developed the philosophy of enjoying things while I still could. The trip itself would be boring. It would, of course, be more pleasant with a beautiful woman in the car. And she was beautiful. When we drove along the autobahn some time later, she turned out to be a warm and witty conversationalist with a high IQ, and also very sexually appetizing. The trousers did not hide the long thin line of the hips and narrow waist. She didn't have large breasts, but she did have a bold rising line that matched her provocative jawline. Her brown eyes were quick to smile and her cool, collected demeanor essentially reflected a strong positive attitude towards life.
  
  
  I asked Lisa with interest. "Where did you learn English?"
  
  
  “At school,” she answered quickly.
  
  
  “So you must have had a good teacher,” I remarked.
  
  
  "That's right," she replied. "And don't forget your American films."
  
  
  I was sorry when we reached the green banks of the Rhine. We had an unusually high number of delays at almost all checkpoints, and traffic on the Autobahn was also extremely congested. It was late evening when we drove along the river. She tried to talk to me during the trip, but I ignored her attempts. But again I was acutely aware of the cold, penetrating gaze with which she looked at me.
  
  
  “Have you already chosen between an angel of vengeance and a member of the mafia?” - I asked with a chuckle.
  
  
  "In a way," she said. “I believe you have something of both, and the two come in completely different packages. How about this, Nick Carter?
  
  
  I had to laugh. It wasn't a bad description. My eyes followed the Rhine, skimming the contours of castles and ruins on the hills. I didn't want to lose sight of the castle as we approached it from the other side.
  
  
  Then I suddenly saw it rising in front of us, and I pulled onto the first minor road. I slowed down and soon found a green road that led to the castle. I drove so that Lisa could leave immediately after I got out. I didn't want to take her any further.
  
  
  I was just about to say goodbye to her when three men emerged from the underbrush. They wore white sports shirts and gray trousers tucked into boots. On the breast pocket of their shirts was an emblem in the form of two crossed swords. It was not a uniform, but it was not civilian clothing either. This matched Dreissig's political sophistication. Say something without saying it.
  
  
  “This is a separate road,” one of them said politely but firmly. These were quite young, handsome and strong boys.
  
  
  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” I apologized, getting ready to drive back. My trained eye spotted two more of these closed white shirts among the trees. So "Uncle" Dreissig was there. The quiet old castle has become a center of activity. I drove back onto the side road, stopping around the corner where I was out of sight of the castle guards.
  
  
  “Thank you, honey,” I said and left. “Here I leave you alone. You see, I told you that the trip would be harmless and pleasant. Take care of yourself and your car. I may need it again."
  
  
  She got behind the wheel and looked into my eyes. "What are you going to do here?" - she asked directly, without a smile and with concern in her soft brown eyes.
  
  
  “This is not the time for questions,” I said softly. 'Go home. Thanks again.'
  
  
  This time it was my turn to be amazed. She leaned out of the window, and her wet lips sought mine. It was almost a gentle kiss. “Be careful,” she said seriously.
  
  
  You're crazy, but I still like you. And I'm still curious what you're going to do here on your own. It has something to do with the castle, doesn't it?
  
  
  I chuckled and patted her cheek. “Go home,” I said. "I'll come and see you."
  
  
  I walked back down the road and watched her slowly drive away, then I squeezed into the underbrush and crawled carefully and silently toward the driveway. The undergrowth soon became quite dense forest, and as I approached the lane, I climbed a hill among the trees parallel to it. From time to time I heard voices and the sound of cars. I remembered that the driveway led straight to the gate, but the bush ended about thirty yards from the gate. My memory did not fail me this time either. As I had thought, the open space was too wide for anyone to approach unnoticed, except for the guards dressed like the others at the drawbridge and gatehouse. There was one happy circumstance. Since the castle was on top of a hill, it couldn't have been a moat, but as I saw last time, it was surrounded by a wide dry moat.
  
  
  I walked along the edge of the forest to the back of the castle. There was no activity there so I decided to give it a try. I ran out of hiding and went down into the ditch, where I saw a chain bridge leading to two thick oak doors. I climbed onto it and pressed on one of the doors. To my surprise, she gave in, even if she was creaking and reluctant. I slipped inside, closed the door behind me, and found myself in the wine cellar. As I made my way between the rows of large bulbous wine barrels, a light suddenly came on inside me, reminding me that something in this cellar had been bothering me during my tour with Helga. I looked around and felt the same anxiety. I couldn't place it, it was somewhere outside my consciousness, this curious mental mechanism that can be both annoying and helpful. I hoped this would solve the mystery in my brain. As I climbed the stone steps and reached a large hallway, I heard a continuous noise coming from the kitchen and dining room, where chairs were apparently being moved and tables were being set.
  
  
  I took a different path and climbed a wide stone staircase to the second floor. At the back of the small square space next to the stairs I saw three doors, which were now also closed. I moved very carefully, checked every niche and managed to open the first door. I was confident that I would find gold, perhaps in bars, perhaps in bags. Maybe weapons and ammunition too. It turned out to be a miscalculation. I didn't find gold, but feathers. Feathers of real living birds in huge cages lined up in rows. Large golden-brown birds with black spots, long false claws and sharp, piercing eyes. Proud, cruel minds. These were golden eagles, the most dangerous and fastest of all birds of prey. Each bird had its own cage, some with a hood, but each cage contained a dashing winged killer. I snuck outside and found eagles in the other two rooms, as well as various equipment such as gloves, belts, hoods and the like. I returned to the first room and looked at the fierce birds. Most of them were adults, and there was some meat left at the bottom of their spacious cage. Mr. Dreissig was apparently an admirer of the old sport of kings, falconry. But these were not falcons or peregrine falcons, but all golden eagles. Apparently he developed a version of ordinary falconry. I once heard that after some training, a golden eagle can hunt just like a falcon. Undoubtedly, this hobby had something to do with the contact between him and the Arab sheikhs, but here, in the center of the Rhineland, it was a mysterious and not very obvious note.
  
  
  As I walked through the room, I noticed that one of the eagles was looking at me with extraordinary interest. I had seen falcons in action and knew what their talons could do to flesh and bone.
  
  
  These huge eagles, who equated toughness with beauty, could tear a man to pieces, and their blood-curdling eyes made me tremble. I silently closed the door behind me and stood in the corridor to think about where to look next. My first suspicions were not justified. I didn't have to think long because suddenly the stone corridor echoed with echoes coming towards me. I hid somewhere behind in a small niche and from there I saw the harness on the platform on the other side of the corridor.
  
  
  One of Dreissig's henchmen appeared with an Arab in traditional oriental clothing and a headdress. The man spoke to him in English. Mr. Dreissig asks Ben Kem, the Honorable Representative of His Excellency Abdul bin Mussaf, if he would have the courtesy to wait here. He will be with you in a few minutes.
  
  
  The Arab bowed his head, the guard slammed his heels and disappeared into the hall. The Arab had fairly fair skin and two sharp, deep-set eyes. Judging by my conclusion from the conversation I had just overheard that Dreissig and this figure did not know each other, I decided to take a bold step. I was pretty tanned. Dressed as an Arab, I could certainly hold my own among non-Arabs. I couldn't do it in a tent full of sheikhs, but here I had a good chance. If Ben Kemat were here to arrange all matters for the arrival of his lord and master, this would be an excellent opportunity not only to get to Dreissig, but also to listen to him. This might even be the ideal opportunity to get everything sorted out in one sitting. I lowered Hugo, and the pencil-thin stiletto blade cooled in my palm. I didn't like the surprise sneak attack, but I was dealing with a group of guys who had a patent on it. In addition, it was necessary to work quickly and decisively. It wouldn't be so good if Ben Kemat woke up in the middle of my conversation. I came out of the niche, threw Hugo at the Arab, saw him stagger, and then slowly sank to the floor. He lay there like a pile of rags.
  
  
  I hurried, put on his clothes and dragged the body along the stone floor. I thought about a decent and safe place for it, but I didn't realize how difficult it would be to squeeze the body into the armor. It took too long, and when I finally finished and closed the seat belt visor, sweat was running down my face. I had every reason to do so, because I had just returned the damn thing to the platform when I heard footsteps and saw a tall man in a gray suit approaching. Cold blue eyes, carefully combed gray-blond hair, a slender, athletic figure. The face, too commanding to be beautiful, nevertheless had a certain attractiveness. He extended his hand and surprised me by discovering that it was iron. He was probably into bodybuilding too. Yes, his smile was disarming, but a little forced. But, of course, I was critical and understood that he would make a good impression on the department. “Welcome, Ben Kemat,” said Heinrich Dreissig in perfect English. “May I assume that you and I will follow the same procedure as His Excellency and I?”
  
  
  He saw me frown. “I mean we will use English as the main language,” he noted. “His Excellency was not interested in conversations in German, and my knowledge of Arabic, unfortunately, is very limited. But we both speak English."
  
  
  “Oh, of course,” I said with a half-smile. "I would appreciate". He led Carter into a room that turned out to be his office. A large map of Israel and the surrounding Arab countries took up almost half the wall. At Dreissig's sign, I sat down opposite. He gave me a charming smile that could not hide his sly, calculating gaze.
  
  
  “You don’t look like a typical Arab,” he remarked casually.
  
  
  “My father was English,” I answered reluctantly. “My mother raised me in North Africa and gave me an Arabic name.”
  
  
  “The schedule for His Excellency’s visit is very modest,” Dreissig said, smiling. Apparently he was pleased with my answers. “I understand he will arrive around midnight today.
  
  
  The usual preparations for receiving the gold have already been agreed upon, and it arrives shortly before dawn. My people will unload it and remove it safely. You understand, of course, that only my most trusted people are involved in our operations here in this house, excuse me... castle. Tomorrow there will be an opportunity to play sports and relax. I heard that His Excellency is bringing two of his best birds.”
  
  
  I nodded. It seemed like a good time for a sage nod.
  
  
  “After lunch,” Dreissig continued, “we will discuss plans for our initial joint action.”
  
  
  This was not what I was looking for. I tried the sweet line to see if it would bite.
  
  
  “His Excellency intends to receive a large share of the operational part,” I began. 'But maybe I can't
  
  
  in the evening to participate in your discussion. Therefore, His Excellency asked me if you would like to discuss the details of your plan with me now. He said that only you, Herr Dreissig, can convey the inspiring elements that are simply necessary."
  
  
  I praised myself. That sounded good to someone who was still in complete darkness. Dreissig was filled with pride and headed straight for the target, like one of his eagles on a fattened chicken.
  
  
  “It would be my pleasure, Ben Kemat,” he said, pointing a long, thin finger at a map of Israel. “Here is our enemy, yours and mine, for different reasons. Israel is the natural enemy of the Arab peoples, as it has been for thousands of years. The Jews want to rule and make the Arabs their slaves. Today the Jews in Germany no longer play an important role, but they are determined to fight us from the outside. Israel is the emotional heart of Judaism. When this heart is pierced, the enemy is dead."
  
  
  He paused to take a sip of water.
  
  
  “The Jews are plotting from outside against a united Germany. They are also plotting from within Israel against the Arab united front. The world will know peace only when the Jews renounce Israel and their intrigues against Germany. But, and this is what His Excellency saw, the Jews must experience their wrong policies firsthand. The Russians will not be happy to help you, at best with some material support. The Russian army has never had much value outside of Russia. It is not suitable for battles in the heat and deserts of the Middle East. And the Americans will not help you defeat the Jews. They are stuffed with all kinds of Jewish propaganda."
  
  
  After the second break, he continued with his plans.
  
  
  “The Arab people need German-trained armed forces equipped with German headquarters. A band of dedicated Arab warriors led by German military geniuses will destroy Israel once and for all. My military advisors have already drawn up an operational plan. We use the technology developed by Rommel, supplemented with some useful innovations. We cut Israel into three and then go to war against them. We roll up these three parts simultaneously and thereby render harmless their Promised Land forever. The name of Lawrence of Arabia will disappear when my plans come to fruition. And they will only know about one Henry of Arabia."
  
  
  I could hardly contain my laughter. It all sounded terribly serious. To everyone else it was completely comical, too comical to be taken seriously. But was it right? I suddenly thought of another character with the strange name Adolf Schicklgruber, who has come a long way. Too far away. And then this Henry of Arabia was not so funny at all.
  
  
  Dreissig was especially on the right track, and again I listened carefully. His eyes sparkled, his voice was fanatical. These were again the same hypocritical words that had set the world on fire not so long ago. This time it was disguised more cleverly, with less sharp edges and therefore twice as dangerous. Listening to it, I clearly recognized the old choruses, which had been slightly changed but still had the same melody. New wine in old bottles.
  
  
  “You must understand,” continued Dreissig, “that our disagreement with the Jews does not have any racial affiliation, but stems from their political aspirations, from their political ideology in relation to the Arab peoples, and is also directed against the reunification of Germany. Therefore, we will move in two directions - here, under my leadership, in political terms, and you in the form of military action against Israel. And one day the day will come when the world will pronounce with sacred awe the names of Heinrich Dreissig and Abdullah bin Mussaf."
  
  
  Old wine in new bags. It all came down to this. I could see through the arched window behind me that it was getting dark outside, and I wanted to drag Dreissig out of his chair because I had some important questions ahead of me.
  
  
  “Great vision, Herr Dreissig,” I interrupted. “Didn’t you say that the shipment of gold would arrive this evening in the usual way?”
  
  
  “Yes, on Reijnaken, which come to my private berth,” he said.
  
  
  “Great,” I smiled. It was a very informative conversation, much more than my neo-Nazi host could have imagined. I was wondering how to approach the last question, namely where he hid all this gold, when a loud sound was heard.
  
  
  Three guards rushed in with a woman in a tight red blouse and blue checkered trousers...
  
  
  I slowly closed my eyes and thought about the hallucination. I doubted myself for a moment, quickly opened my eyes, but... the red blouse was still there.
  
  
  “We found her outside, trying to get to the gate and get inside,” one of the guards said. I was almost sure that Lisa did not recognize me in my new role. She didn't even look at me, but looked coldly and sternly at Dreissig.
  
  
  “I got lost and these bullies grabbed me,” she said in an icy tone. He smiled sadly at her.
  
  
  “She could be working with this American agent,” he told the guards. Take her down to the torture room. We'll talk to her soon. He turned to me. “These old castles can still prove their worth,” he said. “The old medieval torture chamber in the basement is very effective.”
  
  
  The guard started to pull Lisa, but she shook him off and went out on her own. I watched her disappear with her back straight and her head held high.
  
  
  Lisa Huffmann, I said in my mind, if they don't kill you, I'll give you such a spanking on your pretty little ass that you won't be able to sit for a month.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dreissig asked me to have a snack with him before the midnight meal prepared in honor of Ben Mussaf. All I could think about was Lisa, on the one hand I was furious at her damn curiosity, but on the other hand I was deeply concerned about her life. Dreissig was serious, despite all his Nazi stylizations and melodramatic ideas. Beneath all this smooth rhetoric and shrewd propaganda hid the soul of a dangerous dictator. I thought about taking out Wilhelmina and shooting him in the head on the spot, but I was afraid to do it. I didn't know how many strange looks he had adopted from his secret idol, Adolf Hitler. If his followers had been imbued with a similar philosophy of Götterdcimmerung, the death of their leader might have unleashed an orgy of self-destruction and savage violence. Lisa definitely won’t survive this. And I didn’t put much stock in my chances either.
  
  
  No, I would wait. Dreissig was dangerous, but first I wanted to see how Ben Moussaf would play. I suspected that the Arab had only one thing in mind: a chance to take over Israel. I was sure that he accepted the extremely attractive military aspects of the Dreissig plan, but not its persistent anti-Semitism. Arabs are materialistic realists. Even their hatred of Israel is secondary to a realistic approach to the facts. Even at this stage there were certain groups who were realistic about Israel's existence. It was unapologetic boys like Ben Moussaf and political activists like Nasser who kept the fire burning. But I knew very well that when his new mentor was eliminated, Ben Moussaf would pack his bags and soon forget everything in the face of reality. In any case, it was worth a try. Besides, I actually had no choice until I released Lisa Huffmann as soon as possible.
  
  
  I declined Dreissig's invitation to have lunch with him and said I'd rather go into a medieval torture chamber to see it for myself. He ordered one of the guards up the dark, ominous spiral staircase. I found myself walking past a wine cellar entrance into an even lower cellar. We passed rows of old wooden boxes. I was shocked to discover that these were ancient coffins stacked next to the torture chamber. The room itself was lit with torches. "We don't use it that often," the guard explained. Mr. Dreissig did not consider it necessary to install electricity here. Besides, it's very romantic, isn't it?
  
  
  “Definitely,” I admitted. The sight of a completely naked man chained to wall irons enhanced the romantic image...
  
  
  “He tried to rob Herr Dreissig,” the guard said. “I understand that his sentence will be carried out tomorrow.”
  
  
  The man showed signs of brutal violence. His chest and arms were covered with red welts, and I saw a brand on his stomach. By now we had reached the torture chamber itself and I saw an impressive collection of torture instruments on the walls and in the center of the room. In addition to many whips and shackles, there were racks, wheels, glowing furnaces for branding and gouging out eyes, as well as many sinister objects.
  
  
  devices whose purpose I could only guess at.
  
  
  Three guards led Lisa to the center of the room, where, in the flickering light of torches, one of them held her hands behind her back while the other two undressed her. I had just walked in when one of them took off her non-black, pink, lace-trimmed panties. Lisa's eyes were full of tears, her cheeks were wet and red. Her breasts, as I suspected, were pointing upward and had a nice line with attractive prominent nipples. She had long legs, beautiful thighs and flexible calves, a slender body and a smooth flat stomach. The perfect complement for the male body. I stayed in the shadows and watched as one of the guards touched her juicy breasts. Lisa pulled her hand away, and her nails scratched him wherever they could. The guard pulled back, felt blood on his neck and hit her in the face with the back of his hand. She fell on the wheel, two others grabbed her and tied her to it. It was very simple. Lisa was tied to the wheel with leather straps around her hips, stomach and both forearms. With each turn of the wheel, the belts tightened, so that circulation stopped, and the victim faced death.
  
  
  In some people, as the guard explained, “the kidneys and other organs burst from the pressure, but they still last quite a long time.”
  
  
  “Charming,” I remarked. They turned the wheel sharply, three full turns. I watched as the straps tightened and cut Lisa's delicious belly. A long sigh of pain escaped her mouth, and I saw wild fear in her eyes.
  
  
  "Who sent you here?" asked the guard. He turned the wheel again and I saw that the belt was pulled tight across her stomach. “Nobody,” she shouted. "Stop... oh God, stop!"
  
  
  He made the wheel make another full revolution. Lisa's beautiful body was stretched out on the straps, and she let out a loud, pitiful cry that echoed throughout the room. The guards had now completely given in to their sadistic tendencies, and one of them turned the wheel again. Lisa's scream was now one long, heavy, sobbing sound, and I could see her stomach trembling in pain and spasming as her muscles reacted to the intense pressure. Now she cried all the time, heartbreaking, raw sobs. I hid in the background, hoping they would stop and go away on their own so I could come back later and untie her. But when I saw that one of the men was about to spin the wheel again, I realized that my hope was in vain.
  
  
  Right next to me, I saw a thick iron bar leaning against the counter. I grabbed him, cut down the nearest man and threw him at the second guard. The other two were amazed at what they had done so quickly. I plunged the rod into the stomach of the first one. The other one didn't hit either. I hit him in the jaw with the end of the bar and he flopped on top of his blow. What difference does it make to me? I quickly untied Lisa and lowered her to the ground to give her a rest.
  
  
  “Sit still,” I said, pulling the blouse over her head. She looked at me and recognition flashed in her eyes.
  
  
  'Nick!' - she gasped and immediately pressed her blouse to her chest.
  
  
  “Don’t be so squeamish,” I said hoarsely. “Besides, we need to hurry. Put your things on." She carefully dressed, and I took off my Arab clothes and headdress. I'd had enough, I couldn't move freely in it. I took Lisa's hand and walked up the stairs, but stopped at the entrance to the wine cellar.
  
  
  “Sit down,” I said. Seemed like a good place to hide. I realized that they would soon start looking for us. We crawled into a dark, shady corner where we were surrounded by huge barrels of wine.
  
  
  “My belly,” Lisa moaned. "This will never go away."
  
  
  “Of course you do,” I growled. They've just begun. I intervened because I saw that you couldn't stand it anymore. You know, if I get you out of here alive, I'll beat you all the way down Kaiserslautern Strasse. That was damn stupid of you. What the hell has gotten into you?
  
  
  "I'm really sorry," she said regretfully. “I just made it hard for you, didn’t I? I wanted to see if I could help you with anything. I had a feeling that something dangerous was happening."
  
  
  She sobbed and I hugged her. She crawled towards me. "Can you forgive me?" - she asked humbly.
  
  
  “Perhaps this is not necessary,” I replied. “If I can't think of a way to get you out of here, maybe I should leave you until I get to backup.
  
  
  We were only sitting here because there was a door nearby through which I entered the castle. I took Lisa's hand again and rushed past the barrels of wine to two oak doors. I was glad that my usual caution was not completely relaxed and I only opened the door a crack. This was enough to see that there were many guards standing at the back of the castle, some with handcarts and others leaning on four-wheeled flat carts. They, apparently, were waiting for something and closed this exit for us. We returned to the wine cellar and crawled back into our corner. She immediately pressed herself against me and her body was soft and sweet in my arms. My eyes wandered past the rows of barrels as I tried to think of another way to get Lisa out. Suddenly a light dawned on me. Now I knew what was bothering me in that damned wine cellar.
  
  
  “This is not a real wine cellar, Lisa,” I said quietly. 'You are sure?' - she asked, getting to her feet and looking into the darkness.
  
  
  “I’m willing to bet a lot,” I said. “I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what was really wrong. But now I know. Take a look at the top of the barrels. Then you see that there are plugs at the top of the barrels.”
  
  
  Lisa nodded. “In a real wine cellar,” I continued, “some of the wine is bottled in clean sulfur barrels. This happens three times. The third time, the barrel is placed on its side so that the threaded hole on the inside is in the wine. This prevents air from entering the vessel. And none of these barrels are on racks with a stopper on the side! »
  
  
  I walked to the nearest row. I patted the barrels on all sides. Soon my fingers found a thin ledge in the wood and followed it, and it turned out that the ledge formed a square measuring about two by two feet. I pressed the square that gave way to one side and fell, then I stuck my hand into the hole where the wine had not poured out and came across a hard rectangular object covered with burlap. I found a gold warehouse. Each barrel had such a secret golden chamber.
  
  
  I had just returned the wooden square to its place when we heard voices and nervous footsteps. They discovered the beaten guards and Lisa's disappearance. The Arabian Burus that I left naturally gave them food for thought. I had hoped that they would delay searching the wine cellar until the last minute, or perhaps not get to it at all, but, unfortunately, they broke in almost immediately. Flashlights pierced the darkness and rushed towards the corner where we were hiding. The time has come: fight or surrender. Since the latter never appealed to me, without trying the former, I shot the lanterns twice, heard curses, and saw beams of light shining up in random curves. “Stay next to me, darling,” I shouted to Lisa. "We need to hurry."
  
  
  We reached the spiral staircase just as two guards descended. Wilhelmina barked twice and they both fell down the stairs. Now we were upstairs, and I was pulling Lisa around the corner, when six white shirts came running, of course, to scatter throughout the castle. I waited a moment, then ran towards the main gate. All I wanted was for Lisa to walk to the car. We won't be able to do this. A whole horde came running outside. I put two more boys down, turned around, and we ran back to the castle.
  
  
  The walls of the main corridor were covered with all sorts of medieval weapons. I jumped up and took down the scary object, which bore the evocative name "Morgenstern". It consisted of a club with an iron tip at the end of a long chain attached to a stick. Lisa pressed herself against the wall as the horde approached me. I swung the medieval weapon with all my might. The terrible mace swung in a wide arc, and I saw at least four of Dreissig's henchmen fall with gaping wounds from which blood gushed out. I continued to hold my weapon as I approached them. Three more fell. It was a very effective weapon. I was attacked from behind. Others grabbed my legs. I stumbled, but was determined to continue waving good day to them. There were more of them now, but they kept a respectful distance. I turned the baton in their direction and immediately focused on the trio holding me. I knocked one of them down with a sharp right hand and was working on the second, clutching my legs, when something hard exploded in the back of my head. IN
  
  
  the stone walls turned to rubber. The second blow hit me in the temple, and I still felt like I was falling. Then I lost consciousness.
  
  
  When I woke up, I saw a lot of light around me and heard a noisy whisper of voices. My wrists became heavy, and when I looked at them, I saw that they were wrapped in steel bands. I was roughly pulled up. The dim haze cleared, and the first thing I saw was Lisa, who was standing next to me, also in chains. Then I found Dreissig, still impeccably dressed, next to a smaller man in a jeweled robe. Ben Mussaf arrived and his retinue followed him. Dreissig proudly explained how they caught us. Next to Ben Mussaf stood an Arab with two cages, in each of which sat a hooded golden eagle.
  
  
  “Tomorrow they will be a perfect target for us, don’t you think, Your Excellency?” - Dreissig said to the Arab. Ben Mussaf nodded with a serious face, but his eyes were as sharp and penetrating as those of his eagles. I got the impression that Ben Moussaf was far from happy when he noticed that outsiders had broken into Dreissig's hideout.
  
  
  "Are these the only two?" he asked, looking intently at Dreissig.
  
  
  “We searched it thoroughly,” Dreissig responded. “The American was a thorn in our side for several days. He is a notorious agent of their organization AX.
  
  
  Ben Mussaf chuckled, and Dreissig ordered the guards to take us away. As we were being led away, I heard Ben Mussaf tell Dreissig that his men would remain with the gold on the barges until it was safely unloaded. Lisa and I were locked within the walls of the torture room and left to our fate. I looked at her.
  
  
  I said, "Do you know what I believe in?" “I don’t think Aunt Anna is going shopping today.”
  
  
  She bit her lips and her eyes darkened with worry.
  
  
  "What are they going to do to us?" she asked.
  
  
  “I really don’t know,” I replied. “Whatever it is, you can bet you won’t like it. Go get some sleep.
  
  
  'Sleep?' - she exclaimed incredulously. “Don't be stupid. How could I? '
  
  
  'Easily. Watch.' I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the wall, and within a few moments fell asleep. Many years ago and under very different circumstances, I learned that there is a time to sleep and a time to fight.
  
  
  Both were equally important and I learned to make the most of them in all circumstances. I woke up at dawn and smiled. Lisa was sleeping next to me. As I expected, all these emotions left her in a state of exhaustion. The morning passed and no one came to us. It was almost noon when Lisa woke up. The other prisoner was still chained, right in front of us. He moved every now and then, but did not say a word. Besides the soft good morning, Lisa was also silent, and there was fear in her eyes. From time to time she looked at me, trying to awaken calm and confidence in herself, but she could not.
  
  
  It was noon and no one came. I began to hope that something had gone wrong, but after a while I heard the guards approaching. First they untied Lisa, then me and the naked man on the other side of the room. We were carried up the stairs and out into the evening sun. Half a dozen men joined us and we found ourselves on the hills and finally, following a forest path, we reached a wide, gently sloping, immaculately kept lawn. I saw a group of men standing at the top of the slope. There was Dreissig in his riding breeches and Ben Moussaf in his wide coat. Behind him stood three Arabs, each wearing a golden eagle on his wrist. I felt very uncomfortable. I was well aware that we were not brought here for a peaceful bird show, and this soon became clear.
  
  
  "I'm sorry we kept you waiting so long," Dreissig said with a sadistic hypocrisy in his smile. “But His Excellency and I changed the schedule and held the meeting in the afternoon instead of tonight.”
  
  
  “I thought you were very busy counting the gold,” I replied affectionately. Dreissig showed his evil but charming smile again.
  
  
  “No, it won’t be until tonight,” he said. “The barges arrived just before dawn, and since unloading takes quite a long time, we decided to wait until this evening to make sure that the traffic on the river would not notice us.”
  
  
  “And I'm afraid you won't see it,” Ben Mussaf said, ordering one of the falconers to hang the eagle on his wrist. These magnificent hunters are in for a very interesting experiment. They are specially trained to hunt people. I aroused Mr. Dreissig's interest in this sport, and he won my admiration for its variety: golden eagles capable of tracking and destroying couriers and easily escaping from pursuit. This is a fantastic invention. The golden eagle is known to be a born hunter and killer. It often attacks anything that moves, so it wasn't a matter of developing their instincts, but of specializing them.
  
  
  “Because we are athletes,” Dreissig added, “we are giving all three of us an athletic opportunity to regain freedom.” He pointed to a group of trees at the foot of a green slope, about five hundred yards away. “If you get to those trees alive,” he said, “you will be freed.” I smiled like a farmer with a toothache. I had seen both Falcons and Eagles in action and knew the opportunity he presented us with. Ben Mussaf raised his hand, the hooded eagle moved and was ready for action. The small, still completely naked man was pushed forward. I saw pity and concern in Lisa's eyes.
  
  
  "Come on, pig!" Dreissig screamed and shook the small naked man. The man looked back, his eyes suddenly came to life, and he ran down at a desperate speed.
  
  
  "Remove the hood!" Ben Mussaf ordered the falconer, who immediately untied the cords from the back of the hood. With a quick movement, Ben Mussaf removed the hood from the eagle's head, raised his hand, and the eagle flew into the air. I saw how he first slowly hovered in the air, described a large circle, and then began to dive. The little man was already halfway up the slope, and I felt Lisa squeeze my hand. "He'll do it!" - she whispered excitedly. I said nothing. The terrible truth will reveal itself to her in a matter of seconds. I saw the eagle drop like a bomb. As the huge golden wings approached the man, they spread out to slow the momentum and the animal landed with its claws extended. I saw how the claws slid along the head of a man from whom a stream of blood gushed out. We could hear his cry of pain as he grabbed his head with both hands, tripped and fell. He rose to his feet and ran again, but the eagle turned at the end of its flight and was again approaching its prey, this time its talons buried deep in his hands. As the huge bird rose momentarily, it pulled one arm behind it, even lifting the man slightly off the ground. The next moment the claws hit his face and neck. Screaming loudly in pain, the little man fell to the ground. The eagle fell again in a whirlwind of wings and feathers and now tore the flesh on its belly. It was a disgusting, disgusting sight as the bloodthirsty eagle continued to pluck the naked body until it was a lifeless mass of torn and torn flesh. Finally Ben Mussaf blew a shrill whistle, the eagle pricked up its ears, looked up, flew back and finally landed with bloody talons and beak on his wrist. I looked at Lisa. She covered her face with her hands. The falconer immediately covered the eagle with his hood and returned to the castle.
  
  
  “It’s a wonderful sight,” Dreissig said admiringly. - Now it’s the girl’s turn. Take off her clothes." Lisa stood calmly and resignedly as she was so humiliated. I knew what would happen. She had no better chance than the little man. In a few minutes this beautiful body would turn into a bloody torn carcass. This could only be avoided by eliminating the eagles, and I saw no chance. But as that thought flashed through my mind, I realized that while I couldn't turn off the eagles, they could turn off each other. They were hooded until the moment they were released because they tore each other apart at the first opportunity. Now Lisa was completely naked, and Dreissig, Ben Moussaf and everyone else were preoccupied with her beauty.
  
  
  “It’s a shame,” the Arab suggested.
  
  
  "Yes, but she must pay for Helga's death," Dreissig said. "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, Your Excellency."
  
  
  No one looked at me, and I sneaked behind the falconers along with the two remaining eagles. I saw Dreissig grab Lisa and push her. “Run,” he called, “run, little bitch.” Lisa ran and her beautiful
  
  
  the flexible figure looked delightful on the grass. Ben Mussaf readied himself with the second eagle when I removed the two caps in one motion and let out a loud scream. Flapping their wings, both birds took off, described a wide circle and flew towards each other. They collide in the air with a shower of feathers and blood. They parted for a moment, attacked again, and claws and beaks tore at each other furiously. They rose and fell at the same time, separated for a moment and returned to the attack. Blood sprayed into the air. It was a life-and-death battle that happened faster than it seems at first glance. Suddenly there was a particularly violent collision high in the air, and that was the end. They fell to the ground, the winner a little more conscious than the loser. Dreissig and Ben Moussaf were as fascinated by the spectacle as I was, but now they looked at me with fury. I looked past them. Lisa disappeared from view into the forest.
  
  
  “Go get her,” Dreissig ordered several of his men. "And bring her back."
  
  
  “You promised her freedom if she could get to the forest,” I objected. "You have no decency or honor at all, do you?"
  
  
  He hit me terribly in the face with his face distorted by anger. It was an open palm strike, but my head was spinning. . If he expected me to react with trepidation and fear, he was wrong. I hit him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, wrapped his arms around his stomach and fell to his knees. Four guards grabbed me before I could kick him in the head.
  
  
  “Take him away,” Ben Mussaf ordered the guards, helping Dreissig to his feet. I walked calmly with them. They took me back to the dungeon and again locked my wrists with shackles. An hour later it was dark and I was still alone. Over time, I became a little more optimistic. Apparently they didn't find Lisa. So maybe she ran away after all. Finally I started to relax. All I had to do now was figure out how I could get out of here myself, how I could get Dreissig, and how I could ruin his plans. That's all... but that's not all!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I watched closely as Dreissig's men carried the gold cargo into the wine cellar. They had to use the back entrance, and the wine cellar was not far from the torture chamber. I need to hear this. But apparently they haven't worked on this yet. At least, my alert ears had not yet caught anything - there was dead silence in the emptiness. Suddenly I heard the sound of quiet footsteps. I peered into the dim reflection of the torchlight and suddenly saw a red figure.
  
  
  "Oh please!" - I exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here again?"
  
  
  “I couldn’t leave alone,” Lisa said. “They completely cordoned off the area with patrols, so I returned. You left me here, so get me out now.
  
  
  “Come on,” I protested. “You followed me and got this as punishment!”
  
  
  She smiled. “A little misunderstanding,” she replied. She freed me from the handcuffs. Her eyes were no longer scared and apathetic, but cold and self-confident again. I commented on this.
  
  
  “I was scared and humiliated and also felt guilty,” she said. "Now I'm just furious."
  
  
  "Where did you find your clothes?"
  
  
  “On the grass where they left them,” she replied. Then I saw that I couldn’t get past the guards, I hid in the forest, almost froze to death, and then returned to the lawn where my clothes lay. I just put on a blouse and trousers."
  
  
  She shouldn't have told me that. I could already see the magnificent curves of her breasts pressing against her tight blouse, exposing her small, pointed nipples. They were the decisive incentive to get us out of here safe and sound.
  
  
  “I passed the pier,” she said, standing up. “They haven't started transferring gold yet. Ben Mussaf's men are still guarding the boats."
  
  
  'How many?' I asked. "Or did you not notice this detail?"
  
  
  “I counted six,” she said sharply, “three on each barge.”
  
  
  "You're a good kid," I said. "Maybe we can make you a spy."
  
  
  “Do you understand that I still don’t understand what this all means?” she asked
  
  
  as she followed me up the stairs. “Other than what I discovered, you didn’t tell me anything.”
  
  
  “I’ll tell you everything when we get out of here,” I said. 'I promise. If we can't figure it out, don't worry about it."
  
  
  The Eagles incident made me think about turning Dreissig's tricks against him. So the gold barges were still on the pier; I was sure that the gold was hidden behind the deceptive camouflage. And I wanted to not only pursue these bastards, but also make gold mining impossible. I stopped when we reached a large corridor and grabbed another medieval weapon from the wall, this time a heavy ax with two sharp blades. I needed something silent and effective, and these were the qualities that the battle ax excelled at. Thanks to my experience with Gutentag, I have come to respect and prefer this medieval weapon. This time we sneaked to the front door, remembering that the back gate at the wine cellar was swarming with guards waiting for gold. No doubt they were still there. There was only one white shirt standing at the main gate. I crept up to him and hit him on the head with the flat side of the axe. We threw him into a ditch after I took the beautiful dagger from him.
  
  
  As we hurried to the pier, I realized that Dreissig's forces had already been significantly reduced by me. I always took pride in a job well done. He now had fewer men and apparently decided to place most of them on the borders of his property to prevent Lisa from escaping. However, I acted with extreme caution. I almost felt success and didn't want it to pass me by. The barges were moored coupled to each other on a flat jetty. I saw four Arabs walking back and forth on the barges. The other two were probably sleeping somewhere in the boats.
  
  
  “We’ll crawl on our stomachs,” I told Lisa. "We have to get as close to them as possible before we strike." It was a dark night for which I was grateful. With Lisa behind me, we moved forward slowly and carefully, inch by inch. When we were only a few yards from the dock, I handed her the axe.
  
  
  “With this you cut the ropes that tie the barges to the pier. Don't pay attention to what I do. So cut those piers so the barges will come off.”
  
  
  I waited until the nearest Arab turned away from me and headed towards the stern of the barge. I took one big leap and landed silently on the balls of my feet. The dagger I had taken from the guard was in my hand when I landed on the deck of the barge. I quickly dealt with the first Arab and lowered him onto the deck. The second one just turned around and found me just as a dagger flew through the air and pierced his chest. He staggered and tried to pull the blade out of his chest with both hands. I stood next to him before he fell and also lowered him to the deck, pulling the dagger out of his body. The third, as I expected, was fast asleep in the wheelhouse of the barge. I made sure he didn't wake up... I heard the ax hit the taut rope and felt the barge start to move as the rope broke. The three Arabs on the next barge also heard this and turned around. My dagger hit the Arab again. I saw him fall. The other two jumped off the barge and ran along the shore towards the castle. I didn't try to stop them; I jumped off the barge just as the second rope broke and the boat was immediately swept off the dock. Lisa had already cut the first line of the second barge when I took the ax from her and took care of the second.
  
  
  “Let's swim,” she said. I grinned and we watched as the second barge also sailed away and joined the first, slowly floating down the river.
  
  
  "What's happening to them?" - asked Lisa.
  
  
  “The current carries them, and sooner or later they will end up on a headland, a pier, or maybe even a ship. But you can bet that some decent citizen will call the river police. If they went to investigate the cargo and found out what it really was, they would have a shit ton of gold on their hands, maybe worth a million dollars. Neither Dreissig nor Ben Moussaf can claim this. Then they will have to answer a lot of difficult questions.”
  
  
  Lisa giggled. “Very nice,” she said.
  
  
  “Let's go back to the castle,” I said. “I still have things to do.
  
  
  I discovered it later, but the castle was already in complete disarray
  
  
  R. Two Arab boat guards ran to Ben Mussaf and told him what had happened. Ben Moussaf visited Dreissig.
  
  
  “Dumb,” he shouted at the big guy. “You are a pathetic amateur. I will bring you more than a million in gold, and you will throw it away. How could you let this happen? Two officers, a man and a girl, are enough to kill your entire organization."
  
  
  “This man is a very dangerous police officer,” Dreissig defended himself.
  
  
  “But he has no accomplices,” thundered Ben Mussaf. “Did you want to campaign against the Israelis? Did you want to unite the Arab world? Did you think that you would go down in history as a political and military genius? It's funny after what happened. If you cannot lead even this part of the battle better, you are not the man to lead the Arab world to victory over the Jews."
  
  
  “You have no right to talk to me like that,” Dreissig exclaimed.
  
  
  “I am withdrawing from this case,” Ben Mussaf said. 'I
  
  
  I don’t believe in my abilities anymore.”
  
  
  "You can't back down now," Dreissig threatened. “You have a lot more gold.”
  
  
  “And I will save it for someone more efficient,” replied the Arab. Horribly he squeezed past Ben Mussaf and called his guards.
  
  
  “Arrest him,” he said, pointing to Ben Mussaf. "Take him to the tower, he will be locked there until further notice."
  
  
  “You are crazy,” the Arab shouted as the guards grabbed him.
  
  
  “And you are a hostage—my hostage,” Dreissig said. “I will hold you hostage until I get all the gold I need. You have sons in your country. They will have to pay for you. And your subjects too. Take him away. '
  
  
  When Lisa and I got to the castle, we sneaked through the moat in the dark and found the entrance to the basement. News of the incident spread like wildfire. The guards spoke about this openly and excitedly, and while Lisa and I were hiding behind the railing, we heard everything in detail.
  
  
  “Trouble in the Garden of Eden,” I said. Lisa suppressed a fit of laughter. We slipped out of hiding and ran down the corridor. I wanted to grab Dreissig, but first I hid Lisa in the room. It didn't work because of the rat, a real rat with four legs. He was tall and gray-haired, and suddenly ran out right in front of us. Lisa reacted like all women to rats. She screamed loudly and immediately realized what she had done. I immediately heard footsteps approaching. Neither of us were caught again. I jumped out of the nearest window, grabbed the ledge and pressed myself against it. I heard them take Lisa. I waited until my fingers stopped squeezing him, then I pulled myself up and rushed into the corridor.
  
  
  I went Dreissig. I was determined to do this because I had heard that he had imprisoned Ben Mussaf and killed two other Arabs. He was not only dangerous, but also increasingly unstable. I'll deal with Lisa later. But it turned out that I would find her with Dreissig. I was already near his office when I heard Lisa’s screams behind the closed door. I rushed to the door and when it swung open, I saw that Dreissig had pushed the girl onto the sofa. He tore the clothes from her body and held her helplessly under him, holding both her hands with his long, muscular fingers. When I burst inside, he stood up, grabbed Lisa and held her in front of him like a shield.
  
  
  As soon as he reached the table, he took the letter opener and headed towards the center of the room. I was waiting for his next step and preparing for it. With a sudden movement, he threw Lisa in his direction, hoping that I would automatically try to catch her and lose my balance. Instead, I stepped aside, grabbed Lisa's hand, and pushed her back onto the couch using the principle of centrifugal force. When Dreissig attacked with a letter opener, I was already in position. I dived under it, grabbed his arm and turned him over. He screamed and dropped his weapon, slamming into the wall. When he bounced off the wall, I caught him quickly. This caused him to trip and collide in the hallway. I immediately ran after him, but he managed to get up and retreated to the wall, against which there were several long halberds. I saw what he was up to, walked up to him and hugged his knees. He let both hands hit me hard on the back of my head, making me feel dizzy for a moment. It came free when I fell face down and I heard
  
  
  that he had taken one of the halberds from its hook. I quickly rolled over as he pointed a spike in my direction. I jumped to my feet and dodged another dangerous attack. Now he held a long stick under his arm and waited for the opportunity to cross me. I pressed myself against the wall and let him think he had control over me. It fell out, and I turned on my side so that the halberd only tore my shirt. This time I grabbed a long stick that was bouncing off the wall and pulled it out of Dreissig's grip. The weapon was too heavy and very clumsy. I dropped it and jumped over to Dreissig.
  
  
  His lips were compressed and grim as he slashed straight at me. I blocked the blow, tried to throw a left hand and found that he was also a good boxer. But the last thing I wanted was for a boxing match to be useless. I was surprised that some of his boys still hadn't come running. I turned and found myself under his cover, turning sharply to the left towards his chest. I saw him shrink and hit his left side. I took his left hand, dodged a false right and threw him to the ground. He lay motionless. I turned his head back and forth. Nothing was broken, but he was unconscious. I looked up and saw Lisa standing in the doorway. She quickly got dressed. When I looked at her I saw her eyes open, I saw a warning forming on her lips. I knew there was no way to turn around. I fell forward and crouched down as Dreissig's punch whizzed over my head. The force of the attack landed him on top of me and I fell further, but as I fell I turned and landed on my back. I noticed that Dreissig was not at all unconscious. The bastard tricked me. He jumped at me, but I hit him hard. I felt his sternum crack as my foot touched him and he fell backwards. I got up and followed him. This time there will be no more tricks. I hit him with something he didn't like. He tried to cover himself, but after the blow
  
  
  With my left hand the man lowered his hands, and with my right hand I hit him in the jaw. I heard the cracking of bones. He fell and lay there, his face distorted with pain and foam on his lips. I reached out and pulled his shirt. A long halberd appeared and I saw what had happened. He fell onto the sharp tip of the halberd. The peak practically pierced his body between the shoulder blades. Heinrich Dreissig was dead. The Phoenix of Nazism was no more...
  
  
  I was still wondering why none of Dreissig's guards showed up to help him when I smelled a strong burning smell. I looked at Lisa. Her eyes were wide open. Black smoke billowed down the corridor. I ran to the stairs and saw flames raging in the large hall. Old tables, chairs and other furniture were piled up to make a fire. Tapestries and banners on the walls caught fire. In no time, the building style of the old castle will cause a huge upward thrust. The heat and smoke reached all the corridors and alcoves. Now I understood why none of his friends showed up. He ordered them to set it on fire.
  
  
  I was right in my assumption that he would imitate his idol in his Götterdämmerung hype. I rejected it and unfortunately forgot. Somehow it didn’t fit into the course of events. He decided to take Ben Mussaf hostage to obtain new shipments of gold. Why would he abandon it all in a meaningless sea of flames? I returned to Lisa.
  
  
  “Did Dreissig say anything to you when he brought you here?” I asked. "Anything that might be interesting?"
  
  
  “He said he would rape me before he left,” she replied.
  
  
  “Before he left here,” I repeated. It's not like he intended to die in the fire himself. Was there anything else?
  
  
  "Well, when he... when he..."
  
  
  “Stop that thing,” I shouted.
  
  
  “When he laid down on me,” she blurted out, “he said he would take me with him, but I would get in his way. He said he would have enough trouble with the Arab and his precious birds."
  
  
  Now it looks like something. Dreissig got the idea that it was all overexposed. There are too many mistakes, too many of his bullies who know their intricacies, too many opportunities to find himself in danger from Ben Moussaf's cronies. He would let it all go
  
  
  Burn him to make it seem like he died too. But in reality, he intended to disappear with Ben Mussaf as a hostage in order to start over. I heard Lisa cough and felt the acrid smoke enter my lungs. The castle was choking with fatal smoke. Soon scorching smoke will rise. If Dreissig was planning to escape, he certainly had a way out.
  
  
  “Stay here and close the door,” I told Lisa. "I'm going to let Ben Mussaf go."
  
  
  I tied a handkerchief to my face and felt my way through the smoke to the stairs. It was terribly stuffy in there, and I felt my lungs expanding. As I walked up the stairs, the heat was unbearable. The smoke in the tower was not very thick, but it was only a matter of time. I found the door to the cell and looked through the keyhole. Ben Mussaf sat in prison and looked deeply troubled. I opened the shutter and he ran out.
  
  
  “Dreissig is dead and the castle is about to turn into a giant oven,” I said. “If I don't find a way out, we'll all burn alive. Follow me. '
  
  
  Ben Mussaf nodded, a mixture of gratitude and tension in his eyes. Just a few moments later the smoke thickened and it became hot. I went down the stairs with difficulty and groped my way along the corridor to the room where Lisa was waiting. She kept the door closed, and the air inside, although smoke was already leaking through the door cracks, was still relatively good. We could breathe and talk. But with every moment death approached.
  
  
  “Dreissig intended to disappear,” I said. "There must be a secret exit somewhere."
  
  
  "It could be anywhere!" - Liza exclaimed. “It’s impossible to find him in this smoke. Besides, where do we start?
  
  
  “You're right, it could be anywhere, but it's unlikely,” I said, coughing. “You said he intended to take Ben Mussaf and his precious birds. This means he probably planned to pick them up on the way. Come on...we have one chance and we have nothing to lose by taking it." I walked ahead and fell to my knees to crawl on the ground. This wasn't a big improvement, but it made a difference because smoke tends to rise. But even the stone floor became hot. It seemed to me that we had about three minutes to find a way out. I managed to find the first room where most of the eagles lived, and I felt encouraged when I saw that the door was closed. We opened it and breathed in the relatively fresh air of a closed room. Both side walls were hidden behind old cages and equipment, but the back wall was clear. The wall was covered with some fine wooden panels under the vault. “Press all the panels,” I ordered.
  
  
  Ben Mussaf and Lisa followed my order and pressed themselves against the panels. Suddenly, when Lisa pressed somewhere below, an opening appeared in the wall. I walked down the narrow corridor. Even in this steeply descending spiral and partially spiral staircase, the walls were already hot. Finally he came to a narrow door. I touched it first to check the temperature. I reminded the others that Dreissig wanted to leave much earlier; but fortunately the door turned out to be relatively cool to the touch. I pushed and we found ourselves in a long corridor. I saw another door at the end and, pushing it, I felt the cool evening air. We quickly went outside, and I saw that the corridor led us underground about a hundred yards from the castle.
  
  
  I felt Lisa's hand in mine as we turned to look at the burning castle. Flames leaked from the cross windows everywhere, right up to the loopholes on the roofs of the towers. It seemed as if a medieval army had laid siege to the castle, and in some ways it was. An army of medieval ideas besieged him, discrediting ideas about superior men and racist myths, about original sin and the supposed enemies of humanity.
  
  
  "Where did you park the car?" - I asked Lisa. I couldn't stop laughing now. It sounded like we had just stepped out of a movie.
  
  
  “On the way,” she said. 'Come with me.'
  
  
  Now I turned to Ben Mussaf. The Arab's fierce eyes were piercing but uncertain.
  
  
  “I thank you for my life,” he said. “I am eternally grateful to you, although, of course, I understand that I am your prisoner.”
  
  
  I expected this
  
  
  this moment had to come, and I thought about it for a long time. There was really no motive for detaining Ben Mussaf, although I was confident that I could come up with something based on conspiracy, perhaps even complicity in murder. But that didn't matter anymore. I decided to let him run. This would demonstrate the West's generosity and willingness to forgive and forget. And above all, it will be a lesson he won't soon forget.
  
  
  “You can go,” I said. I saw surprise in his eyes. “I only advise you from now on to choose your friends more carefully and for better purposes. You are betting on the wrong horse. There are much nicer Jewish boys in your area. Check it out and you'll be good neighbors."
  
  
  Ben Mussaf said nothing, but he understood. He bowed, turned and left. I took Lisa's hand and we walked to the car. All of Dreissig's henchmen have disappeared. It wasn't worth picking them up. There will always be others ready to serve any master...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When we returned to Lisa's temporary home, there was a note from her aunt on the table.
  
  
  
  
  Dear Lisa,
  
  
  Mrs. Becker asked me to come and stay with her for a few days. Although you didn't come back last night, I still decided to leave. I'll be back late Friday evening.
  
  
  Aunt Anna."
  
  
  
  
  "Do you have a shelter somewhere?" - Lisa asked shyly. “Yes,” I said. 'Here.'
  
  
  Her calm, confident gaze studied me. “I have a feeling about this,” she said. “Don’t worry,” I grinned at her. "You're as safe as can be."
  
  
  She thought for a moment and accepted the offer.
  
  
  “I’m going to take a shower and change,” she said. “I feel like smoked ham.”
  
  
  - Then it's my turn. While you take a shower, I'll call my boss in the States. He pays... so don't panic.
  
  
  I watched as she entered the bedroom. Her breasts moved deliciously under her red blouse, which was barely contained by her bra. I sat down and asked to meet with Hawk. I called him only after I had showered and freshened up. Lisa made my bed and slept on the sofa herself. We were just arguing about who would sit on the couch when the phone rang. It was Hawk.
  
  
  “The Arabs financed Dreissig,” I told him. “Especially one Abdul bin Mussaf.”
  
  
  "Financing?" - Hawk's voice rang out. For those who had a habit of speaking in a monotone, he paid a lot of attention to the last syllable.
  
  
  “Funded,” I repeated. “Dreissig is dead, and Ben Mussaf has packed his bags and returned home. Oh, one more thing,” I said. "West Germany is enriched with a million dollars' worth of gold bars that were found on two barges in the Rhine."
  
  
  “Good job, N3,” Hawk said. “You have outdone yourself. Now you can have a break. Take tomorrow off. And then come back the day after tomorrow.”
  
  
  "Just tomorrow?" - I exclaimed. “Don't spoil me like that. Three to four hours is more than enough.”
  
  
  Hawke's silence spoke volumes. “Okay,” he said. “When do you want to come back? When do you think you got tired of her?
  
  
  “This weekend and never in this order,” I said.
  
  
  “Okay, but make sure you come on Saturday. Or home, if that's convenient. Then I may have something important for you.
  
  
  He hung up and I turned to Lisa. “I have a break until Saturday. “Then I will return to the States,” I announced.
  
  
  “You will disappear here by Friday afternoon at the latest,” she said. "Before Aunt Anna comes back."
  
  
  Lisa was wearing a blue robe and nothing else, as far as I could tell. With most women, I would already know where I stand. Lisa, however, was impossible to understand. She was very beautiful and very desirable. She was also very sympathetic and, if it was a bad decision, it was touching that she came for me. I didn't want to recklessly ruin a damn good relationship. So I decided to play nice and not risk hurting her anyway.
  
  
  “You lie down on the bed, and I’ll lie down on the sofa, and no more nonsense,” I said. She got up and went to the bedroom. She stopped at the door, and the robe fell open enough to reveal a long, beautiful leg. I thought about her naked beauty
  
  
  
  as she ran across the lawn. “Good night, Nick,” came the reply.
  
  
  “Sleep well, honey,” I replied. She turned off the light and the room became almost dark. The furniture reflected the light from the street lamps on the corner. I was just stretching when I heard the door open and she knelt down in front of me. Even in the dim light I could tell she looked serious.
  
  
  "Who are you really, Nick?" - she asked softly. "You still haven't told me about it."
  
  
  I extended my hand and pulled her towards me. "I'm the one who would like to kiss you," I said. 'And who are you?'
  
  
  “The one who would want you to kiss him,” she said. Her arms wrapped around my neck and the robe fell open. My hands found her upward, young and energetic breasts. Her pink nipples popped out immediately as my fingers caressed them, and her lips were the same honeyed softness I'd tasted before. Only now they pressed me passionately. Her shoulders were bare as the robe slipped off her and she pressed her chest against me, still kneeling next to the sofa. I lifted her up and made way for her long, flexible body that conformed to the dips and curves of my body. At first she was hesitant in the love play, but as I explored her body, her beautiful long legs spread and turned towards me for more. Her hands were now also caressing, and her breasts were pressed against my hands so that they could be touched.
  
  
  “Oh, Nick, Nick,” she muttered. "Never stop...not today or tomorrow...until you have to leave." I took her and she answered with the delightful tender eagerness of a youth. The second time she was just as ready, tender and delicious.
  
  
  We only got up to eat, but spent most of those two and a half days in bed. Lisa's delightful sense of humor spiced up our lovemaking.
  
  
  It was too fast on Friday afternoon. I got dressed and left before Aunt Anna returned home. I was sorry to leave her. Courting a girl who values ​​you both as a person and as a bedmate is simply a pleasant experience.
  
  
  "What plane are you flying out on tomorrow?" - she asked at the door.
  
  
  “Ten hours from Tempelhof,” I replied.
  
  
  “I'll be there,” she promised.
  
  
  “Not necessarily,” I said.
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, her eyes dancing.
  
  
  I left the house, checked into a hotel room for the night, and wished I could figure out a way to see Lisa again. I woke up early and got to the airport. He was busy, and just before I left I saw her walking towards me through the crowd. She wore an elegant turquoise suit and again had a carefree air about her.
  
  
  'What's happening?' - I asked a little rudely. “I need to sit down now.”
  
  
  “I was delayed on the way,” she said, walking next to me. I gave my ticket to the cashier and looked surprised when she pulled out a ticket too.
  
  
  'What are you up to?' I asked.
  
  
  “I’m flying home,” she said, taking my hand and heading towards the plane. I stopped.
  
  
  "How is it home?" - I asked suspiciously.
  
  
  “In Milwaukee,” she said coldly. “Come on, you’re holding people up.”
  
  
  I followed her lithe tall figure up the stairs and onto the plane. She immediately sat down and patted the chair next to her.
  
  
  “Wait a minute,” I said. How about Milwaukee? You told me you were German."
  
  
  “I never said that,” she replied with a disappointed look when I accused her of something like that. Indeed, when I thought about it, I couldn't remember her ever saying it in so many words.
  
  
  "I'm of German descent," she said. “And I visited my aunt here. You just assumed that I was from Hamburg or Dusseldorf or something.
  
  
  “I asked you where you learned all these American expressions,” I said.
  
  
  - And I told you this. I watch a lot of American films."
  
  
  "To Milwaukee?"
  
  
  "To Milwaukee!"
  
  
  “You said you learned English at school.”
  
  
  “That's right,” she said, smiling with satisfaction.
  
  
  I sat down. “If there weren’t so many people on this plane, I would have forgotten you,” I told her.
  
  
  "You can do this when we're in New York," she said, her eyes dancing again. “I promise I will help. You can address me as you wish."
  
  
  I felt like I was with her again
  
  
  and grinned. It would be a great flight back. The weekend suddenly seemed very rosy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  Neo-Nazis in West Germany are suddenly making big gains in elections. Their leader introduces himself as the new Fuhrer. Little is known about him, but one thing is certain: the neo-Nazis themselves did not have the money to make their all-out election campaign possible.
  
  
  Who is interested in the new Nazi era?
  
  
  Who is the mysterious financier behind the Fuhrer candidate?
  
  
  During his search, Nick Carter first meets a seductive blonde who performs a striptease in an old castle on the Rhine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  Human time bomb
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  
  Human time bomb
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his deceased son Anton
  
  
  
  Original title: Human Time Bomb
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  N82 realized that he had made a mistake when the door in the building slammed shut and the chirping of the night insects stopped. Then the frogs remaining further in the factory plantation also fell silent in the landscaped pond. There was someone moving in the dark.
  
  
  
  It was easy to get here the night before, under the fence, in a place where the ground had sagged from the rain. N82 concluded that he should not have taken this route twice. He looked at the oval cloud that passed in front of the crescent moon and crawled back, intending to return the same way. In the darkness, of course, he could not risk taking another road.
  
  
  
  He was not afraid of Doberman Pinschers. The scent of bitches in heat in an aerosol was a reliable repellent. By the way, four large beautiful animals were just sitting next to the gatekeeper on the main road. So that he could see them clearly and think, "Now that they're not patrolling, I might as well go in." His head itched. This trap was well prepared.
  
  
  
  He was alarmed and tried to hide. He crawled faster. Footsteps came to him from different directions. Then there was nothing left. He stood up and pulled out his 9.5mm Chiefs Airweight Special revolver.
  
  
  
  N82 was Hubert P. Dumont, a tough young guy with a taste for adventure, shiny fast planes and girls who were good in the flesh. The only fault for him was marked as "recklessness" on the AX score sheets. Perhaps it was because of his bright red hair, good laugh and great muscular strength.
  
  
  
  He underwent intensive two years of AX training and several test assignments. And now he had made his way through a pitch-black valley in Colorado because he had asked for this task. He got it because David Hawk had too few people available. Nick Carter was in Europe and everything that happened was a routine examination. Watch, record, report.
  
  
  
  But to be on your guard, you wanted to be on top, didn't you? Hubie considered this as he looked around the main building of the Reed-Farben Ltd. complex.
  
  
  
  He changed direction and crawled to the right, as the footsteps coming from the left and trampling fresh grass were now heard more clearly. Strange steps, they were similar to the steps of elephants who learned to walk on tiptoes. They changed direction with him and threatened to overtake him.
  
  
  
  The oval cloud moved on, again letting in the pale moonlight. He straightened up and saw a huge figure approaching him. His stride was interrupted and then he was grabbed by hands perhaps stronger than his own.
  
  
  
  The man's stench made him gag, a mixture of operating room chemicals and slaughterhouse waste. “Let go, or I’ll shoot,” Hubie said loudly. He acted according to instructions. Three warnings. 'Let me out. Release...'
  
  
  
  The hand reached for his pistol. The hand gripping his left bicep wrapped around his neck. Pressed against his broad chest, Hubie was panting. He shot in a tense position, but carefully. The eight-inch barrel drove the first bullet under the man's chest, with a slightly muffled sound between their struggling bodies.
  
  
  
  Hubie's attacker trembled, but the vice grip of his hands tightened even more. Hubie fired four more times; the 9.5mm Special rounds slammed the buttstock's recoil into his palm every time. He felt the sting of a needle in his back and realized that the man who had been pursuing him had now joined the fray. He tried to push the man in front of him and thought about five 9.5mm bullets - this guy must be made of concrete!
  
  
  
  Hubie managed to twist his palm out from under his opponent’s arm and bend, not realizing that there was no speed or strength behind this. His head began to spin, he felt weak, as if drunk, and collapsed. The man he shot fell with him. Hubie lay motionless, clutched in the dead man's arms.
  
  
  
  When N82 still didn't respond two days after his fateful overnight adventure, a yellow flag appeared on the huge map at AX headquarters. After this warning sign remained in place for eight hours, Bernard Santos of headquarters was notified. He inquired carefully by telephone in Denver. Since the yellow flag was still on the card the next morning, he reported this to David Hawk, as procedure required.
  
  
  
  AX has an elite intelligence service. David Hawke, as its respected head, can receive funds from Congress as easily as the other seventeen intelligence and security agencies of any significance. Perhaps part of the secret to AX's strong performance is that it operates on a budget that is only a fraction of that of other organizations.
  
  
  
  Ultimately, a lot of your time can be spent spending money and raising new funds. Senior administration stifles action. On the other hand, AX only has a limited number of people on reserve; each of which is a super agent, therefore Hubert was one of them.
  
  
  
  It's interesting to note that while FBI employees are "agents" and many call them "CIA guys," those in the know refer to AX employees as "deputies." This term is used by senators and senior government and judicial officials. AX agents, including David Hawk, appreciate this, although they continue to call themselves AX people, including registration and numbers.
  
  
  
  Hubie Dumont was placed in the N category due to his intelligence and athleticism. If he had survived and demonstrated his skills and wits, he could have become an assassin—a skilled assassin. These few AX fighters represent the United States and have the right to act in an emergency as they see fit without being held accountable. A witty, imaginative journalist who unearthed some details of the AX cases, then called them Master Killers. The AX people didn't really like the name, but it stuck.
  
  
  
  Hubie Dumont could have done it (only one of fifteen who show up for the final exam and final tests, and these are already seasoned AX fighters), but when David Hawk received the message “no more reports”, he thought of anything but about it. . From his office in downtown Washington, Dupont Circle, he spoke to Santos on a private line using a speech scrambler.
  
  
  
  "Bernie, regarding N82 - are there any more reports from those areas?"
  
  
  
  - Nothing, sir. The telex is empty. The state detective knows nothing about this. So does the sheriff. Local police don't pass through there often. There are only three men and horses. I didn't call them because it could lead to all sorts of complications. They are classified as C-4. Should I still try?
  
  
  
  Hawk's wrinkled face was very serious. - 'No. What about N3?
  
  
  
  
  'In Paris. Will be back tomorrow.'
  
  
  
  'Please send it to me. As fast as possible.'
  
  
  
  - Yes sir.
  
  
  
  Hawk hung up and pulled out a REED-FARBEN Ltd. folder from the bottom drawer of his desk. and opened it. He quickly read several sheets inside.
  
  
  
  You can think of Reed-Farben as a fast-growing company in an equally fast-growing pharmaceutical industry, or you can think of it as something damn mysterious. It depended on your experience and your intuition. The funding was good, but part of it was foreign money. Senior management never showed up, as did most key employees. German, Japanese and French scientists were hired, but this was the case in many societies. They built their own airport and refused financial assistance from the government. They boasted a very profitable production of industrial chemicals and drugs, as well as leading biologists and a physician who was an authority on heart and kidney transplants. Oddly enough, he did not give an interview because he worked at Reed-Farben.
  
  
  
  The corners of Hawk's mouth tightened. N82 was sent to take stock. When an AX agent stopped reporting, especially a determined young man like Hubie Dumont, you could be sure that your initial suspicions were well founded. Hawk slowly closed the folder and placed it in the top right drawer, which he called his emergency basket.
  
  
  
  
  Martha Wagner missed Hubie. Besides AX, she was the only one who noticed the void he left behind. She missed his company at lunch and also looked forward in vain to meeting him for morning coffee or lunch.
  
  
  
  Martha was a young woman who knew what she wanted. She was quite plump, but that didn't bother her - a beautiful figure, but with something else.
  
  
  
  She was the Martha of the neon signs along the main road:
  
  
  
  
  MARTHA'S RESTAURANT - EXCELLENT CUISINE - COCKTAILS.
  
  
  
  
  Six years ago, her father's lungs collapsed prematurely due to mine dust, but she received $6,000 from the insurance company with additional compensation from his employer as well as from the union.
  
  
  
  Previously, Martha worked at Perlinson's Restaurant in Colorado Springs for almost two years. She knew how to bite the bullet, make a good living, and try to curb her brother Pete's drinking so he could keep his last job as a reporter at the Rocky Mountain News. On their few days off, they skied in Copperpot Valley, and one day Martha took an eye on Lucky Ed's Diner. Lucky was seventy and the place was a dirty place, but it still sold well. This was the only restaurant on site.
  
  
  
  She bought it, brought in Bob Half-Crow - an Indian who was one of Perlinson's best cooks - and within a few months you had to wait at Martha's restaurant during the holidays for a table.
  
  
  
  Regardless of whether Pete Wagner was a good journalist, the balance between his achievements and drinking proved too unstable, and he became the manager of his sister's company. It turned out to be an interesting relationship because Bob Half-Crow hated hard liquor ("That's what destroyed my race"). When Bob wasn't working in the kitchen—he now had four cooks under him—he was an accomplished bartender. - a good specialist and an interesting conversationalist. One day he told Martha confidentially:
  
  
  
  “I like to serve alcohol to white people. “I always tell them, ‘I think you’ve had enough, sir,’ but they never want to listen.”
  
  
  
  He was a good watchdog for Pete. They were close friends, except for the occasional occasion when Pete would take one drink, then another, and then lose count. One day Bob came all the way to Boise to take him home.
  
  
  
  A few years ago, Martha bulldozed Ed's wooden shack and built a new café/restaurant/diner—the inside was stainless steel and plastic, the outside was varnished wood. Even then, you often had to wait for a table during the holiday and ski season.
  
  
  
  Martha missed Hubie Dumont because he approached her the same way she approached many people. He was attentive, sweet, and you could tell he had a lot more up his sleeve than he let on. And Martha was a healthy woman; her vital juices still wanted to boil, although she worked ten hours a day and rejected many offers. With all her caution, she realized that even though Hubie had only spoken to him about five times, she could be the man she had always been looking for and needing.
  
  
  
  He said he was a chemical agent. He called it interesting work.
  
  
  
  One day he recorded it all on tape, complimented her, and managed to tell much of her life story. She had a feeling he had an idea for a date—maybe next time?
  
  
  
  That night, when he was carried unconscious into the windowless building into which he had intended to look, Martha Wagner sat in her restaurant with a glass of beer long after closing. Finally her usual stern smile appeared on her face, she shrugged her shoulders and drove the car one mile to the bungalow where she and Pete lived.
  
  
  
  Martha Wagner was very surprised when another new figure appeared. It must have been a good year for me, she thought, or maybe I look more attractive. This one was taller than Hubie and had brown hair instead of red, but his manner was just as smooth. Although he was polite and even reserved, you felt that he was interested in you and that you were attracted to him. He was handsome to look at, although this would not be the opinion of girls who prefer narrow-faced people with sideburns. Jim Perry had a full, round chin and a mouth above it that laughed handsomely, although he did not do it often. She thought he had the sharpest look she had ever seen since Bob Half-Raven.
  
  
  
  He drove a four-year-old Ford, but it always looked immaculate. He said with his smile that he was from the Pittsburgh area and that he was looking for a job. He's had his fill of steel mills.
  
  
  
  That first night, Martha carefully assessed Jim Perry and stayed in the store well past the hour when she usually went home to recover from a busy day at work. She wasn't sure why. (I don't expect, she told herself several times that evening, to jump on a man.) She was already twenty-seven, hardworking, in excellent health, more intelligent than most, and often kept company in the tidy house with her brother Pete. On Tuesday morning she had a pleasant visit with the maid who came once a week. She subscribed to four magazines and a New York newspaper. Pete taught her to play chess. So why should she strive for a man?
  
  
  
  She imagined herself assessing Jim Perry as a precaution. After all, she had six vending machines in the lobby between the bar and the dining room, and like everyone else, she didn't tax all of her sales. This Jim Perry could very well be from the IRS. He was so neat and tidy. And you'd almost say he looks too much for the average steel mill worker or truck driver.
  
  
  
  This judgment appeared after he approached her in her private corner with a question. He said this very calmly, politely and with a shy smile; he was by no means a daredevil.
  
  
  
  — Miss Wagner? My name is Jim Perry. Could you recommend a decent but not too expensive guest house in the area? I’m not needy, but I’m not pumped full of money either.”
  
  
  
  She looked at him with the eyes of an experienced banker. Then she noticed his keen, wide-set gray eyes and the boyish curve of his chin and cheeks. But it was no longer a boy. About her age. When Nick Carter found out he was being stared at, he was glad he didn't wear contact lenses. (AX's makeup department gave him exactly the eyes, hair, and facial features he needed, but this girl was looking for flaws.)
  
  
  
  “Try it at Alpine. Seven kilometers to the west; this can't be missed. And don't be fooled by these old houses. Abe Phipps has something for you.
  
  
  
  'Thank you.' - He hesitated shyly. — Would you like to cash a check for me? Not right away, I mean. You can send them to the bank and then give me the money when it is transferred to your account.
  
  
  
  'This is good. From whom was it deregistered?
  
  
  
  "At the Monongahela Steel Mill." He gave her a check for $159.32. “My last week's salary. I asked Bob at the bar and he said you could...
  
  
  
  'Perfect.' - She hesitated for a moment. Her private corner was respected by regulars. When a stranger sat down uninvited, Bob Half-Crow would soon appear and suggest, “Why don’t you sit at that table?”
  
  
  
  “Sit down,” she said.
  
  
  
  'Thank you. Can I suggest you something?
  
  
  
  'Beer. But on my behalf. You don't have to start by buying a ticket for the conductor.
  
  
  
  - I usually do this too. But since you are a lady, I deviate from the rule.
  
  
  
  They should have laughed. Bob Half-Crow has already arrived. Martha showed him that everything was in order - her left hand on the table - and asked: “Would you bring us two beers, Bob?”
  
  
  
  Nick said, “You have a good place here. When Lucky Ed was in charge, you could be lucky if you survived his meal.
  
  
  
  "Have you been here before?"
  
  
  
  'Ski. When Lyman Electronics built the building that now houses Reed-Farben. I tried to get a job there, but they had nothing for me. I really wanted to live here, there are ample opportunities for skiing and hunting, which I really love to do. When I had my fill of all this steel, I came here again.
  
  
  
  “Do you want to get a job at Reed-Farben?”
  
  
  
  'Right.'
  
  
  
  "It's a chemical company."
  
  
  
  “I have a truck driver's license in Colorado. But I want to take the rights here too.
  
  
  
  “They require a reliability check.”
  
  
  
  “I already have such a document. In Monongahela we did a lot for the War Department.
  
  
  
  Martha thought about it. The check and his testimony dispelled all doubts in her mind. Jim Perry was just a free bird, not from the tax office or a detective. That last one was even worse. You had to pretend for a while if you were a cop, or show up with your money if you were a tax detective. She studied Jim, relaxing and watching the people in the store.
  
  
  
  There were three employees at the bar; two for serving and the third for arranging food. Bob Half-Crow stood calmly, keeping an eye on the kitchen, the hooligans, and the cash register. Pete had the day off. Nick admired the layout of the case. The workers' neighborhood on this side is separated from the tourist dining room on the other side by a hall separated by a double door from the kitchen. There were even whole families, and the restaurant had to bring in a decent turnover. At two pool tables, several people waited in line, and a group of players at the trick table were betting ten dollars a person. The latter could prove dangerous, but broad-shouldered Bob Half-Crow, who let his black eyes roam throughout the room and stood rooted to the spot, no doubt nipped any trouble in the bud.
  
  
  
  "How long have you been in this business, Miss Wagner?" - Nick asked. 'Five years. Two years ago, I ordered the demolition of Ed's old place.
  
  
  
  “I was here around that time. This must have been the time when Reed-Farben got going.” Gray eyes looked into her eyes, sly, but at the same time fiery. She felt a hint of passion. Calm down, girl, she told herself. Truck driver without permanent residence permit!
  
  
  
  “That's right,” she replied.
  
  
  
  - So you chose the right time. It is very likely that the turnover will triple, and then you have bought the only snack bar here. You are a skilled business woman.
  
  
  
  "Perhaps I was lucky."
  
  
  
  He grinned and moved one of his dark eyebrows up and down, as if agreeing with something they both understood. She thought, “What a smart asshole.” Not even Bob and Pete knew that Pearly Abbott, a former congressman and a slick guy in everything from banking to real estate in eight different states, had told her about Perlinson, in whose business he already had money invested.
  
  
  
  Later he said: “Martha, I never thought you could run so fast. And you really had to steal our best chef?
  
  
  
  She made it clear to him that Perlinson had many cooks left and she only had Bob, in a venture that was extremely risky for her. Abbott's two chins looked at her benevolently over his immaculate white forty-dollar shirt, and she allowed him to fumble a little. She could have avoided his thick hand under the tablecloth, but if you owe someone something...
  
  
  
  A year later, she had no favors to do for Pearly or anyone else, although she had no intention of bothering Pearly. He showed up at least once a month, sometimes with the whole party, leaving her with an unpaid bill of about $100 unless he signaled that one of his dining companions was ready to pay. It didn't take her long to realize that his interest in Reed-Farben was anything but a whim.
  
  
  
  “Reed-Farben employs a lot of people, but they are very difficult. I mean... there are guys from the area who definitely don't need them, while many have to drive hundreds of miles every day to work here. Chief of Staff - Kenny Abbott. He has... political connections. I suppose you won't be able to talk to him right away, but if you see him, you can tell him that I will tell him your name. I'll tell him... I'll cash your checks.
  
  
  
  Martha's eyes, dark green like olives, settled on Nick's gray eyes. She looked down first. Why? She never ruled out this relationship to lend a helping hand to a stranger.
  
  
  
  “Thank you,” Nick said softly. “I will only use it when necessary, and then very modestly.”
  
  
  
  
  - I am convinced of this. Otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it.
  
  
  
  
  A moment later, Nick said, “Thank you for everything, Miss Wagner. You have done more for me in a few minutes than others have done in years. I'm just going to see these Phipps now. I had a long drive today and I want to look fresh at Reed-Farben tomorrow morning and not smell like beer.”
  
  
  
  
  "Call me Martha - everyone here does it. If you don't, they won't even know who you're talking about." Tell Abe Phipps I sent you.
  
  
  
  
  'Thanks again. Good night.'
  
  
  
  
  "Good night...Jim."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The name Martha Wagner did wonders for Abe Phipps. Nick was given a two-room cottage by forty meters - small, wooden and with old-fashioned plumbing, but “clean” and tidy, like a first-class cabin on a ship. When I washed myself, I noticed that the taps were working well and were not leaking. did not drip, and the water flowed evenly.
  
  
  
  In some of the houses the lights were on, and through some wire doors he could hear vague television noises. Nick figured he was far enough away from Abe's house that his comings and goings wouldn't be watched too closely. When he found the exit at the end of the row of houses, he was completely convinced. Abe needed to put on his night vision goggles, and Nick did notice the bluish TV screen in the room behind Abe's office.
  
  
  
  He drove slowly past the Reed-Farben laboratories. In the days of Lyman Electronics, in the center of the site stood a huge two-story building, unimaginative, modern, windowless, and air-conditioned for precision equipment. According to AX, they went bankrupt when NASA didn't renew their contracts, and former congresswoman Pearly Abbott (for whom opposition newspapers used particularly nasty nicknames) was associated with the Reed-Farben group that bought the property. Foul play? – Nick was perplexed.
  
  
  
  The lighting, especially the sweeping lights on the corners of many of the buildings and the colored lights along the roadways and in the parks, allowed Nick to see just how vast the complex was. Now it was on three levels. They had built roads up the hill and now there were houses there. He continued to follow the fence. It surrounded the entire complex, and according to the topographical map Nick had studied, there were no other access routes. This meant that the houses on the slope were also guarded. You had to enter and exit through the factory gates, where you had to show your pass under a bright light.
  
  
  
  This was the usual state of affairs in the war industry. For surveillance, they use some unskilled unemployed people, who gradually begin to feel important and become their loyal supporters. But as Hawk had pointed out in Washington five days earlier, something was wrong.
  
  
  
  Reed Farben Ltd. was well financed, but the first deposits came from Switzerland through Chase Manhattan Bank, First National City Bank and United California Bank. There were no outside shares, the available tax records for the last three years were in perfect order, and the creditors were representatives of international interest groups who could not be contacted.
  
  
  
  You could only contact their legal advisors and accountants.
  
  
  
  They made chemicals but made almost no profit last year. They said that they have a large research department that deals with complex implantation testing. In the entire literature, there was only one interview with a Reed-Farben researcher. A well-known Syrian researcher stated in general terms that they were working on prostaglandins: “Our breakthrough, which, from a scientific point of view, may occur in a couple or six years, will bring great improvement to imperfect human organisms. We work with sixteen prostaglandins, chemicals that can change organ function in less than a billionth of a gram. Then we will be able to offer a cure for high blood pressure and diseases of the kidneys, brain, lungs, breasts, thyroid gland, eye membranes and reproductive organs.”
  
  
  
  When Nick read this, Hawk commented: "Sounds like a quack ad, doesn't it? That's why we sent Bill Rohde to Harvard to talk to Witherspoon. It turned out that everything is possible. Harvard also has such projects. But... Witherspoon had the same uneasy feeling as we do, which is what made us so curious. Is there something wrong. Reed-Farben employees never share their expertise with other scientists. They also don't go to science fairs. They don't advertise anything other than their regular chemicals. Finally, their scientific composition consists mainly of foreigners who are not affiliated with anyone.”
  
  
  
  -What about that little airport? - Nick asked.
  
  
  
  
  “Another strange thing. They bought a special device for their control. They built an airport in the valley just behind the first mountain behind the plant. Everything is equally expensive; an impressive runway that can only be used during the day. We have aviation authorities who are very cautious about offering federal landing facilities. They don't like it. It's a damn strange business if they aren't even interested in any help.
  
  
  
  Nick thought about this conversation as he drove along the winding main road that emerged from the valley through a deep gorge. The fence no longer ran parallel to the road - he had already noticed this on the way there - but ran vertically against the slope, and there tightly closed off the factory site with an area of 75 hectares. This does not include the airport; this is another 200 hectares; There used to be two farms there.
  
  
  
  The stretch of road through the ravine had a short hard shoulder, an ideal place to park his car. Nick returned to the corner of the fence and climbed up to where he could see a ravine running down the slope below the railing. Using a flashlight sparingly, he discovered a footprint in the washed-out ground next door, and there was also evidence that someone - or several people - had crawled through the trench. A track measuring about 47 may be from N82. An easy way to get in, Nick thought, and too easy. If they took all these precautions, why did they overlook it?
  
  
  
  Hubie went by his own name, as the guinea pigs often did on these simple missions. But if Hubie had been fooled by that tempting hole under the fence, things could have been much more interesting. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together.
  
  
  
  Nick saw red N82 four times; among other things, he spent the whole day with him, keeping an eye on a suspicious figure in Philadelphia. Nick gave the young man a good rating. The guy was smart, fast and confident. He wanted to achieve something. With these traits, you get... a man who crawls under the fence to complete a task that he is far from underestimating.
  
  
  
  Nick drove thirty miles to Forge Junction, found the Silver Cloud Hotel, and parked two streets away. The city was getting ready for bed; the only local cinema was empty, and except for the hotel, a restaurant across the wide main street and a couple of cafes, everything was shrouded in darkness. Here they didn’t spend money on lighting shop windows after closing.
  
  
  
  He put on a floppy brown hat, put on a brown jacket—he never wore brown, but it was a good color to be misidentified—and got a room at the Silver Cloud Hotel. He paid in advance and got number 26. Hubie had number 18. The corridor was empty when he walked down it quietly, after two minutes of careful picking of the master keys, number 18 opened and Nick slipped inside.
  
  
  
  Without turning on the light - in small places people notice as soon as there is light somewhere where they don't expect it - Nick searched Hubie's room and things with a flashlight. He became convinced that someone had tinkered with them before. His things were in disarray, but Hubie was neat and precise. The detectives would only find things that would indicate that Hubie was a chemical agent from New York. When Nick discovered that all the tapes were missing from Hubie's little tape recorder, he realized he was right. They took them with them to study at their leisure.
  
  
  
  If Hubie had followed the rules exactly and they hadn't found his report... Nick found Gideon's Bible in the back of his desk drawer. There was a slot at the back of the cover that held the ribbon. The AX people distribute Bibles with storage space and pick up regular copies that the Gideon Society distributes in hotels. They take a copy of AX with them when they leave and when they leave, which may explain the statistically established fact that Bibles are the most widely circulated books in the world.
  
  
  
  Nick put the tape in his pocket and made sure he hadn't forgotten anything.
  
  
  
  When he opened the door to the corridor, a man came up and stood in front of him. Even in the semi-darkness, Nick recognized the weapon protruding from the man's hip. Colt Official Service Model. It was almost impossible to get it in our time. When you know what bullets fired from it can do, you freeze and hope for the best. “Go back inside,” the man said. Nick went back inside.
  
  
  
  The man approached him and turned on the light. Nick didn't tell him not to do it. The man was fat and portly. He had shoulders that were even wider than Nick's and a pinched nose that had been hit too many times with fists or brass knuckles - or only once with a heavy melee weapon. The cracked nasal bone was wide and irregular, and still bore scars.
  
  
  
  
  - What did you steal? - The speech matched the face.
  
  
  
  
  'I? I got the wrong number?
  
  
  
  
  "What were you looking for."
  
  
  
  
  "I was looking for my room."
  
  
  
  
  'What number?'
  
  
  
  
  "Eighteen, I thought."
  
  
  
  
  “Well... and I saw you pick the lock of number 18. Why?'
  
  
  
  
  - I already told you this. The pistol made an impatient movement. Nick got ready. - You didn't tell me anything. Turn around.'
  
  
  
  
  -Are you a police agent?
  
  
  
  
  "Ha, ha!" Even the laughter sounded suspicious. 'Yes it's me. And just turn around.
  
  
  
  
  Nick said, “Let's talk. I didn't take anything from here. What if I leave?
  
  
  
  
  King Kong thought this was very comical and laughed again. In the AX training room you will learn that laughter often temporarily impairs visual acuity. King Kong groaned as his arm extended like a cobra's head, raising his gun. His hand was folded in half and thrown over his shoulder. Nick stepped forward and put his weight on it.
  
  
  
  The low lunge of a trained person on the pistol, with the weapon hand drawn back over the shoulder, is a disarming maneuver that is almost impossible to stop. Then the muscles of the shoulders and back turn off the muscles of the arms. As the gun hand moves further back, the hand folds in half and the index finger—if it's on the trigger—risks breaking. Then he lets go of the weapon.
  
  
  
  This is a theory. This usually works, but not with this King Kong. He was stocky and strong, and instinctively lowered the gun before Nick could get it past his ear. He almost pinned the gun and Nick almost to the floor. Nick threw the fingers of his left hand forward and slammed into the enemy’s windpipe. It hit the jaw, as hard as a donkey's. Two men fought over a weapon. Being so close to the ground, King Kong had some advantage. There are idiots who claim - and this has even made it into some fighting textbooks (but not AX textbooks) - that a gun won't fire when you hold the bolt. They even say that you should hold it very tightly. Don't believe it!
  
  
  
  Try it once and your arm will be paralyzed for a while, not to mention something worse. It makes sense to try to get your hand near the trigger of a revolver unless the thing has a trigger, or for a pistol trigger if it sticks out. But you might have to pay too much attention to the fight to devote yourself to such details. It was the same with Nick.
  
  
  
  King Kong had the opportunity to throw a left hand, and Nick felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach by a donkey. A huge donkey. A shorter man or one in less great shape would have released the pistol. Nick groaned and pushed with both hands, exerting the strength of his legs and back as King Kong struck again. The blow Nick received to his right arm also changed the position of his left arm. This time it was like being kicked by a smaller donkey. Nick managed to pull the man's right arm further over his shoulder and then pulled him close to him. The gun fell to the floor. They both reached out to him. King Kong, who was closer, was an inch ahead of him. He gripped the weapon tightly with his right hand and pulled the safety lever with his thumb. Nick heard a click. boom!
  
  
  
  The Colt fired loudly into the floor. Nick took the wrist and slashed the muscular neck with his palm. King Kong decided to focus entirely on weapons. They fought. boom! Another bullet, this time into the wall.
  
  
  
  Now Nick wrapped both hands around that wrist, spread his legs and tensed. He enlisted the help of his strongest muscles to overcome his opponent's smaller muscles - now it was an act of balancing the muscles of his back against the muscles of King Kong's arms and wrists. He slowly turned the Colt towards his opponent's stomach. They looked at each other, the smaller man staring at Nick. He turned pale; his ugly face suddenly took on a childish and frightened expression, as if begging for some kind of support against too great a threat. King Kong remembered what those big 11.5mm bullets could do. His guts clenched as if he had swallowed a block of ice.
  
  
  
  King Kong was no more a coward than a particularly courageous figure; he was not delicate enough to go to either of these extremes. Like most men, he was driven by what was going to happen to him in the near future, and right now it seemed to him that he had no future at all.
  
  
  
  It was a fight between a strong big guy and a strong little guy, and the gun remained pointed at his stomach. Nick automatically maneuvered himself so that the ceiling light was behind him and the light shone into the eyes of King Kong, who stood and stood still in fear as the smaller man fought the larger man and achieved nothing. They shuffled a little on the thin carpet, like two bulls clutching each other's horns.
  
  
  
  Someone shouted in the corridor. The phone rang. Footsteps pounded down the stairs. - Do you want to get out of here alive? - Nick asked.
  
  
  
  The fat head nodded. Which should have meant yes.
  
  
  
  
  “Then let go of the gun and calm down.”
  
  
  
  
  King Kong hesitated.
  
  
  
  
  “You shouldn’t give up on this,” Nick said. - “All I have to do is pull and I’ll shoot you in the ass.”
  
  
  
  
  King Kong let go of the gun, and Nick also released his tight grip on the man's wrist. Nick took a step back with a gun in his hand, and with another jerk he opened the door of the room. He ended up knocking over the night clerk who checked Nick in. He was a tall guy, and King Kong left him lying at full length on the floor, as if a horse had galloped all over him.
  
  
  
  He looked at Nick with wide eyes. - W-what's going on? He sat down with his back to the wall as Nick stepped over him, tucking the Colt into his belt.
  
  
  
  It was her husband. He shot me. There were no incidents." Nick disappeared around the corner and ran down the stairs.
  
  
  
  The small hall was empty. King Kong was in a hurry to escape. He turned the corner as Nick stepped outside. Even if the local police were called, nothing was visible. Nick pressed himself against the wall of the building to hide from those who might look out of the hotel windows, afraid of the shots. There was no one on the street near his car. He drove four blocks, made several turns, and stopped in a dark market parking lot to stash his brown jacket and hat in the trunk.
  
  
  
  Three kilometers from the city, he passed a concrete two-lane bridge over a ravine. Far below, the water of the stream glistened in the bright light of the moon and stars. Nick disassembled the Colt, wiped each part with a handkerchief and threw them individually into the water, throwing them down at different angles.
  
  
  
  He collided with several vehicles in Copperpot Valley. Martha's business was closed. He drove into Alpine as quietly as possible and parked the car next to his cottage.
  
  
  
  Inside, he drew the curtains and set up his cheap tape recorder, which was connected to an equally cheap radio. By the way, that cheapness was only in appearance; Considering the changes made to it by Stuart, a specialist from the AX laboratory, they cost a decent amount. Nick played a tape he found in the Bible and heard a recording of Peter, Paul and Mary from a radio station in Denver that Hubie listened to from time to time. Nick leaned back a little more and flicked a switch on the back of the device. Now Hubie Dumont's voice came from the radio speaker. Nick turned it as quietly as possible and now listened with his ears pricked up.
  
  
  
  N82 spoke in a voice that was difficult to recognize as he had been taught. “...the key to the secret must be in the main building. Workers from the area come to other buildings. However, I could not find anyone who was in the main building or wanted to leave. It is carefully guarded. Last night I came closer and found two large men - patrolmen. They appeared to be drinking or under the influence of drugs. Regular security guards patrol the building every two hours. The plane arrived at one o'clock yesterday afternoon. I was in the forest near the airstrip. This is the second time my informant has given me correct information about arriving planes. Fourteen boxes were unloaded and transported to the main building by truck. Five passengers got out. Important people, judging by the reception. Met by Dr. Greta Stoltz, Dr. Don Nimura, Kenny Abbott, and two other men who I believe are high-ranking employees of the society in question. I was unable to recognize any of the five arrivals, although I watched them carefully through binoculars. One man limped and was supported; he had a bandage on his face. The four others appear to have been of Northern European or Slavic origin. The boxes were different in size and not very heavy. Research continues.
  
  
  
  Nick turned off the device and leaned back. He was convinced that this "ongoing investigation" led to a second visit through that tantalizing hole under the Reed-Farben perimeter fence. He was lured - and quite openly! These drunken guards might have been part of a plan to lure him out of hiding. This made everything much easier...
  
  
  
  All the Reed-Farben figures whom Hubie mentioned by name at the VIP reception were known to AX. Dr. Stoltz and Dr. Nimura were scientific researchers. Stoltz was studying atomic energy for industrial purposes, which could mean anything, but Nimura, a physician rather than a physicist, like Greta Stoltz, worked in Japan on heart and kidney transplants before coming to Colorado. Nick took a hot shower, then rubbed alcohol on his wrist where King Kong had grabbed him and on the arm where the Colt had bruised him. The night was fragrant and smelled pleasantly of pine trees. His cottage was located quite far from the main road, so that the rural atmosphere was not disturbed by the occasional passing car or truck. A nice change from city life. But why should people spoil such pleasant places with their greed and intrigue? This calming atmosphere disappeared by seven o'clock in the morning. A caravan of rumbling, honking trucks and cars had taken over the main road. Most divisions of Reed-Farben Ltd. worked in two shifts; The first shift began at eight o'clock. Nick discovered a truck loading station on the road across from Alpine - of course it broke the silence. And next to the motel there was a workshop where hundreds of iron barrels were repaired. Each on its own produced a cacophony of noise as they were cleaned, sanded and sprayed. No wonder Abe Phipps charged such low rent.
  
  
  
  Nick drove eight miles west to have breakfast at the Deadwood Dix factory. While he drank a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee and ate a sandwich, he pondered N82's moves and his own, like a grandmaster after a game. The N82 acted logically and skillfully, although perhaps too confidently. He thought about Martha Wagner. Temperamental, attractive - and smart. Whatever was going on here, she knew about it, even if she didn't know about it herself. She looked like alley cats
  
  
  
  Jim Perry got used to the situation. They never did anything logical; that would also be illogical!
  
  
  
  Nick also bought a roast beef sandwich and two apples to take away. He chose an old road that turned out to belong to a mine, based on his 1931 topographic map, and parked the car at the end of it. With a cheap camera around his neck, he spent the day in the mountains surrounding the Reed-Farben complex and the adjacent airstrip. He discovered old abandoned roads, railroad tracks with the rails removed, and an abandoned farm.
  
  
  
  Through binoculars, he watched the women and children coming and going from houses across the vast Reed Farben property.
  
  
  
  At three o'clock a yellow school bus pulled in and, like all cars and trucks, had to pass through the central gate.
  
  
  
  Slowly, he pointed his binoculars toward the buildings where Reed-Farben's business was conducted. A truck approached one of them. Nick's binoculars stopped at a three-man crew unloading boxes under the watchful eye of a Japanese man in a white coat.
  
  
  
  The Japanese man said something to the men; one of them, apparently angry, stopped answering him. The Japanese impatiently motioned for him to hurry up. The men were now more hasty. Suddenly a box fell to the ground. The lid opened and most of the contents fell out of the box.
  
  
  
  Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise. They were human hands, perfectly shaped, ridiculously real... Some with a clenched fist, ready to deliver a good blow; others seemed to be clinging to an invisible object.
  
  
  
  The men also looked surprised. Nick's powerful binoculars captured their bewilderment so clearly that he seemed to be standing right next to them. Only the Japanese kept his cool. He bent down and put the terrible things back into the box. His lips seemed to already be counting them.
  
  
  
  The people in the truck stood spellbound, and two of them whispered to each other. They, of course, did not understand what they were carrying. The Japanese grabbed the lid and put it back on the coffin.
  
  
  
  Unloading has resumed. The Japanese pressed a button on the side wall of the building, and another man in a white coat immediately appeared. They talked for a while and then the other one went back inside. He returned five minutes later with a small package in one of his jacket pockets; Only the top of the package was visible.
  
  
  
  He walked to the front of the truck. The Japanese had gone to where the men were working and was now closely watching them. Another opened the hood, took a bag out of his pocket, stuffed it somewhere between the engine and other parts, and closed the hood again. Nick was pretty sure the people in the truck didn't even see him. Nick felt beads of sweat on his neck...
  
  
  
  Less than an hour later, the three men got into a truck and drove to the far corner of the factory. Nick wasn't quite prepared for the short, loud bang that tore the car apart. Flames erupted from the engine. Pieces of metal splashed and stuck into the ground. Nick thought he saw a bloody head fly into the sky. Finally he lowered the binoculars.
  
  
  
  He couldn't explain it. The murder of the three men went so smoothly that it must have been planned according to a preconceived plan. Get rid of anyone who might have seen something suspicious. But why? What the hell did they have to hide? Why did they take so much risk? He returned to his car at six-thirty and drove to Martha's restaurant. He lingered at the bar until a table next to Martha's private corner became available and ordered the signature dish: beef goulash. She didn't notice him until he had almost finished his rice pudding and coffee and stood at his table, smiling.
  
  
  
  
  “Hi Jim. How did it end?
  
  
  
  
  Hmm, what happened?
  
  
  
  
  With your statement.
  
  
  
  
  "ABOUT." He looked away and said, “Oh, I didn’t have time today. I was in the mountains. The weather was so good and I didn't get back on time. I'll go there tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  With the air of a loving mother, she slowly sat down on the chair opposite him. Everything went so smoothly that he felt a little guilty and kept his eyes on the empty coffee cup.
  
  
  
  
  “You could use the day off after the trip,” she said, “but you really need to go there tomorrow. Work doesn't make you wait, you know, and maybe it will just leave you. More coffee?
  
  
  
  
  Nick drank more coffee, then ordered two more beers and was escorted to Martha's own corner. Now he allowed her to be a mother. Almost any woman can take on this role, but it is difficult to play. You play the role of a son, with small weaknesses that can be dealt with, and you are loved for your strengths. From time to time, when Martha walked away energetically, he watched her firm, generous body move. There were muscles underneath those curves—she knew how to fight, and that kept her in shape.
  
  
  
  
  “I’d like to take you home,” Nick offered shyly, “but I assume you have a car yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  She looked at him thoughtfully and thought that he was now very attractive. She wondered why he was so slightly unbalanced. He wasn't like her drinking brother; years of experience with Pete gave her a good idea of that. He probably drifted with the current for no particular reason and was never able to find an anchorage. She asked him: “Do you want to go?”
  
  
  
  
  "I definitely have a car."
  
  
  
  
  - Then come with me. That's it, she decided, this boy is just lonely. Soon he will be noticed by a herd of attractive girls at Reed-Farben. Martha had a Lincoln Continental convertible, gleaming black in the light of the parking lot behind the store. They sped west along the highway and she remarked, “This car is a great luxury for me. I drove around in dilapidated cars for so long that when she got rich... well.
  
  
  
  
  “You deserve it,” Nick replied. “The way you live and work is why you earn a lot, Martha. I'm just saying... a lot of girls wouldn't be so nice to the average truck driver if you were like that.
  
  
  
  
  “I have nothing against truck drivers as long as they look beyond their noses. We have some guys who study at university in winter. You don't even look like a truck driver, Jim. What did you do at that job in Monongahela?
  
  
  
  
  “I worked as a microwave installer for Western Union. Then I spent that ski holiday here. When I left, I was a master.”
  
  
  
  
  “Then why did you leave?” It was a good job, wasn't it?
  
  
  
  
  “We always had to go somewhere else. Our next job was going to be in California.”
  
  
  
  
  Martha laughed. “So you really don’t like to travel?” "No, I do not think so. It just happened naturally.” Nick sighed: “This is the area I would like to stay in.”
  
  
  
  
  Martha drove well. They glided along the winding mountain roads easily and without risky maneuvers. A few miles from the factory, she turned off the main road and followed a simple side road that climbed steeply through a pine forest. Suddenly they found themselves on a rocky ledge with a view for miles. The mountains were jagged silhouettes in the moonlight. Lights flickered far below. It was like looking down from an airplane.
  
  
  
  Martha parked the car with its nose towards the abyss. “This used to be the road to the Lost Goat Mine, but the last section has disappeared due to erosion. Look at those lights in the distance. From here you can see for eighty kilometers.
  
  
  
  
  “That’s great,” Nick said, “but I don’t usually get stuck in a car on a first date like this.”
  
  
  
  
  She laughed with him and handed him a cigarette. He held out a lit match before she could find the lighter. “Dude, you have nothing to worry about,” she said. “I almost never do anything like that. Actually, I brought you here to ask you something. I want you to promise me...
  
  
  
  
  “This also happens... my mother warned me against such nights, and I promised her that if I had to, I would return home on foot.” But it's a long way and I'd probably get lost and fall off a cliff or something. I'm just a little boy and...
  
  
  
  
  Stop!' With her left hand she managed to find a place between his ribs that he couldn't tickle. He held his breath, laughed, and pushed the Luger further under Wilhelmina's armpit. She almost touched the gun. - Now seriously, Jim. It is important.'
  
  
  
  
  He turned to her and leaned forward until his nose touched her hair. It smelled delicious. 'You have beautiful hair. Do you have to go to Denver to get your hair cut?
  
  
  
  
  Oh no. Ann Parker is doing well in Highland. But let's not talk about my hair; you are now the subject of our conversation. Where did you go today instead of getting a job?
  
  
  
  
  His waking mind considered the possibilities. Was Martha checking it on someone else's behalf? He decided to trust his intuition and his usually good eye for people. “I didn’t go anywhere on purpose. I'm just a little tired after this long journey. I went to the mountains.
  
  
  
  
  -Have you rested a little now?
  
  
  
  
  'Certainly.' - He gently and affectionately stroked her right hand. “And thank you for all your attention, Martha.” It gives me a nice feeling that I... at least mean something to someone.
  
  
  
  
  “Will you do something for me—and for yourself?”
  
  
  
  
  'Maybe. What is this?'
  
  
  
  
  “Go to this job tomorrow. Don't delay. Decide right now to go out there in the morning and do your best. Do you promise me this?
  
  
  
  
  'I promise.' - His heart felt warm. This woman had seen hundreds of people come and go, and he was convinced that she carefully controlled her feelings and sympathies. She helped Jim Perry because she found something about him that she liked, and it was nice when someone sympathized with you, even if your name was Nick Carter and not Jim Perry.
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said. “After all, we love to put things off like this.”
  
  
  
  
  The wind blowing through the windows smelled of pine. An owl hooted and its call was answered in the distance.
  
  
  
  
  -Have you never been married? - asked Martha. She immediately regretted this sensitive question. Why did she let it slip?
  
  
  
  
  “Almost once,” Nick answered. This was not too far from the truth. “And after that... I’m probably not at home much.” Which was absolutely right.
  
  
  
  
  Yes. she told herself, this is how it will be. Grief would have affected him greatly; You could tell he was sensitive behind that "I don't care" attitude. He continued to wander so as not to expose his deepest feelings again.
  
  
  
  
  Martha's sublimated need for affection was looking for a way out. She no longer wondered why she was so attracted to this exceptionally sensitive man. She sighed, realizing that she was desired and still in control of the situation. She was used to organizing things on a treadmill of long hours and hard work, and in doing so, she was suppressing her lifelong need for friendship and passion.
  
  
  
  
  Nick placed his large hand on top of hers, stroked it gently, then turned it palm up. His tickling touch warmed her. She felt comfortable. He's a little hesitant, she thought, because he's just as cautious around women as he is about new situations like applying for a job. Someone should contact him. He's worth it. You can tell he has good, solid qualities underneath that façade of pain.
  
  
  
  
  He waited quite a long time before hugging her. When he finally did, she was eager to be grabbed, kissed, and caressed. She imagined that she wanted to help him break free and discover how beautiful true friendship could be. Pulling the reins on him was the last thing on her mind; when the time comes, she will see what to do. He kissed her, and his lips were just as she had imagined: soft and patient. She pressed herself against him with a sigh of pleasure.
  
  
  
  
  “A very special girl,” Nick thought. It wasn't just her sweet scent and her warm, strong body; he based his judgment on the overall picture she had created in him over the past two days.
  
  
  
  
  He caressed her and she played a pleasant game with him. When his lips reached her nipples, which he deftly exposed as if it were the most logical thing in the world, she thought it was time to tighten the reins. She was just thinking about what tactic to use when he opened the door and they were reclining on the car seat.
  
  
  
  
  No,” she muttered.
  
  
  
  
  Immediately the warm pressure was released and she felt relieved and relieved at the same time. Looking up dreamily, she saw two stars. Their golden shimmer seemed just inches away from the dark silhouette of his powerful jaw and cheekbone. She giggled.
  
  
  
  
  'What's going on here?'
  
  
  
  
  'Stars...'
  
  
  
  
  'In my opinion?'
  
  
  
  
  - No, about your face. Two bright stars are trying to make you look like an angel.
  
  
  
  
  It takes more than a few stars,” he said softly, looking back. The clouds had cleared and the stars shone brightly in the clear mountain air. They covered the entire sky with shining golden grains. “How beautiful,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  She sighed, moved a little, and loved how close he was to her - so light, but with an all-pervading tingling warmth that made her glow from the very movement. That warmth wasn't just on the surface, she thought as he kissed her again. She felt it somewhere in her throat and chest—was it in her heart? - and along her back.
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly she said, “Oh... oooh. slowly stretched with deep sighs.
  
  
  
  
  Martha suddenly became as fierce as a person who had been without water for some time and whose thirst could finally be quenched. She reached for his shirt and lifted it, enjoying the touch of his warm skin. Her hand went down, unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. She shuddered as she looked at him. She pushed her tongue deep into his mouth and squirmed as if desperate for an even closer touch.
  
  
  
  
  Her buttocks rolled from one side of the sofa to the other in a regular rhythm, her skirt was pulled almost to her waist, and he ran his dancing fingers along the inside of her thighs. He undid her stockings and she lifted her pelvis to allow him to remove her panties.
  
  
  
  
  It came to him quickly and easily. Her breath hit his face softly and in short bursts. She then turned her head slightly to insert her tongue into his ear and make short, sharp bites into his neck. Her firm ass was now between the two seats, but her body continued to move in the same rhythm.
  
  
  
  
  She moaned. One day, when he had gone very far, she screamed. He had the same steady pace as hers, and he maintained it even when she began to move faster. She lifted her legs and then raised her hips to press herself tightly against him.
  
  
  
  
  His hands squeezed her buttocks and with one finger he stroked the soft valley between them. As he massaged her smooth, warm skin, his body jerked in long strokes. He felt her breath rush through her throat.
  
  
  
  Now he was in complete control of the situation. She lay almost motionless; her body trembled with his passion. His movements became faster and more powerful as he reached the heights of timeless, eternal passion.
  
  
  
  
  He slid forward on the couch, raised his head and gave in to quick, furious thrusts. Somewhere far away, he thought he heard her whisper in the spirit: “God... darling... oh-oh...” Her arms tightened around him, and her fingers dug deep into his back. The tension grew, and a wave of fire overwhelmed both of them.
  
  
  
  
  Nick licked the tears rolling down her cheeks. He was almost sure that Martha Wagner had never cried during intercourse, let alone during her other activities, but this was indeed the right moment for it, in the right place (the thought pleased him immensely) with the right man. He noticed that his own breathing had become as fast as hers, a reflex to the movements of their bodies. He ran his tongue over her lower lip. She shuddered with pleasure and clung to him with longing. The nails of one hand dug into the skin of his right thigh, and the nails of the other under his armpit, like the claws of a frightened but not angry animal.
  
  
  
  
  He grabbed it tightly and realized what he had already suspected: he had discovered something unusual and rare. Worth keeping. She dragged him irrevocably; their journey together along the exciting, swirling current could no more change course than a fast, light canoe. But now that there was no immediate danger, they felt only stimulating freedom. The current carrying them came from warm springs, and the rapids knew no boulders and necessarily flowed into a warm, peaceful lake.
  
  
  
  
  He paused for a moment and struggled to keep his muscles under control. Then he raised his head, listened to sounds that did not belong to this nocturnal environment, and did not catch anything. this did not happen to him often, and he knew that he would not have to pay attention to external impressions for a few moments. that he could now tune his ever-vigilant antenna to only one wavelength. This was a godsend. He had a sense of good in life, and in a society where genuine communication between husband and wife had become so difficult, such an opportunity had to be seized.
  
  
  
  
  He ran his hand down her bare back and pulled her close to him, picking up the pace again. She responded with cries of approval to his powerful blows. They had braved roaring rapids, slid over rocky cliffs on their glorious journey, and now they were heading towards the climax of their lustful adventure, neither of them able or willing to stop.
  
  
  
  
  When their first fire went out and they floated into the warm lake, he realized that he was right. This was something special, and he felt that he had enough experience and insight to judge it. You noticed, and this required only experience, that they were both honest - from beginning to end.
  
  
  
  
  He leaned most of his weight on the bench and listened as her breathing calmed. He felt his heartbeat slow, which was so fast that he could hear it pulsating in his ears. After a while she said, “That was... amazing, Jim.”
  
  
  
  
  He kissed her nose and forehead in agreement. After a moment she said, “I like it too, but one leg is numb.”
  
  
  
  
  He carefully slid back and gently massaged her legs. She sighed with satisfaction. “Take the key,” she said. “Have you ever swam in a warm mountain lake?”
  
  
  
  
  "A few minutes ago," he replied. I got into a magical canoe with you, and we floated along a pleasant rapid, and then found ourselves in a small lake. It was as if we were floating on it and in it at the same time. It was as if the canoe was sailing with us.
  
  
  
  
  “I also felt something similar.” But I'm serious. Come with me...'
  
  
  
  
  She slipped out of the car, and in the ghostly light of the moon and stars he saw her take off her skirt and blouse. She sat on the edge of the sofa and also took off her stockings. “Take off your clothes,” she ordered. "You'll be surprised..."
  
  
  
  
  He undressed, pulled Wilhelmina out from under the seat and stuffed her into his pants. 'Beautiful. Then show it to me. I only take my pants with me because they contain my wallet and keys.”
  
  
  
  
  'Good idea. let's go to!' She took his hand and quickly walked away from the rock through the bushes.
  
  
  
  
  He followed her and found that the faint outline of her naked body, which seemed to take on a soft glow where no trees stood in the way of the light of the night sky, pleasantly aroused him. Without further thought, he thought, your energy will return in no time.
  
  
  
  
  “I thought those mountain streams were frozen,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  “This is not a stream, this is a stone pond. It draws water from a small spring and flows so slowly that it remains warm. If the sun was shining during the day. She helped him up the short slope. “It’s easy to climb the rocks here.”
  
  
  
  
  They reached the top of the slope and saw the water glistening in the moonlight. Below them was a pool about ten yards wide, with a row of pine trees on the opposite side. Martha took off her shoes and dragged him along. 'Come on. Also, take off your shoes. It's warm here. And deep.
  
  
  
  
  Indeed it was so. The water was strangely soft and almost oily to the touch as they swam out and sat under the pine trees. He said, “Damn, this is great. There must be a hot spring underneath.
  
  
  
  
  I don't know. Maybe because water never freezes. He walked around the water to put on his pants and shoes and sat down next to her again. She said: “I have a bottle of booze and cigarettes in the car, Jim. I did not think about that. They seemed... unnecessary to me.
  
  
  
  
  He turned to her and took her in his arms. They kissed and sank onto a bed of fallen needles. When he ran his lips down her neck to reach her nipple, she muttered, “No, Jim. No more... We don't have... Not now...
  
  
  
  
  Her hand stroked his tense stomach and her breath caught in her throat.
  
  
  
  
  She resisted for a while, a few weak and useless protests, which she apparently forgot very quickly.
  
  
  
  
  The stocky guy Nick had fought with at Forge Junction, the one he called King Kong, rode up to the Reed Farben gate and stood under the streetlights. The guard checked his ID and nodded that he could continue. The man parked his Mercury in the parking lot near the main building and was checked again at the entrance. He had to wait ten minutes for Kenny Abbott to come get him.
  
  
  
  
  Kenny looked like a modern young employee who could become a director, his weighty posture and gestures suggested determination, but became an automatic habit, reminiscent of only the spasmodic movements of a mannequin. He wore the obligatory dark suit and tie with elaborate details. He looked at you with an important face, but at the same time somewhat restrained, and his mouth became hard and offended as soon as the caustic smile disappeared or if you looked at him unnoticed, especially from the side. He opened his eyes very wide when he looked at you, but narrowed them when he thought no one noticed.
  
  
  
  
  Most people believed and trusted Kenny, unless they came across this type of person after some bad experience. “Hey, Joe,” Kenny said. 'Everything is fine?'
  
  
  
  
  The stocky man muttered a greeting and walked next to him through the second front door into the wide hallway. He dodged Kenny's scrutiny, but Kenny didn't smell the protection. Joe never looked directly at you. “Um, yeah,” Joe said. — I combed that room. Nothing. Another guy came. I had to keep an eye on him. Nothing too.
  
  
  
  
  — Did he enter that room?
  
  
  
  
  - Hmm, yes.
  
  
  
  
  “You better tell Mr. Benn about this.”
  
  
  
  
  Joe snorted as they passed the lab entrance. He had always believed that he was not afraid of anything in the world, but the mixture of smells here gave him goosebumps. It was like a dentist's office who had just opened an abscess. One day Joe looked through one of the doors. It looked like a huge hospital; there are white tiles and stainless steel everywhere, and people in white coats.
  
  
  
  
  They entered a large office. Mr. Benn was sitting at his desk with a regular gauze bandage covering his mouth. Joe noticed that he never raised his right hand. Was he paralyzed or did he no longer have it? Benn was pulling the strings. What he said happened. A real big bang.
  
  
  
  
  Joe was thinking about the man who was in room 18 at the Silver Cloud Hotel in Forge Junction. He inquired and wondered whether Mr. Benn had moved him out of the way. This was truly something new for Benn. Joe has seen people like this before. Well said but be careful! When Joe suddenly remembered what really happened to him in room 18, he became worried.
  
  
  
  
  “Joe saw someone else in this room, Mr. Benn,” Kenny Abbott said.
  
  
  
  
  'So!' The eyes above the gauze mask were cold and hard. The strangely accented voice tried to sound friendly. - Tell me about it, Joseph.
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I looked around and didn't find anything, just like I said when I called. So I walked down the hallway and watched carefully as you told me. Not a single person for three days. I was about to leave the premises that night as instructed, but a guy came up. He unlocked the door with a master key and went inside. He slammed the door and I waited for him to come out again and then grabbed him. It was an intruder. Thought I worked at the hotel and tried to bribe me. I pretended to be, but then the doorman knocked on the door, and I went out.”
  
  
  
  
  Silence. The eyes above the mask resembled car headlights in thick fog. Joe swallowed. Benn said, "Kenny, leave us alone, okay?"
  
  
  
  
  Kenny left the room. Joe shifted from foot to foot. Damn, this guy can get on your nerves. He wasn't such a tough guy himself. He couldn't compete with this Benn. And besides, he couldn’t stand the rotten stench that hung there.
  
  
  
  
  “Describe this man,” Benn said softly.
  
  
  
  
  - Um... big. Over five feet eight inches. About two hundred pounds, I thought. Brown suit. Black hat.' Joe couldn't remember the last one; that's why he thought of it.
  
  
  
  
  “Did you search him to see if he found anything?”
  
  
  
  
  - Um... yes, of course.
  
  
  
  
  - And then you let him go so as not to make noise?
  
  
  
  
  'Yes.' He doesn't believe me, Joe thought anxiously. He immediately noticed something similar. He had dealt with many such bigwigs since he turned his back on the coal mines to work for the strikebreaking organization. A career figure he met at work in the copper mining region convinced him that he was now a detective. After all, he also worked for a private investigation service, didn't he? Joe saw something in this.
  
  
  
  
  But somehow he never lasted long as a "detective". He came to the conclusion that people didn't like him because he was clumsy. Pearly Abbott then got him a job at Reed-Farben through his cousin Kenny. He asked Joe in advance, "I'd like to know exactly what's going on there, Joe boy, and I'll make sure you get paid well for the extra time and effort." Joe knew everything about Pearly. This shrewd politician could even steal a hot stove without gloves. Joe was quite happy with this arrangement - payment from both sides and Perley's money without taking into account taxes. The problem was that he knew so little about Reed-Farben that he had to make up information for Perley himself, and his imagination was not that rich.
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Benn was silent for so long that it frightened Joe. He doesn't believe me! Does he have a gun in that desk? Some old people can be dangerous, and this one seems to be one of the most dangerous.
  
  
  
  
  “Listen, Joe,” Mr. Benn continued quietly. “You have a special job for me.” Did you get a good look at this man's face?
  
  
  
  
  Joe noticed that Benn wanted to accuse him of lying, but changed his mind. 'Yes. We stood together under the lamp for four or five minutes."
  
  
  
  
  “Was he the sporty type? You said he was tall and heavy, but was he also... handsome?
  
  
  
  
  - Hmm, yes, I would say so.
  
  
  
  
  - He will appear one day. I think you'll see him again if you hang out in the restaurant, trading post and miner's shop. And you have to go to the village at least once a day. Always be alert. He will definitely come.
  
  
  
  
  'I think so too.'
  
  
  
  
  “I will give you a big reward if you find it.” Let's say... four hundred dollars.
  
  
  
  
  "If I get wind of him, I'll get him, Mr. Benn." - Joe grinned, nodding. I wonder what kind of accent Benn has? Maybe it was Hungarian or Czech, the language spoken by those weirdos in the mines where he worked. He wasn't exactly big, but with those cold eyes sticking out from behind his mask and a right hand you'd never seen, he terrified you. He wanted to bet ten dollars that it was a prosthetic.
  
  
  
  
  Joe also had no way of knowing that his right hand was missing. but the contraption of a metal prosthetic with a gun—or rather, part of the stainless steel prosthetic was a gun—pointed straight at Joe's stomach.
  
  
  
  
  “I'll give you something better,” Benn said. “If you kill him or catch him and bring him here, I will pay you twenty times more and send you to a beautiful city on the Mediterranean coast for a year.” With the same salary. Do you have anything to say about this?
  
  
  
  
  “Well, that says a lot! If he is anywhere near me, I will find him.
  
  
  
  
  “If you find him, I advise you... do you mind if I advise you to do so, Joseph?”
  
  
  
  
  Joe Felix's head shook quickly from side to side.
  
  
  
  
  “Then make sure he doesn’t identify you. If you can follow him until dark, that will be ideal. Don't try to grab it. Don't even talk to him. Shoot him in the back. Several times, just to be sure. You won't have to fear the police because all you have to do is come here and I'll take you out of here on my own plane. Like a king.
  
  
  
  
  Joe beamed. “Everything will be all right, Mr. Benn.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning at nine o'clock Nick was with Reed-Farben in the personnel department. He was wearing green cotton pants, a matching shirt, and a gray jersey jacket that didn't match. He had with him work gloves trimmed with horsehide, and he wore high shoes with laces. He had a union badge on his khaki cap. Everything is clean and tidy and perfect for the role he wanted to play.
  
  
  
  
  The beautiful but rather stupid-looking brunette smiled at him with a radiant smile and handed him long forms to fill out. He carefully wrote down the details of his past as a truck driver, prepared by AX. He gave his address and telephone number in Alpine as his current location. When he turned in the forms, the brunette said, “Thank you. We will call you when we have something for you.
  
  
  
  
  Yes. Don't contact us, we will contact you. He looked shyly at the table and said, “They told me to ask about Mr. Kenneth Abbott. He might know about me.
  
  
  
  
  - Oh... then wait a minute. She picked up the phone and pressed the button. “Hello, Mary Ann? I have a truck driver who was assigned to Mr. Abbott. A minute of silence. “Oh yeah...” Brown eyes with an abundance of green shadows turned towards him. —Who sent you to Mr. Abbott?
  
  
  
  
  He made an honest boyish face. - "Miss Martha Wagner."
  
  
  
  
  The brunette conveyed the information, listened and hung up. - Sit down for a minute. Mr Abbott will see you in a minute.
  
  
  
  
  It soon became a full hour. Nick read Look magazine, saw his application being collected by an errand boy, saw seven more applicants appear, painstakingly filling out their forms, and were sent away with the words: “We’ll call you if necessary.” .' At ten o'clock the brunette answered the phone, led him through two doors and a short corridor and handed him to another girl. She was a copy of the brunette, only with a different hair color. She brought him to the very well-groomed Kenny Abbott.
  
  
  
  
  Abbott did not stand or shake hands. He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. Nick saw that there was an application form in front of him and he was looking through it carefully. — How long have you known Martha Wagner?
  
  
  
  
  - Not for long, Mr. Abbott. She cashes my checks.
  
  
  
  
  'Oh right. Why did you come to Colorado?
  
  
  
  
  “I've been here before; I love this area."
  
  
  
  
  Kenny pretended to study Nick's form. Already very suspicious by nature, he tried to get more out of Nick's answers than was written on paper. He would have answered that way if he knew more than he wanted to say. He knew Martha well. This was the first man she recommended.
  
  
  
  
  More important; he knew that his Uncle Pearly knew her very well—he may have slept with her from time to time—and he didn't want to irritate Pearly in any way. Perley got him a job here for ten thousand dollars a year, even though he needed twice that to live the life he wanted. Perley was as smart as his computer equipment. He was always on the alert. Kenny worked with Benn, Rick and the others with his own ideas - at a time like this it's better not to make mistakes. All it took was one thing for everything to go wrong and your house of cards to collapse.
  
  
  
  
  This guy is good - he looked at the uniform - this Jim Perry wouldn't look stupid if you put some decent clothes on him. Good posture. Martha did not have a permanent boyfriend. Would that be the case? Was she personally interested in this guy and Pearly had nothing to do with it? However, if he interfered with Martha and she complained to Pearly...
  
  
  
  
  “Mr. Perry, we always check references very carefully. Do you mind if we call your previous employers and other people you listed?
  
  
  
  
  'Certainly. I have a good track record. You will notice this.
  
  
  
  
  "Will you get permission from the local union office?" Nick raised his cap and pointed to his badge. "No objections". Let Kenny check all the references. If he hadn't gotten great information about "Jim Perry" all over the place, AX might have been packing his bags. If a pseudonym was invented for someone, it was always waterproof.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know if we can use another driver,” Perley’s cousin said as he checked on him. “We only have about fifteen tractor-trailers, most of them hauling trailers to Denver, where they go by train. Can you handle this?
  
  
  
  
  “I worked a lot with trailers and containers,” Nick lied. “I really need a job, Mr. Abbott. I really want to serve as a stunt double if necessary."
  
  
  
  
  Kenny sighed. Either this guy was smarter than he looked, or he knew he could complain to Martha or Pearly and put pressure on him. - Wait outside, Mr. Perry. I'll see what I can do for you.
  
  
  
  
  Nick returned to the HR waiting room. Twenty minutes later, the brunette handed him more forms, noted his Social Security number, and regaled him with silly talk about how great it was to work at Reed-Farben and what special privileges he would receive there. He left with orders to report to the head of the expedition at four o'clock the next day.
  
  
  
  
  Once inside the gate, Nick drove the Ford around the main building, explored the wide grassy area, and soon found his way to the loading docks behind the newer long factory buildings.
  
  
  
  
  These were the divisions that produced Reed-Farben's conventional chemicals and pharmaceuticals, which generated handsome annual earnings. If they had designed these activities to hide what they actually intended to do, they would have chosen healthy foods. Without a doubt, Perley's help in obtaining government contracts came in handy. This may be one of those cases where the front provides capital for illegal activities. There was something suspicious about it, but all factors had to be taken into account.
  
  
  
  
  The trucks were a mixed bag. Poppies, Grandmasters and several Internationals. Nick shrugged. He could handle it. AX men were trained to drive almost anything that moved, including rowboats and twin-engine airplanes
  
  
  
  
  The head of the expedition turned out to be a hunted man with a bald head and an unshaven face. Nick walked up to him and said, “I’m Jim Perry. I must be here tomorrow at four o'clock. The bald man stopped, wiped the sweat from his shiny head and said, “Okay.” His eyes were red and watery, but they missed nothing. He noticed a union badge. “My name is Rainey. I already have truck drivers. But I'm looking for truck drivers. Do you understand this?
  
  
  
  “Containers, trailers? Yes.'
  
  
  
  
  'Great. Then you can help me with the cargo for Denver tomorrow.
  
  
  
  Nick figured it out quickly. Why did he ask this? Then it hit him: Rainey was short on experienced workers and wanted to do some work with union members. 'This is good.'
  
  
  
  
  "Great, Jim. See you on second shift then. We'll...'
  
  
  
  
  The conveyor belt pumping cardboard boxes onto a truck got out of control of the two men manning it. The boxes rolled along the platform. Rainey jerked away from him and said one last thing: “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  When Nick returned to his Ford, a company patrol car was parked next to it. The guard asked him: “Do you have a pass?”
  
  
  
  
  “I just got hired.”
  
  
  
  
  'ABOUT. But if you don’t have a pass, you can only drive back and forth between the gate and the visitor parking lot.”
  
  
  
  
  'I'm sorry. Where can I get such a pass?
  
  
  
  
  "When should you start?"
  
  
  
  
  'Tomorrow.'
  
  
  
  
  “Then he will be ready at the gate.”
  
  
  
  
  'Thank you.' - Nick drove up to the gate and then drove out onto the main road. Everything was well organized there.
  
  
  
  
  He went to Martha's restaurant and had a cup of coffee and cookies. Martha was not there yet. He took out the leaflet the brunette had given him. On the front side it was written:
  
  
  
  
  WELCOME TO REED-FARBEN - WHERE IT'S NICE TO WORK.
  
  
  
  
  He read it quickly. After advertising the gentleman's life awaiting him, a warning appeared on the last page: “Don't run your mouth. In addition to producing regular commercial products, your company also handles government contracts of a highly classified nature. Remember that the enemy can be anywhere. No communist looks like a communist. Be attentive and therefore do not wag your tongue.
  
  
  
  
  There was also a photo of a man in a cafeteria with two others leaning on either side of him. Their ears were too big. Poorly executed, Nick thought.
  
  
  
  
  The restaurant, as usual, was very quiet between breakfast and lunch, and everyone seemed to be waiting for the midday rush. Pete Wagner, agitated and annoyed, slammed the cash drawer he had checked. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a beer. Then he walked up to Nick.
  
  
  
  
  - Hello, Jim. He sat down on a chair. “What a bad morning! The meat truck is late, the two waitresses don't show up, and the damn cash register shows a nine dollar difference - if that's too much. Then I received another phone call that the coach wants to dock here for lunch tomorrow. Fifty-two people, and they also want to be served quickly. Everyone ordered steaks. He quickly drank his glass.
  
  
  
  
  “Some days it’s better not to get up,” Nick replied. That's something a bored truck driver would say. What he really wanted to point out was that people all over the world are bragging, suffering, worrying and dying. They spend hopeless hours in prisons and hospitals. Hundreds of millions are starving. Pete was well dressed, he had a decent car, money in his pocket, a well-fed body - and here he also had to complain!
  
  
  
  
  Nick made an almost contemptuous expression, but he liked Pete. This man had many of Martha's good qualities. He may have been smarter than his sister, but he was also more nervous, louder, and uncontrollable. Be understanding, Nick told himself, everyone you meet has their own difficulties and problems.
  
  
  
  — Did you get this job? asked Pete.
  
  
  
  
  "I'll start tomorrow."
  
  
  
  
  — Do you like this job - driving trucks?
  
  
  
  
  'Yes. You can see the whole country. It’s not as monotonous, working like in a factory.”
  
  
  
  
  Pete finished his glass, walked over to the bar and poured himself another glass. Nick watched as Bob Half-Raven's black, inscrutable eyes watched Pete. The fact that they were constantly watching Pete gave him a lot to think about.
  
  
  
  
  Pete sat down again and drank half the glass. — Do you know anything about this enterprise?
  
  
  
  - Which one?
  
  
  
  "Reed Farben. Your new employer.
  
  
  
  
  “No more than what I was told,” Nick said. — An ordinary factory. I'm starting to haul containers to Denver. He handed Pete the pamphlet the brunette had given him. Pete flipped through it, read a few passages, and returned it back. - I know it. It's what it doesn't say that fascinates me, Jimmy. Do you want to earn a little more?
  
  
  
  
  “There’s always something to talk about,” Nick said carefully.
  
  
  
  
  Pete lowered his voice. - You know that I am a journalist. I mean, right now I'm here to help Martha, but at some point I'll definitely go back to work...
  
  
  
  
  Nick nodded. Pete didn't know that Nick had heard about his story of being fired from three newspapers for drunkenness.
  
  
  
  
  “There’s a good story behind it,” Pete said. He finished his glass and forgot to speak quietly, but his voice did not reach further than their table. “They've either found something new there that will set the whole industry back and make millions, or it's as fake as a fake dollar bill. Sure, they make chemicals and drugs, but what are they doing in the old Lyman building? What?'
  
  
  
  
  'I don't know.' Nick shook his head, but leaned forward, opened his eyes wide and asked in a whisper: “And then what?”
  
  
  
  
  Pete smiled a white-toothed smile. - 'No one knows. If you can figure it out or help me track it down, I'll look into it and when we have enough data, I'll make an article out of it. Then we split the fee."
  
  
  
  
  “What should I watch out for?” - Nick asked casually. -You have an idea, don't you?
  
  
  
  'Right.' Pete's face was much livelier now than when he joined. He walked over to the bar with his empty glass, put it in the sink - he could hear the water slurping - and poured himself another beer, this time in a large glass. He's back again. Nick saw that Bob Half-Crow was now suspiciously spying on Pete.
  
  
  
  Pete took a long sip. He knew this very well. “You bet I have an idea. They attracted experts in chemistry and medicine from all over the world. They drag and turn on all possible devices, as if they want to update it all. They even built an airport for themselves, and no one knows where some things come from or where they go. Their surveillance is a strange sight. They act just as cruelly towards their own people as they do towards strangers.
  
  
  
  Nick pretended to be surprised. - How is this possible?
  
  
  
  "Yes, they do." Pete leaned forward. Now he resembled a wise owl with a red head. “The neighbors who work in the production workshops never look inside the main building. At night he is surrounded by a special group of secret security. Where are they from? They don't live here. And the fastest way to get fired from your job is to be curious.” Nick, to his surprise, noticed that the large glass was already empty.
  
  
  
  — What about maids or cleaners? - Nick asked. Surely they see something?
  
  
  
  “All these employees live in luxurious houses on the factory premises.”
  
  
  
  “Then go up to those guys if they come here on their day off.”
  
  
  
  “They never do it. They don't even talk to the locals. When they take a day off, they spend it in Denver or outside of Denver. Some of their children ride the school bus, but you can't get much out of the kids. Besides, of course, they don't know anything.
  
  
  
  Nick nodded and showed interest. "I'll keep my eyes open, Pete, but what makes you think I'll have a chance of finding something?"
  
  
  
  - You've been everywhere, Jim. You're probably smarter than the average driver. I bet you haven't driven a truck your whole life. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two here and there, maybe you'll catch a glimpse of what they're sending. If there is some kind of system that needs to be discovered, then surely the two of us can figure it out? Agreed to meet? He extended his hand, which was shaking a little.
  
  
  
  Nick grabbed the smaller man's hand, which was almost dwarfed next to his own. But Pete's grip was strong and his palm steady. “I’ll try,” Nick said.
  
  
  
  'Fine.' Pete chuckled and walked over to the bar with his glass. His face was glowing. This is what immediately catches the eye, Nick decided. However, he could drink for several days before losing consciousness.
  
  
  
  Bob Half-Crow, who had been standing at the sales counter like an ominous brown statue, suddenly turned, pushed back the mahogany swinging door and walked towards Nick. What the Indian had to say was only for Nick's ears. “There’s always noise when he drinks. Try to stop it or get rid of it. Think about Martha.
  
  
  
  Martha entered through the main entrance. Making her way through the increasingly crowded bar, she looked beautiful in her blue suit. She bumped into Pete as he walked back to the table with a frothy glass of beer in his hand. Both froze for a moment. Nick felt sorry for them. You just felt their anger, frustration and powerlessness.
  
  
  
  Martha and her brother approached the table in the corner, but the spring in her gait and the blush in her face disappeared as if by magic. "Good morning, Jim."
  
  
  
  Nick looked at her as encouragingly as possible. - Good morning, Martha. You look good.'
  
  
  
  'Thank you.'
  
  
  
  Dead silence. Pete took a long sip in a gesture that looked like a challenge. Nick couldn't help but think about the not-so-good television program. He knew the backstory because he was present in the opening scenes that the audience didn't know. Pete, an alcoholic, was on the verge of drinking again. Martha, the patient sister who hoped for the best but knew she could expect the worst. Bob Half-Crow, a loyal friend of the house, always ready to take care of Pete or wipe the floor with him, but knowing that neither of those will help. Nick remembered the technical definition of alcoholism: a form of physical allergy accompanied by an inevitable psychological attraction.
  
  
  
  It was already starting to fill up a little. The clock above the bar showed one minute past eleven. Pete said: “I’m getting to work. Think again, Jim.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick replied. Pete took the rest of the beer to the U-shaped bar opposite the doors.
  
  
  
  'What did he say?' - asked Martha.
  
  
  
  “He thinks Reed-Farben's secrets could be made into an article. If I can help him, he will split the fee with me.”
  
  
  
  Martha looked angry; then the tired expression drove the sternness from her face. She said. - “Yes, Pete is a reporter. He collaborated with several good newspapers, but could not resist. Every time he... gets upset, he looks for a way to get back to work. So do you have this job?
  
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “Then do your job and don’t try to help Pete.” It will only make you miserable and you will end up on the street... just like him.
  
  
  
  - He drinks?
  
  
  
  Her face tensed for a moment; then she dropped her shoulders. 'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “Maybe I can help him write a great story and stop his drinking.” Not that Nick believed it. You can turn your drunk brother into a business manager and give him another $10,000 bonus, but then he'll drink again to celebrate it all. They won't stop until they get back on the ground or get the right mental help. But like no-nonsense driver Jim Perry, he let the idea of a quick fix take center stage.
  
  
  
  - Listen to me carefully, Jim. Just do your job at Reed-Farben and don't poke your nose into other things. I'm serious.
  
  
  
  "Why do they have to be so secretive about it?" Nick asked with all the innocence he could muster. “I have a good criminal record, and I’m not going to delve into state secrets, but if it’s just a good article...” Martha put her hand on his arm for a moment. “Listen, dear boy,” she said quietly, “do you think I didn’t know what I was talking about?”
  
  
  
  - You probably know that. You've been here a lot longer than I have.
  
  
  
  
  “Reed-Farben operates in the world of big business. Have you ever heard of industrial espionage? For example, a company that has a great new product and needs to protect it? Well, this company also makes such protection. Don't interfere with this.
  
  
  
  “Have they found a way to grow new hair or lose weight without dieting? Something like this would bring in millions.”
  
  
  
  She narrowed her eyes a little, and for a moment he thought he had gone too far. When you were playing a role, hiding something, wanting to gather information and come up with a plan of action - all at once - you balanced like a tightrope walker.
  
  
  
  “Just think about what they can do,” she told him. -Have you talked to Kenny?
  
  
  
  'Yes. I just told you that you cashed my checks and everything went smoothly. They needed a driver. This is what I learned from the guy on the Rainey expedition. You know him?'
  
  
  
  “He comes here sometimes. Do you really promise me that you won't spy?
  
  
  
  'Fine. But I can certainly keep my eyes open, right? Otherwise people will think I'm crazy."
  
  
  
  It was good for a laugh on her part. He loved the way her lips softened and her cheeks plumped up. Bob Half-Crow honked. Martha stood up. "I have to go to work. Good luck, Jim.
  
  
  
  “I won’t start until four o’clock tomorrow.” See you around nine today.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” she whispered.
  
  
  
  Nick was too busy with those around him to keep an eye on the place, which was now crowded. He suddenly felt someone's eyes looking at him. He found it halfway to the bar. They caught his eye and turned away.
  
  
  
  They belonged to a man who was shorter than him and broader in stature than most of the others. Hard, inquisitive eyes on an ugly face with a flattened nose. It was King Kong, the man whose Colt he had taken from Hubie's room at the Silver Cloud Hotel in Forge Junction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick had a hard expression on his face, although you could only notice it by standing next to him, looking into the corners of his wide-set gray eyes and lively mouth.
  
  
  
  He thought, “So, Mr. Wang is cool-but-not-so-smart! How did you find me - by tip or by chance? What should he do? Will he recognize me, despite my disguise at Forge Crossroads?
  
  
  
  A brown hat and coat seemed security enough, especially given the dim light in Room 18 and the hallway of the Silver Cloud Hotel. King Kong could be shaky at times. Nick stood up and walked over to the register by the front door, where Pete and the cashier were busy. Reaching the end of the line, Pete leaned forward, took the receipt, and pushed Nick's dollar bill aside. - No need, old man. Will I see you tonight?
  
  
  
  'Yes. Thank you.'
  
  
  
  Nick sauntered across the large parking lot, turning his head every few seconds just enough to keep an eye on the door behind him. Before he even reached his Ford, he saw that King Kong had gotten out and looked around carefully. Nick quickly turned away and walked towards the car. He felt for the door and saw King Kong take a few steps towards him. Nick turned and quickly walked back into the restaurant; As he passed by the man, he gave him the blank look common in the company of complete strangers.
  
  
  
  Joe Felix didn't know where he stood. He'd been trying to empty out some obscure bar the night before, and now his head was pounding, his eyes were burning, and he was in desperate need of a tonic that he hadn't even had time to order there. Nick's deliberate course forced him to step aside. The way the gray eyes looked through him without recognition shocked him. You bet it was that man! Or not? Curly brown hair under a cap gracefully pressed to the back of her head looked completely different from a floppy brown hat. The guy in that room didn't look like an ordinary worker. Almost involuntarily, Joe Felix muttered, “Hey...”
  
  
  
  Nick turned around and responded in a thick Southern accent, “Yeah?”
  
  
  
  - Tell me... don’t I know you?
  
  
  
  'Maybe. But who are you then?
  
  
  
  “Aren’t we...” Joe Felix swallowed and thought. What the hell could he say now? Of course it was the guy, but he couldn't shoot him right there on the spot, could he? He ran his tongue over his dry lips. God, this worker looked nothing like that guy. The other one was not such a stupid peasant boy. Joe decided to be a smart detective. “Didn’t we meet at Forge Crossing a few days ago?”
  
  
  
  Nick shook his head. 'Oh no. Because I was on the road. But maybe it was my brother John. People always confuse us. He'll never swallow this fake, Nick thought.
  
  
  
  Joe felt enormous relief. Like this. “Hmm, yes,” he said, “now I remember his name was John.” Was he supposed to be there?
  
  
  
  - Yes, it can be. He was late for our poker game.
  
  
  
  -Where is John now?
  
  
  
  Nick pretended to be suspicious. - What do you need from him?
  
  
  
  “I... I still owe him a few dollars.”
  
  
  
  - Ask me, and I’ll tell him.
  
  
  
  
  Oh no, I'd rather meet him myself. We got along well. Where can I contact him?
  
  
  
  Nick tried his best to look like a simple country guy. - I don’t know exactly, dude. Just tell me where you are and I'll tell him to come see you when he gets back.
  
  
  
  - When is this?
  
  
  
  "In three or four days."
  
  
  
  Joe Felix reached into his inside pocket. Nick froze. The stocky man took out a notepad and a ballpoint pen, wrote down the number and gave it to Nick. 'He can call me on this number.
  
  
  
  Tell him I have money for him. What is your last name?'
  
  
  
  “Perry,” Nick said, then frowned, as if angry. 'What is your name?'
  
  
  
  'Joe. Don’t forget to tell him that everything is fine and I can let him make good money.”
  
  
  
  “I’ll tell you,” Jim said and went inside.
  
  
  
  Joe Felix watched him go, scratching the back of his head and tapping his fist on the thick skull above his right ear, as if wondering if there was anything left in the barrel. He decided to get this money from Oga. There weren't many people around Martha who knew him, but he shouldn't have defied luck. He might find out about John Perry later when his brother isn't around.
  
  
  
  Nick waited patiently until he could catch Pete in a quiet moment. He described the man who had just left and asked if Pete knew him. Pete said he'd seen him once or twice, but didn't know anything about him.
  
  
  
  Martha could not remember this person.
  
  
  
  Nick stood next to Bob Half-Raven, who was monitoring the cash register and the keystrokes, and asked him a question. "He says his name is Joe."
  
  
  
  Without taking his eyes off his work, Bob said quietly, “His name is Joe Felix. He's been hanging around here for seven or eight months. Does certain housework for Reed's big bosses. Appears and disappears again. He does not work. Dubious guy. Keep an eye on him. Loses money playing dice at Augie. Has a pistol. He doesn't really like you.
  
  
  
  Nick blinked. - Thank you, Bob. General Custer would be useful to you.
  
  
  
  "He owes his defeat to me."
  
  
  
  Nick grinned and went back to looking for his Ford. Joe Felix was nowhere to be seen. Nick opened the hood and carefully checked the distributor. Leaning against the van, he paused in the bright sun to admire the bluish tint of a nearby mountain peak. Sometimes you were lucky, and sometimes you had bad luck. Finding Hubie's tape and getting this job was a godsend; The encounter with Joe Felix was a bad luck. There were two big question marks. Was Felix searching for "John Perry" of his own accord because his rugged exterior hid a bulldog, or did Reed-Farben bosses send him after the man he found in Hubie's room? If he had acted on his own initiative, it is likely that he would not have reported the discovery of the trace of "John Perry." If this quest had been assigned to him, he would likely have reported his progress because he needed to demonstrate the results. But there was a reasonable chance that he would keep it to himself for a while, as he would want to make up for the loss of the gun and his defeat in the hotel room with his success.
  
  
  
  Nick wiped the car's rearview mirror with a handkerchief. On these mountain roads you had to keep an eye on them all the time. He didn't know what to think. Joe Felix was dangerous, maybe even life-threatening. Of course, once Kenny or the others discover the connection between John and Jim Perry, they will immediately figure it out.
  
  
  
  Jim drove the Ford to Augie's Roadhouse twenty miles away and found Joe Felix, who was feeling much better after a beer and a few whiskeys and was now trying to roll five dice.
  
  
  
  Gambling in Augie hasn't changed a bit over the years. This went on for fifteen hours a day in the back room. without interruption and under the protection of local authorities. Joe kept throwing incorrectly and throwing before he was completely stripped. Nick sat down and bet small amounts. Soon he was noticed by Joe Felix. He nodded and frowned. He glanced at Nick every now and then. He seemed surprised and was thinking hard. While Nick was questioning Pete, Martha and Bob about Joe Felix, he did exactly what Nick had planned. He drove to a nearby tent where Bob said Bob often sat. He went straight to the bar, drank two whiskeys and a beer, and then did something Nick couldn't have known about.
  
  
  
  He entered a telephone booth and dialed Benn's secret telephone line code number. Joe's ego was indeed in dire need of success, although he pretended that he had already achieved his purpose by reporting promising results. In response to Benn's strange greeting, Joe immediately said: "I'm in touch with him."
  
  
  
  There was silence for a moment, and then there was a measured response with thick guttural sounds: “Okay. What's his name?'
  
  
  
  John Perry.
  
  
  
  Benn's hard eyes flashed as he wondered whether it was true or not. He didn't know Perry in the area, but he would check it out. I wonder if that idiot Felix remembers that he didn't mention his name during the conversation about the Forge Crossing incident and that Benn didn't ask on purpose. Then Felix would get confused and lie even more, and that wouldn't help the matter. Of course, Benn's people had already immediately asked the hotel receptionist about this. The guest book had the name Henry Riegel, but it didn't mean anything. Benn said: “You are going in the right direction. Will you act as I suggested?
  
  
  
  'Yes. But it will take some time.
  
  
  
  “But you don’t expect further trouble?”
  
  
  
  'No. Everything is OK now.'
  
  
  
  Benn didn't trust any phone. There were still questions he wanted to ask. They could only wait. - Do you need help?
  
  
  
  'No.' Joe thought about the amount of money Benn was talking about. He didn't want any more complications. - I need to hang up. I'll call you later.'
  
  
  
  He went back to the bar and drank another shot and another glass of beer as if it were salted peanuts. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He lied to Benn, but he will find this Perry. He realized that he had hastily forgotten to ask his brother his name. It wasn't a disaster. The local post offices knew everyone. He would definitely find it. The whiskey began to take effect. He felt better and decided to take a risk.
  
  
  
  After Joe hung up, Benn carefully placed his prosthetic arm on the table, pleased with the precision with which he could now use his prosthetic arm. The eyes above the mask were impassive and cold, as if made of ice. He pressed the button. The man known as Robert Rick entered through a side door.
  
  
  
  Rick was gray-haired, slender, and walked upright. The type that immediately turns your attention when you turn a corner and claps your hands.
  
  
  
  Benn said in German: “The man Felix found at Forge Crossing was John Perry. Felix chases after him, but he's as dumb as a pig's ass. Place people in this restaurant and also in the factory. Find this Perry.
  
  
  
  "When we find him... eliminate him?"
  
  
  
  'Definitely. And immediately, if possible.
  
  
  
  Rick understood him, and his voice suddenly sounded friendly: “You are very tense, dear friend. Do you think this is one of the AX? Maybe the person from AX?
  
  
  
  "The description is correct."
  
  
  
  “Oh, what! We have prepared so carefully for this - and we are so close to success. A few more weeks, two months at most...
  
  
  
  "To succeed". Benn cracked the metal ballpoint pen between the two tentacles of his artificial arm, as if he were breaking a toothpick in half. “We have almost come to the point where we can... offer humanity great... changes.”
  
  
  
  Rick's laugh was malicious, not at all like that of a benefactor of humanity. “We'll catch him, Martin, and the sooner the better.” Do you believe they might know about the Nebraska experiment?
  
  
  
  “I was sure not—until now.” We have such good connections in Washington. I don't think they know about Nebraska, but you know how cunning that devil is. How many men does he have available? They could find equipment for Nebraska. A warehouse next to a missile base would be a safer place than here. Let's send what we have.
  
  
  
  “It’s like putting some of our eggs in a different nest.”
  
  
  
  - Very good comparison, Heinrich! Yes, some of the eggs we hatch go to another nest.” A steel hand slammed into the table. 'Then it's okay. As soon as the plane appears. Fix it tomorrow. In the meantime, set some good traps for this Perry.
  
  
  
  “Everything will work out, my dear friend.” Rick left.
  
  
  
  Benn dropped his steel hand three times onto the edge of the table. Each time he raised it slowly and then quickly brought it down like an axe. This devil! That mysterious American who cost him treasure, ruined his most sophisticated plans, thwarted him in Indonesia, the Netherlands, and also in Rhodesia. You could never be sure what he looked like, except that he had a large and dangerous physique and a fast-acting brain. He adapted to his job like a chameleon. Logic and painstaking research showed that Nick Carter was from AX, but how could you be sure?
  
  
  
  Benn walked over the corpses and thought that he knew no fear. He lived twenty lives at once - but this devil haunted him in his dreams.
  
  
  
  In recent years he had suffered from nightmares, and they were all the same. He dreamed of starting even bigger projects, using his enormous wealth and his international network of former comrades. He borrowed billions, bribed governments, and worked with an oil cartel and a combination of nuclear power plants to monopolize the real source of all the money. But just as he was about to emerge in his true form and restore the old order in all its glory, one of his trusted lieutenants removed his wig and disguise and said, "I'm from AX..."
  
  
  
  Sticky sweat came out when he woke up.
  
  
  
  When they caught that guy at the factory, he thought he had succeeded, but no. With all their special appeals, they couldn't get more out of him than that he was an up-and-coming FBI agent. Nimura and von Dirksen were of the opinion that perhaps this was a hypnotically transmitted reaction.
  
  
  
  Perry? The steel hand came down again.
  
  
  *********
  
  
  
  Nick lost twenty-nine dollars. He did not find any interference from staff, but there were several tools and techniques that could only be tested if time and tools were available. He had once seen a table with miniature diagrams built into the plywood top, and the variety of shapes and curves of modern dice was inexhaustible.
  
  
  
  Joe Felix lost at least fifty dollars. He didn't think about it. He eventually gave up and returned to the bar. He wanted to talk to Perry again, but how could he do it? The hard, pale features of his face twisted convulsively from his thoughts.
  
  
  
  Nick saved him the trouble by walking up to him. "Hey Joe. I'm not getting anything out of this. How are you?"
  
  
  
  "Useless. Do you want a drink?'
  
  
  
  "With pleasure. I'm broken. You're not interested in a good gun, are you?
  
  
  
  Felix almost swallowed his cigarette. a curse! It was a joke? Or was it dumb luck? After that failure at the craps table, he really deserved a chance! 'May be. I actually wanted to buy one.
  
  
  
  'This is a good thing. Auto.'
  
  
  
  - Army model?
  
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  
  Joe's mood improved. 'How many?'
  
  
  
  Nick narrowed his eyes, hoping he looked sly. He looks like that guy, Joe thought. His brother? Is it possible that...? Nick said, “With all these new gun laws, they're going to cost more. A hundred bucks?
  
  
  
  - Well... these old pistols aren't worth that much. What does this thing look like?
  
  
  
  'Great.'
  
  
  
  Joe furrowed his heavy brows. When he was in trouble, he looked even more like a monkey than usual. If only he could see that guy in the baggy brown hat. He said, "We'll see."
  
  
  
  "He's at my house."
  
  
  
  "If there's nothing wrong with it, I'll buy it for a hundred bucks."
  
  
  
  Nick drained his glass. “I’ll be waiting for you a mile away.” Here's my car, Ford.
  
  
  
  A moment later, he rode ahead of King Kong in his Mercury along the small road that Martha had introduced him, but stopped in a clearing just short of an observation deck. He didn't want to take King Kong to the place he had such fond memories of. He was already out and leaning against the door of the Ford when Joe stopped behind him and stuck his head out the window. - Hey, what are we doing here?
  
  
  
  “I hid this gun somewhere in the forest. Come with me.' Grumbling, Joe Felix climbed out of his Mercury. When he was about four feet from Nick, Nick said in a completely different tone - abruptly, commandingly and sharply: - Don't go any further, Joe.
  
  
  
  Joe stopped and widened his eyes. Nick had already pulled his cap down onto his forehead. At the same time, it had an effect in the voice. - 'Damn it! You're the guy from that hotel room. That thing about your brother was just stupid. Yes,” Nick answered. - Now you and I will chat a little. Maybe we can do something for each other."
  
  
  
  Joe made a grim face. It was too fast for him. He had a small pistol in his back pocket. If only he could pull it out and use it because his $4,000 plus paid vacation was on the line. Joe waved his arms softly, studying the imperturbable face of the man leaning against the Ford, as if he wanted to leisurely sunbathe. The eyes looked straight at him; they were the ones that bothered Joe all his life. The eyes of people who knew no guilt and were not afraid. You have often seen them on the police - you have learned to distinguish between them.
  
  
  
  Nick understood most of the thoughts that came from under Joe's heavy eyebrows. He did not plan this in advance - it happened due to circumstances. He couldn't let Joe Felix leave, give up his disguise, and ruin the entire Reed-Farben investigation. He lured Felix along with the intention of capturing him and handing him over to AX. The idea of killing him in cold blood never occurred to Nick. He was a Killmaster, but not a killer.
  
  
  
  
  Maybe the drink gave Joe more courage. He reached for his gun. But before his hand could grasp the weapon, he was staring at the short barrel of Wilhelmina, who took aim at him so quickly that he could not remember the movement of Perry's hand. Joe took a step back from that black eye of fate. Joe lacked primitive courage or something like that! He took another step back. 'What are you going to do? What are you up to?'
  
  
  
  "Reed-Farben doesn't need you anymore."
  
  
  
  'Really? But Benn said...
  
  
  
  Joe swallowed his words with a red face. He was confused, angry and could not control the situation. But he realized he shouldn't have mentioned Benn. He turned and ran.
  
  
  
  Joe ran pretty fast for his size. Nick followed him with long strides. He hardly had to raise his voice. - Stay calm, Joe. Joe ran even faster. — reached the end of the plateau with a beautiful view and continued moving to the right along the edge of the abyss.
  
  
  
  Nick barked at him. - “Stop!” Should he have hit him from behind? He hesitated at the thought of the distance he would have to carry heavy Joe back to the cars. He preferred to bring Felix with him, who would be conscious and able to move forward on his own.
  
  
  
  - Stop! Nick raised his voice. "No one will harm you."
  
  
  
  He meant it exactly. Despite his threats, Nick had no intention of shooting anyone in the back or even shooting someone in the leg from behind. Joe rushed out of the clearing into an area of waist-deep weeds and underbrush and followed the path along the slate surface. Nick rushed after him, checked that the Luger was intact, and raised his weapon. But as he ran after Felix a few feet away, he held back. The person could fall into the abyss. Without Nick doing anything, this is exactly what happened. One moment he was running past a protruding boulder, and the next he was gone. His scream was lost in the roar of falling boulders and pieces of shale. Nick jumped away from the ravine and held on to the rocks. “Damn...damn,” he muttered to himself.
  
  
  
  Somewhere in the depths a dark knocking sound was heard.
  
  
  
  Nick holstered Wilhelmina again and walked a little closer to the edge until, from a jutting ledge, he saw Felix's lifeless body dozens of feet below. It took Nick an hour to climb down the sheer cliff to the body. Broken neck and serious head injuries. Nick searched his bags thoroughly. I put everything back and took nothing with me. Two hours later he returned home to Alpine, where he wrote down and hid the full report. It could be days before Felix's body is discovered. If anyone remembered seeing them together at Oga's, the chances of someone from that tent opening their mouth were negligible. By the way, they both left in their cars.
  
  
  
  Martha, Pete and Bob Half-Raven have a different story. They would remember Nick asking about Joe Felix. It was a bad move, but how could he have foreseen it? If the detectives asked them if they knew anything about Joe, would they say Jim Perry asked about him? Nick frowned. He had to be careful with them. If he was lucky, Joe's death would be written off as an accident or suicide, and that would be the end of the matter, except that his new friends at Martha's restaurant might become suspicious.
  
  
  
  And Mr. Marvin Benn, of course. When Felix mentioned the name, he indicated that he worked for Benn. It also meant that Benn had obtained a description of the man who was searching the hotel room. He hoped they were looking for someone wearing a brown jacket and a floppy brown hat.
  
  
  
  Mr. Marvin Benn, Chairman of the Board of Directors of Prostaglandins Corporation, President of Reed-Farben and Commissioner of several other companies. The mysterious Mr. Benn, an even more mysterious figure than Howard Fluges. No one had a photograph of Benn, not even an old one. Abroad, where Reed-Farben had its connections - in Switzerland, Germany, Japan and France - Marvin Benn was not there. Try sending him a summons to appear before the tax inspector, and you will be dealing with a lawyer and accountant who have never seen their client.
  
  
  
  Mr Benn, thought Nick, you are either too beautiful or too ugly to be true.
  
  
  
  Robert Rick, a polished and friendly Reed-Farben employee, asked Martha Wagner if she knew John Perry. Rick was a good customer. He often came to her on business with a whole company. She gave him the sweetest smile and said, “No. I've never heard this name. I'll ask the staff.
  
  
  
  Rick, with sharp eyes and a straight back, did not suspect anything. Martha was used to questions from local police, creditors, detectives, FBI agents, jealous husbands and angry wives.
  
  
  
  She left Rick and said to Pete and Bob Half-Raven, "If anyone asks, you've never heard of Perry, whether his name is Jim or John or whatever."
  
  
  
  Both men nodded cheerfully and continued their work.
  
  
  
  She walked back to the table where Rick was sitting with two big guys who looked like muscular young employees. “They don’t know him,” she said with a hint of regret in her voice. "Should I ask some other people tonight?"
  
  
  
  “If you're that good,” Rick said. "I would really appreciate it."
  
  
  
  As they left, he slipped a folded dollar into her hand and already left one on the table for the waitress. Martha called Abe Phipps and asked him not to tell anyone that Jim Perry was living with him.
  
  
  
  Abe didn't mince words. - Pull yourself together, Martha.
  
  
  
  He reported this to Nick. Soon after, Rick and his two companions appeared, received no response from Abe, and moved on. Half an hour later, Martha's black Lincoln pulled into the inconspicuous parking lot behind Abe's house. Abe went out the back door. “Jim lives in number thirty-four. Rick was here.
  
  
  
  - Thank you, Abe.
  
  
  
  — Law enforcement agencies?
  
  
  
  - No, it's a personal matter. Thanks again.'
  
  
  
  - Don't mention it.
  
  
  
  Martha walked behind the row of houses and knocked on Nick's door. When she was inside, she immediately fell into his arms. When they pulled away from the hug, Nick patted her on the shoulder. “Whatever happens, thank you.”
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “But Robert Rick and two of his men are looking for you.”
  
  
  
  - I do not know that.
  
  
  
  “They asked about John Perry, but it sounds too much like Jim Perry to refer to anyone else. What were you doing, Jim? Or... who are you?
  
  
  
  'Who am I?'
  
  
  
  Martha sat down in a chair next to the fan. - Yes, Jim, who?
  
  
  
  He came to stand next to her and stroked her hair without tangling it. "Nothing but a traveling driver who takes care of you."
  
  
  
  "I'd like to believe it." She sighed. - But I'm Martha, you know? Which you thought was convenient enough to take over Lucky Ed's tent before Reed-Farben moved on to bigger things. From the age of fourteen I dealt with all kinds of people who wanted to create something. Well done, Jim. I mean, you play your part well, but I'm not selling it. Do you like paying taxes?
  
  
  
  “No,” said Nick. This was the kind of lie he didn't like - fooling someone you liked and deserved an honest answer. “I pay my taxes honestly, but I know that some multimillionaires who can afford to be smart lawyers and accountants pay less taxes than their employees. No, honey, taxes are not for me.
  
  
  
  - Well, not that. You're either working for the police, or on the run from the police, or...
  
  
  
  'Or what?'
  
  
  
  “Or you’re dangerous in some other way.” I was stupid enough to get you a job at Reed-Farben, but now they've discovered you're dangerous. I really like you, Jim, but I don't want to let you destroy everything I've built.
  
  
  
  He took two cans of cold beer from the small plastic refrigerator. Without a smile, she took one of his. 'Well, Jim. I'm still waiting.'
  
  
  
  “Honey, things are getting much worse. Joe Felix dove into the abyss where we were standing with the car. He is dead.
  
  
  
  She opened her eyes wide. “He worked for Benn and Rick. Bob Half Crow told you he was with Reed. You will get bogged down in this matter up to your ears.
  
  
  
  “Will Bob tell anyone I asked about him?”
  
  
  
  “I've already warned Bob and Pete not to tell Rick or anyone else that there's a Perry around.
  
  
  
  'Thank you. Maybe they won't be able to find me for a few more days.
  
  
  
  'Are you out of your mind? Didn't you apply on Perry's behalf back then?
  
  
  
  'Yes. And Abe? If they're going to check here... Martha blushed. “I also hinted to him.” He's got your back unless you're being chased by NCIS.
  
  
  
  
  'No. It will just be Rick and his people. Nick leaned down and kissed her very tenderly. “Thank you, Martha. You are a woman that a man can be proud of. You stand up for him first, and then ask him questions.
  
  
  
  “I don’t ask questions anymore because I still don’t get an answer. What if they check here? Don't go too far, darling. Not so far that we couldn't meet again, but far enough that we wouldn't both get confused. I believe that you bring difficulties that we cannot handle here.
  
  
  
  “I won’t leave right away, my dear.” You have already helped me a lot, and maybe I can stay a few more days before the wolves bite. I have a feeling it will take a while for Rick and Benn to start vetting their own personnel roster. Isn't this the last place you'll look for me?
  
  
  
  “God, Jim! Do you want to kill yourself?
  
  
  
  "I love life, honey."
  
  
  
  - So you're up to something. Are you going to steal one of their cars?
  
  
  
  - You think so?
  
  
  
  'No.
  
  
  
  She sat until five in the evening. The conversation died down. She realized that her objections were useless. Snuggled close to her on the bed, Nick relaxed. It was only when he thought about the situation he found himself in that he felt the tension and anxiety that he had to hide from her. He fell into the evil plans of evil people, and his new friends were now in danger along with him. Of course he will have to leave. Hubie Dumont should have denigrated him too when he still had the chance. Several people at AX have encountered this issue in the past. Some of them were now just names on the honor roll.
  
  
  
  Duty, he thought. Some do it, some don't.
  
  
  
  It was the biggest gamble he had ever taken. The score was tied, as with a two-man baseball team in the tenth inning: one break, one miss, one twist of fate could pick the underdog and allow the moment to come when the lights went out. When John or Jim Perry is discovered - and one of them will certainly be discovered - he will feel as if he is in a well with a bucket of live rattlesnakes in it...
  
  
  
  Although he wasn't sure how they could hide his presence, he could imagine. Few people knew Perry, and the main ones - Martha, Pete, Bob Hough-Crow and Abe Phipps - immediately fell silent.
  
  
  
  The methodical Robert Rick did check the staff list and in the process came across a man named Perry: Flo-Marie Perry, who drove a hundred miles a day to work in the packing department. An investigation was launched against her. She was the daughter of a small mountain farmer whose real name was Perrin. She was illiterate, but could read certain words on boxes and road signs. “It’s because of the TV,” her father told Rick’s emissary in disappointment. “I think it's wonderful that you were going to raise her in a factory, but it's true. It's none of her business. Flo-Marie really can't read.
  
  
  
  Rick's team pursued anyone named Perry within a hundred and fifty mile radius.
  
  
  
  They consulted telephone directories and obtained information from post offices. However, suspect John Perry was never found.
  
  
  
  Nick's main defense was the complexity of managing such a large undertaking. The personnel list Rick looked at was a week old. Jim Perry's data came from the HR department through the payroll computer and was not supposed to appear on the next personnel list, which was due by the tenth of the next month.
  
  
  
  While Benn and Rick and now two dozen other henchmen searched for Nick, he drove company trucks a few hundred yards past their windowless offices.
  
  
  
  Nick was called Jim to anyone who didn't ask further. If he had to use a last name, he muttered "Benny" and scribbled unintelligibly on receipts.
  
  
  
  He discovered that most of the incoming cargo for the main building consisted of tanks of milk, glucose, vegetable oil and syrups. They were immediately unloaded during unloading, and then employees in white coats came from the main building to connect the plastic or rubber hoses that pumped out the trucks. People in this building were not allowed to talk to you. They signed up to receive the shipment, said "Okay" and disappeared again.
  
  
  
  One evening Rainey insisted that Nick go out for a beer with him after work, and there was no getting around it. So he immediately made the drink look good by offering to buy a box of six cans and drink it in the cool of the forest. Rainey agreed. - Indeed, it's a hell of a lot cheaper.
  
  
  
  When they had drunk three cans each, they went for another box, because they got along well with each other and had not yet talked about everything. Rainey said he was happy with Nick's work and minded his own business. Nick hinted that he had escaped from his ex-wife, who had awarded him large alimony payments, and the elderly man almost cried out of compassion.
  
  
  
  “If anyone asks about poor Jim Perry,” Nick suggested, “please forget I exist.”
  
  
  
  “I don’t remember anymore,” Rainey replied. “Now I understand why you signed your name Benny several times.” Nick blinked. Never underestimate anyone! He turned the conversation to Reed-Farben.
  
  
  
  Rainey's flow of words was unstoppable. “Marijuana,” he said. “Oh my God, they have a gold mine.” I understand a little too. There are a lot of guys who do this. But in fact, the climate here is not the same, and we started this too late. The price has already risen to one hundred dollars per pound. Nick knew that in Mexico the going price for weed-free hemp was about thirty dollars a pound, and in the United States it was usually double that. Where can you find a good market for marijuana in this mountainous country?
  
  
  
  “I’ll have to do some gardening,” Nick said. - Good price. But is the market oversaturated? How much can Denver take out? We have to ship the goods halfway across the country - to Los Angeles, St. Louis, Chicago..."
  
  
  
  He stopped there. Rainey chuckled. "Come on. You just need to leave it in the military camps. All these guys from Vietnam are addicted to it, and they are dragging many others along with them. Just take Fort Hood. Ten thousand clients. They need thick, clean cuttings. They pay well for this. Let's say six grand a day for a man to stay nice and boring. If you’re talking about the market… and that’s just one base.”
  
  
  
  "Lord, if they catch us on the way..."
  
  
  
  “Who should catch us? The guys from the military police also smoke. I have good connections. The army is afraid of this. When seven guys from the 518th were taken away, almost the entire base was in shock. Let me tell you, this is a good deal!
  
  
  
  Nick allowed himself to notice. "And you think our business has anything to do with this?"
  
  
  
  'What else should there be? Oh, they make artificial hearts or something, but that's just for show. I'll tell you what they do in the main building. complicated things. I bet they invented super LSD. I always check the invoices. I've seen quite a few, ergotamine, tartrate, ergot and more. Do you know what this is?
  
  
  
  - Yes, I know what it is.
  
  
  
  Rainey nodded meaningfully in the darkness. “I knew right away when I saw you, Jim.” cup. Let's see how we can make a profit here.
  
  
  
  “We’ll find out,” Nick assured him. “And I can already see our first step.”
  
  
  
  'What will we do then?'
  
  
  
  “Involve me as much as possible during delivery and loading in the main building. Sooner or later I will have to face something that will make us wiser.
  
  
  
  Rainey hit Nick on the shoulder. 'I like you. I was going to put you on a route to Nebraska next week, but they changed it to high speed air transport. Our factory there is probably a warehouse for Chicago.
  
  
  
  Nick figured it out quickly. Nebraska? AX's data on Reed-Farben says nothing about the Nebraska plant, an interesting state given the fact that it had more military headquarters than most people realized. Nebraska is home to the Air Force Strategic Command, the Armed Forces Supreme Command and the Guided Missile Command. The information officers would have you believe that in the event of war, the President, Congress and General Staff would retreat to underground bunkers somewhere in Maryland or Virginia. Forget it, Nick thought. He said, "Damn, I didn't even know we had a factory there."
  
  
  
  - Actually a warehouse. I hadn't sent anything to him in years, but I remembered. And then last week they wanted to send cargo there, but they canceled again.”
  
  
  
  'Closer to Chic?
  
  
  
  'No. More toward North Platte. Not even five hundred miles from here. That's why it's so stupid to send it by air. And yet they do it.
  
  
  
  — Is this from the main building?
  
  
  
  'Yes. But now they're going to use one of their trucks to deliver things to the airport. This is what white coats do.
  
  
  
  “They know me in North Platte.” If I ever go there I will check out this warehouse. Maybe I'll run into something. Is this route 80?
  
  
  
  'No.' Rainey opened another can of beer. “Except for the 80th, on the 61st. I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut and package goods there.”
  
  
  
  - We'll find out. We definitely have some money to make."
  
  
  
  He stretched and sighed, outwardly lazily, inwardly recalling some of the details that were stored in such astonishing quantities in his memory. He remembered visiting a ghost town at the source of the Northern Lu. The military intelligence major who showed him the building that would become the AX command post in the event of a national emergency remarked quietly, “Everything you see is being built in duplicate—deep underground.”
  
  
  
  The warehouse Rainey spoke of is said to be approximately fifty miles from the most secret and most important nerve center of the US government. Of course, its existence was known; it was unmanageable in a complex that was worked by ten thousand men and garrisoned by two regiments and a battalion of Marines.
  
  
  
  He tried to get more information from Rainey, but he had nothing else in store. He, like Nick, was eager to learn even more and then take advantage of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning, Kenny Abbott came to Benn's office. He happily took every opportunity to be in front of his superiors. Benn seemed very annoyed: “What is it? Something important you said...
  
  
  
  “The police called. Joe Felix is dead. They believe that he fell or jumped into the abyss.
  
  
  
  'Where?'
  
  
  
  “At Jackass Peak. His car was parked there.
  
  
  
  "Tell them we're sorry."
  
  
  
  "They want to know if he was on a special mission."
  
  
  
  'No. He was off duty.
  
  
  
  Kenny left the office. Why does this guy always give him goosebumps?
  
  
  
  Benn chuckled to himself. Accident? Suicide? Come on! Felix was indeed on Perry's trail.
  
  
  
  To the outside world, Marvin Benn (whom some of his old comrades still called Martin) always showed a calm demeanor. But internally! Ah, he thought, if only you could look inside. Why does my star have such peaks and valleys? Has AX put this Nick Carter - I think so, but even that could be another AX trick - around my neck forever?
  
  
  I'm upset about this. Pay attention to the Krupps! Even some Arndt received half a million a year for his life, because the Fuhrer of the Third Reich ordered so. But I still have to fight for it, and besides, I’m stuck with these idiots and weaklings.
  
  
  
  He called to Rick, who immediately entered. "Perry!" Benn said. “You know he killed Felix.” Felix must have been on his tail. Do you have any leads?
  
  
  
  'A little. My men are tracking him like bloodhounds. We'll get there soon."
  
  
  
  — Were traps set?
  
  
  
  'Everywhere.'
  
  
  
  Benn crushed another ballpoint pen with his steely fingers. “If Felix could find him, he wasn't far.” I feel like it's right under our noses. Maybe he's laughing at us.
  
  
  
  A large road train drove along the road outside the windowless building. Reed-Farben Ltd was neatly written above the registration details. painted. Nick was driving the International truck, who needed to transport cargo to Colorado Springs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick loved to ride in the mountains with heavy equipment. When you rev up a big diesel engine and feel the truck approach the road on steep hills, it's like riding on five hundred horses. On dangerously twisty descents, you pay attention to the air pressure and were one with the car when you heard the hiss and felt the jerk when you pressed the brakes. Then you knew you were doing something responsible.
  
  
  
  He parked at the train station, sat in the cab for four hours, and then headed to meet George Stevens at the Fort Logan crossing. George was a lean, fairly reliable guy who worked in the Chicago office of AX. The fact that Hawk had added him to Nick as a courier, messenger and rescuer was an indication of the importance his boss attached to the Reed-Farben case.
  
  
  
  George jumped into the taxi, leaving his car half hidden from the traffic on the two-lane road. During their brief greeting, Nick handed him the tapes. - It's all on them, George. He gave a brief overview of the past week.
  
  
  
  This was standard in AX. When you work with colleagues, they have the right to know everything; after all, you may die and then they will have to continue your business tomorrow. When Nick finished speaking, George said, “You're in a tough spot. They'll find Perry any minute and catch you. Hubie left without a trace, like he went down a mine.
  
  
  
  “Maybe it is so. I believe he climbed through a fake hole under the fence. Let's hope he's still alive somewhere in the main building.
  
  
  
  Are you really going to go in there and find him?
  
  
  
  “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, but first I needed to explore the area around it. If we find out what they're up to, we'll be that much closer to solving our problems. Rainey's idea about drugs doesn't make sense. Although some people can make a good extra income from it.
  
  
  
  After a short pause, George said thoughtfully: “But this warehouse next to the military headquarters makes sense.” They are so secretive about it that they expect us to find out who is buying maps of this area. It may well be that they are photographing an object there or putting it on a map. Maybe they're counting traffic and keeping an eye on passing equipment. Or they are hatching a sabotage plan...
  
  
  
  "Is Bill Rohde still in Chicago?"
  
  
  
  “Yes,” answered George.
  
  
  
  “I suggest you meet him in North Platte.” Find this Reed-Farben building and keep an eye on it, leaving Bill there. If they fly over it, I'll join him, and then Bill and I can figure out what they're up to. When I go looking for Hubie, it takes me longer to get into the factory, but now it's clear what we need to do. The task is that we must first protect the headquarters.
  
  
  
  'Understood.' George extended his firm hand to him.
  
  
  
  Nick picked up an empty trailer from the company at the FKM loading center and went to the airport to pick up the cargo. The contents surprised him: they were cages with monkeys. He signed the receipt with a casually scribbled Q. Benny and studied the invoice as he sat in the salon. The cargo included orangutans, chimpanzees, gibbons, baboons, rhesus macaques and owls. These were valuable experimental animals for the laboratory. He was lost in thought as he raced towards the hilly area.
  
  
  
  Even the enormous sums spent so lavishly on the federal highway system could not change the fact that Colorado's slopes are particularly steep. Where the roads pass, in many places the uneven terrain has been dredged, raised or bridged, but the road still rises and falls. On the seemingly endless, steep Lathrop Highway, Nick carefully stayed in the right lane. Suddenly his attention was drawn to the breakdown lamp of a parked car. When his high beams reached the car, he saw a woman standing sadly near her car.
  
  
  
  A white handkerchief fluttered from the antenna. Cleverly thought out, he thought. There's not much traffic tonight, but eventually the motorcycle police will find you. It was a red Porsche Coupé 912, probably from '68. He released the accelerator and pulled over to the side of the road. Red Porsche coupe! You wouldn't see many of these, usually there was one in the executive parking lot at the main Reed-Farben building.
  
  
  
  He jumped out of the cabin and went back. The woman approached him in the darkness, brightly lit by the truck's taillights and the Porsche's hazard lights: "Good evening," she said. Confident voice with a foreign accent. - Glad you wanted to stop. My engine died while I was going up the hill.” She had a slender figure and was wearing a white suit.
  
  
  
  He said, “I'm from Reed-Farben. Do you really need to go there?
  
  
  
  "Yes Yes. I'm Greta Stolz. What a blessing this is. But do you think you can fix my car?
  
  
  
  Nick rubbed his chin. Perhaps, but he had absolutely no intention of doing so. He remembered the AX files. Dr. Greta Stolz, chemist, researcher and board member!
  
  
  
  He took out a flashlight, opened the hood and pretended to check the distributor, spark plug wires and carburetor. He got in and tried to start it, then got out again, and there was no smell of gasoline, although the gauge showed that the tank was half full. “The fuel supply is clogged or the pump is broken,” he suggested. 'Do you want to go for a ride? At the nearest service station you can tell them to pick up your car. There's a station a few miles away.
  
  
  
  "Yes Yes. I will do it. But maybe I can come back with a mechanic.
  
  
  
  Nick helped her into the high booth, then asked the woman. “Perhaps it would be better for you to ride with me all the way?” If they need a part for that Porsche, you'll be stuck here until tomorrow. They'll probably have to get that part from Denver..."
  
  
  
  'This is true? Well, I understand - it’s possible. Spare part for a foreign car. This is true. It's very nice of you to stop, sir...
  
  
  
  “Timmy Benny,” Nick answered. “I don’t like to see a woman who has bad luck on the highway. I know...'
  
  
  
  'Yes. I didn't feel comfortable either. There are so few cars passing there.
  
  
  
  - Could you do me a favor?
  
  
  
  He could almost feel her tense. 'Which?'
  
  
  
  “Well, you see, we must never stop. Not for anything and not for anyone. If you hadn't told anyone that I helped you, I wouldn't have risked my job.
  
  
  
  - But I'm Doctor Stoltz. They will be grateful to you...
  
  
  
  “The management may thank me, but in my department they will always remember that I violated the regulations. We're sorry... well, you know how strict they are at Reed-Farben. In the end, it will still bother me.”
  
  
  
  Her laugh was warm and melodious. - Oh... of course, Mr. Benny. I won't say a word. He stopped at the service station. She talked to the mechanic and climbed back into Nick's cab. The heavy truck climbed the slopes. From time to time they were overtaken by a passenger car. “How can I do this now,” Nick thought. I want to make friends with her, but it is dangerous to approach a woman without knowing her character. You can turn her against you forever by choosing the wrong approach. The guy who claimed to treat the Duchess like a whore and vice versa must have had very little contact with high society ladies or commoners...
  
  
  
  Finally he said, “How long have you been at Reed-Farben?”
  
  
  
  'Yes. Are you saying you've never heard of me? She felt what it was like and laughed again, from the depths of her soul, as if the laughter had burst out through her generous face.
  
  
  
  Nick smiled in the darkness. What an idea! How old was she according to the file? Forty six? She still looked good. From what he could see, she had a good figure and was definitely not overweight. She moved gracefully, looking immaculate down to the tips of her brown and white shoes. 'No. I'm sorry. So many people work there. I don't even know all the other drivers. You are a doctor. Then you're definitely in nursing or something like that. I'm never wrong. I am not a doctor, although I have taken quite a few medical courses. So I can cope with most diseases. But I do research there.”
  
  
  
  "Some kind of chemistry?"
  
  
  
  "Of course, chemistry."
  
  
  
  Nick sighed. “I had this happen at school. I loved connecting the chemicals. Then I wondered if anyone could put these substances together in exactly the same quantity and in exactly the same way. What would happen next? And see what exactly is happening.
  
  
  
  “But, Mr. Benny, you were supposed to be a research scientist.” You described it... great. This is precisely what lies at the heart of the study. Have you ever tried to continue chemical research?
  
  
  
  - No. I had to look for a job. But, you know, at some point the elements were driven into my head. Not with atomic scales, but the old fashioned way. Our teacher thought it was wonderful." He laughed. “Unfortunately, California didn’t exist then. Symbol Cf. Atomic weight 246. Isn't it a beautiful name - California?
  
  
  
  -Where did you learn this? Greta's interest in him was piqued. She thought she needed to know more about him. As soon as you get into the cramped Reed-Farben system, you forget what interesting people there are in the world. And what's interesting is that men...
  
  
  
  "Very pity." - He made his voice sound a little bitter. “This is a way to gain knowledge.”
  
  
  
  “This is a very good way,” Greta said encouragingly. 'Read. Books are the repository of human knowledge. And with magazines you keep up with knowledge. I think it's great that you remembered California. Could you continue your studies later?
  
  
  
  - With our working hours? Most drivers drive like gypsies.”
  
  
  
  “Oh...” it sounded sad.
  
  
  
  The truck reached the top of the slope and then drove down a flat section of road. Nick said: “I usually stop here to let the engine cool down and have a cup of coffee. Are you interested in this too? Or do you prefer to drink?
  
  
  
  "With pleasure. If I can pay.
  
  
  
  "This is the best deal of the day."
  
  
  
  The Algiers Cafe and Restaurant was a huge building with a neon sign set back from the road in a sort of oasis called Asterpark. In front of the restaurant, next to the fast food, there was a Wild West style bar for whiskey and cocktail lovers. Nick found a spot in the large parking lot, led Greta through the back door, and immediately found a quiet table. The room smelled of hot bodies, tobacco and liquor. The five-piece band played furiously.
  
  
  
  After some discussion about whether she should just drink a beer after all, Greta agreed to a vodka martini. “I’ve never been here,” she said, looking around. “It’s very, very casual.”
  
  
  
  “Oh, come on,” Nick objected. “Do you mean to say that a pretty woman like you—at least the doctor—never leaves the house?” Then you can take your husband here.
  
  
  
  "I do not have a husband".
  
  
  
  “Then all those guys you work with are definitely blind. Or do you reject all their approaches? He took her in well. - No, I don’t believe in it.
  
  
  
  “There aren’t many interesting men in my…my department.” They are all married and live on the premises of the enterprise. It's a very vicious circle."
  
  
  
  'I noticed it.'
  
  
  
  “And that’s why I don’t leave the house often.” She raised her glass and took a long sip. He would like to see it. Nick had a slight aversion to alcohol—he'd seen a lot of disaster at work because of it—but he really hated what he called the slow burn. You drank or you didn’t drink. If you were playing with your glass, and this pose reflected all her affectations, you were the spitting image of a poker player, bluffing with a handful of aces...
  
  
  
  They got along well. After four dances, three martinis and a roast beef sandwich ("That's delicious," Greta said as he ordered. "You look European. The drinks are better with something to go with them")....they brought Greta together and Tim with each other.
  
  
  
  She didn't even object when he ordered a fourth drink - and "Algerians" still boast that "the cocktails are as good as our mountains."
  
  
  
  She felt sorry for Tim Benny. Such a handsome young guy. Well, I'm not old either, she told herself. And I've seen more of life than fifty of these women combined. Fall of the Third Reich, flight to Austria with Hassi Seckdorff and two boys. This turned out to be a mistake. For many months they led a hunted existence in which they were forced to hide, starve and steal. Alvin, shot and killed by police. She and Alvin loved each other, although over the years she realized that it was just a childish whim. Then a period in Vienna, even more hungry, but she was studying then. That first job at Petrokhimexper; eight difficult years during which she had to use every free minute to finish her dissertation. There were only six men with whom she had sexual relations. She noted this carefully. Not enough, sometimes she giggled about it. I'm not a tough woman by any means! Sometimes her nightly peace was disturbed by thoughts of a man. He didn't determine which one. Just a friend, lover, husband, warm and caring person.
  
  
  
  Such a man is here, but under different circumstances, she thought, admiring Nick’s handsome profile. Own man. Never be alone again, never wake up at night and just think and yearn and feel the slowly spinning emptiness. She looked at him again. A man with whom any woman could be. What a pity that he was not able to continue his education. Or she was lucky because maybe it would have been better if she hadn't met him. Come on, Greta, she admonished herself, these are ideas for teenage girls. Or not?
  
  
  
  She noticed that he liked her. The calm combination of his respect and male attention gave her pleasure. What did he say again? I think "doctor" sounds powerful, but Greta sounds prettier.
  
  
  
  She would be even more pleased if she knew what Nick was thinking and his judgment was based on experience. She's an interesting woman. I guess that silvery blonde hair is hiding the gray, but what a figure! And those bright blue eyes miss nothing. She has the kindness of an intellectual who has seen something of the world - the type that immediately knocks out of primitive politicians as soon as they come to power.
  
  
  
  “It must be nice to have a PhD,” he said. "I mean, I keep seeing you as a beautiful woman and thinking, 'Gut, she's a doctor too.' It's like saying, "This is Sophia Loren, and she's also a Nobel Prize winner."
  
  
  
  This brought her deep, full smile again. “This is the most pleasant compliment of my life. Or should I be jealous of Sofia?
  
  
  
  'Oh no. You... you seem to be a woman of the highest order. Beautiful woman. But then it occurs to you that you are much more than that. Maybe it’s because I realized that the most beautiful women are much smaller than they appear.”
  
  
  
  “Your eyes are not in the bag. Tim. I can see it.'
  
  
  
  “What does a doctor actually do in a research department? Always looking for new drugs - for example, for cancer?
  
  
  
  “I specialize in geriatrics. This is a very difficult area of work these days. In earlier times this meant the study of old age and its attendant diseases; the current emphasis is on studying young people where the germs of these diseases originate.”
  
  
  
  “You also do heart transplants and stuff?”
  
  
  
  'Yes. Even with artificial production of body parts. After all, everything comes from nature. If you combine the right ingredients correctly, then at some point you can come up with something new - as Salk, for example, succeeded in doing.”
  
  
  
  Greta jumped up in her chair. He saw that she had turned deathly white. 'Tim! You asked me not to tell anyone that you let me ride with you. Now let's turn this around. Don't ever tell me that I talked to you about my work.
  
  
  
  'Fine. Trade secrets, right? They say that we are about to come up with something grandiose...
  
  
  
  "Get this out of your head, please..."
  
  
  
  “It’s all already forgotten.”
  
  
  
  It took another vodka martini to calm her down again, and another to keep her pressed against him while she danced. He noticed that she was enjoying and loving him. Did women in high positions build castles in the air around real men who were truck drivers?
  
  
  
  When they left, she walked slowly but steadily. The Martini weakened her voice and her gaze, but it certainly didn't affect her brain. She knew how to control herself! Not many people could drink that much. He stopped at a crossroads near Copperpot Valley in a large parking lot that was used as a training area for skiers in the winter. He found a place away from the road, turned off the main light and took her in his arms. She didn't resist. Her lips were very receptive and she pressed herself tightly against him. She held his tongue between her lips and stroked his ear with her thin index finger. Well, well, he thought, “she apparently had no other choice...
  
  
  
  Attachment? Greta was just a steam boiler, and he was her outlet. She kissed him passionately, like a young dog greeting its master, and then with the technique of an Athenian call girl who had practiced in Istanbul but learned the tricks of the trade from a pimp in Port Said. She caressed every part of his body she could reach, and every reaction on his part fueled her fervor. She definitely didn't make love in her leisure time. Damn, he thought as she tugged at his boxers, if she works so meticulously in the lab, she must be an expert at research. She stopped and he didn't move, hoping she would continue. She asked. - 'Do you like it?'
  
  
  
  'I like it.' - He leaned over and kissed her on the head.
  
  
  
  She let her hands, feet and mouth work simultaneously. -You have a good figure, Tim. Do you want to go further? Martini enhanced her foreign accent, but he had no problem understanding her.
  
  
  
  “Greta, darling,” he whispered. “I haven’t thought about anything else for the last few minutes.”
  
  
  
  The seat in the truck's cab was large enough and high enough that a ladder was needed to see inside. She started to climb out of the bra he took off. He helped her and then stood up. She froze. 'What is this?'
  
  
  
  "Look." - He pulled back the curtains in front of the seat in the back. “One floor above. Full bed.
  
  
  
  She was laughing. It was an explosion of hot breath and alcohol, and not at all unpleasant. He wanted to pick her up. “No,” she objected. - Go upstairs. Then I'll show you something.
  
  
  
  She made him completely naked in an instant and didn't even let him keep his socks on. One deft maneuver and her hard body sank down onto him, soft skin on a muscular man's body. Everywhere she touched him, pinpricks seemed to set him on fire.
  
  
  
  The rest passed so quickly that he only had time to moan with pleasure. She glided over him like a gymnast, perfect unity, without unnecessary movements or delays. Her cries were a reflection of the fulfillment of his lust.
  
  
  
  He lowered his head back. And then they say that only Japanese women know how to please a man! He wasn't quite used to it, but it was definitely better than making love for hours and losing some of his drive in the meantime. He should have done more, but... He closed his eyes and sighed. If there is no other choice, just relax and have fun.
  
  
  
  Then, a little later, but every passing moment filled with emotion, he paid attention to her. She loved it and let him know. And then, as if the burner had been turned off, she relaxed. She cried a little in the dark and tried to explain.
  
  
  
  “Darling,” he soothed, stroking her hair, “there is nothing more honest than this.” When you kissed me, my temperature was as high as yours. Did you like it? Wonderful. Then remember it, or forget it, or wait until next time.”
  
  
  
  She smiled slightly and said, “A year has passed, you see. I don't know any men here except at the factory. And I'm afraid... I mean, I don't need to.
  
  
  
  He was convinced that she wanted to say: I'm afraid of them. They smoked one cigarette together. “What if I drop you off at a pay phone on this side of the valley when there’s no traffic?” Isn't this a good idea?
  
  
  
  'Yes. And - thank you very much. Tim Benny. When she spoke so quietly, it sounded like sweet music. It's something sensitive. Marlene Dietrich also had this gift.
  
  
  
  “As for gratitude, that’s from me, dear.” You're in trouble. Did you need me? Me too, you know! That's true - in a sense...
  
  
  
  She stroked his hand. “I'm glad you stopped for me, Tim.”
  
  
  
  - Greta, I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow. We don’t take risks, we look far.”
  
  
  
  “This... I would like...” She weighed it, all the pros and cons. He continued... "Where can we meet safely?" - she finally asked.
  
  
  
  “I hope your car will be ready by then.”
  
  
  
  "Otherwise I'll rent another one."
  
  
  
  “Come to Algeria.” We won't stay there. Just park there. I have a blue Ford Sedan.
  
  
  
  'Fine. Fine!' The latter sounded very excited.
  
  
  
  
  He stopped at a telephone booth. Their lips touched quickly but firmly, and suddenly she disappeared. He drove on and brought the trailer to the main building, where he was greeted by one of the taciturn figures in a white coat, who showed him how to park and later signaled him to leave.
  
  
  
  Before heading to Alpine, he drove around the property on the main road. He pulled an ugly face at the giant oblong box of the main building rising from the belt of lights into the pitch-dark sky. It was like a carefully watching monster. What were they doing there? Or was there a creature living there that ingested tons of glucose and other expensive products? Maybe they had their own King Kong. Or billions of life-threatening insects?
  
  
  
  He went to his house, made a mannequin out of pillows and blankets, put it in his bed and, wrapped in a blanket, went to sleep in the bushes near his car. Perry's still alive, he thought as he fell asleep, but probably not for long unless he was damn careful!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jim Perry was still alive when the factory's machines began cleaning waste drums with a heartbreaking roar and the morning shift of Reed-Farben roared past. Nick searched the bushes in the area very intensively, then slipped into his cottage and took a shower.
  
  
  
  He pulled up to Martha's restaurant, headed to the side entrance, and Martha greeted him before he even walked inside. She jumped out and dragged him back to the corner of the kitchen where the servants usually ate. "Jim...Jim, I can't believe you're still alive!" She stood leaning over an old but well-cleaned table. “Abe saw you come last night.” He called me when you got there and said you fell asleep in the undergrowth, so I thought it best not to come.
  
  
  
  “Even to see if I have a blanket on me?”
  
  
  
  “Abe Phipps said we had one with us...” She blushed. - Now be serious. Did you know you found Joe Felix's body?
  
  
  
  'No. I get serious again after I've eaten two poached eggs and a nice slice of ham. And coffee right now.
  
  
  
  She stood up and returned a moment later with two cups of coffee. “The police say it was an accident, but my friend thinks differently and has something to say. They'll look into it.
  
  
  
  'Leave it. I didn't even know this guy.
  
  
  
  'Oh no? He must have come here by chance and you asked us about him, because you certainly didn't think it was your brother whom you hadn't seen for many years. Let's go, Jim. Nick grinned with big, cheerful eyes. - Yes, dear, that may well be true.
  
  
  
  “It would be better if you stood firm and planned to get out of here.” Robert Rick and his guys are tracking you for a reason.
  
  
  
  One of them has been watching the restaurant here since yesterday. They change each other. Sometimes they sit inside, sometimes in a car on the road or in a parking lot.”
  
  
  
  “But they don’t know me, dear.”
  
  
  
  “They have a good description of you. They turn anyone who looks like you inside out. They ask all the time. - "Jim Perry, Jim Perry?" I can't imagine how you managed to stay away from them for so long. Some of them searched all the motels again. That's what Abe Phipps told me. How the hell do you manage to work there without getting caught?
  
  
  
  He would like to know this himself. "I guess I'm not very famous. And unnoticed."
  
  
  
  - Be happy about it. This interest they have in you...
  
  
  
  'So?' - Nick said casually, but did not take his eyes off her. 'How did you know that?'
  
  
  
  She blushed again. “I have a relationship. Sometimes I learn something.
  
  
  
  'Everything is fine. Who told you that Felix's death couldn't have been an accident?
  
  
  
  "Someone important."
  
  
  
  'Who?'
  
  
  
  - I wouldn’t like to say this, Jim, I’m sorry...
  
  
  
  — Pearly Abbott?
  
  
  
  She lowered the cup with a crash. - How... why did you think...
  
  
  
  “Don't close your eyes now. If you don't want to tell me, just say so.
  
  
  
  This was the right tactic. Martha sighed. - 'Yes my love. Our famous former congressman."
  
  
  
  — Does he have money invested in Reed-Farben? Is that why Kenny has such an easy job and he listens to you?
  
  
  
  She took it too hard. Her luscious red lips, which were soft and concerned, quickly pursed, like a mother looking up from behind the stroller at an annoying street vendor. “You ask a lot of questions, Jim.” Pearly is an acquaintance of mine, as is Kenny. I do not know what's going on. I actually don't even know who you are. But I know that you better get out of this hornet's nest immediately.
  
  
  
  “Oh, honey, that's one big mistake. By the way... Now it's all or nothing, he decided. “I heard that an old friend of mine was nearby, but I could not find any trace of him. A guy with red hair. Worked as a chemist. Damn cute boy. His name is Hubie Dumont. Have you ever met him?
  
  
  
  Now she didn't blush anymore. She was pale, shocked and dazed. She tugged at the zipper on her nice blue blouse. Her head with tight hair shook from side to side, but this did not mean denial. "Hubie..." She swallowed. - Do you know Hubie?
  
  
  
  "My old comrade."
  
  
  
  She took a deep breath. “He's been here several times. I haven't seen him for several days.
  
  
  
  “Do you have any idea where he went?”
  
  
  
  She didn't dare look him in the eyes. - 'No.'
  
  
  
  He believed that it was probably true and that she would rather not think about the possibilities. The cook brought ham and eggs. He ate slowly and quietly studied her. She drank her coffee, put out her cigarette, and almost immediately lit another. He was trying to think of a way to lure her out of the restaurant without upsetting her further.
  
  
  
  Pete approached them through the revolving doors of the dining room. Maneuvering sideways, you might say. His face was red and swollen from a weariness he no longer felt, he looked like a man smiling while watching a disaster happen. You could smell it before it even reached the table. Nick guessed that he had stayed up that night and tried to stay on his feet, pumped up with whiskey.
  
  
  
  He said with great enthusiasm, "Hey Jim...how are you, my dear?" He closed one eye. It was like the wink of a crying clown. —Can I take today off, Martha? I have one more free day. He didn't even wait for an answer. - I'll be back tomorrow morning. I took a fifty note from the cash register. And I attached the receipt.
  
  
  
  It was difficult for him to turn around. He used the wall to push himself off, and looked like a ship turning its stern in a narrow harbor. Martha couldn't hide the worry in her voice. 'Where are you going? Do you want to come to Denver with me?
  
  
  
  Pete turned and gave his sister a smile that passed for gratitude. “Thank you, Martha, but I have some things to do.” He stretched as if to compose himself. “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee too.”
  
  
  
  He poured himself a cup and sat down next to her. Nick got the impression that Pete was going to get through the day, believing with the unreasonable confidence of a heavy drinker that after a few cups of coffee he would be back on top of Zen.
  
  
  
  “Pete,” said Martha, “you need to rest for a day.” If you don't feel like driving to Denver, why not sunbathe by the Pearl Pool?
  
  
  
  "Maybe I'll be there," Pete replied. 'Well. Listen, Martha, everything is decided for today. Bob put together a menu and all the early shift staff showed up. If Molly Rainey comes, you'll have an extra waitress for lunch."
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Pete,” Martha replied. She didn't take her eyes off the tabletop.
  
  
  
  If you hadn't noticed his slurred speech, Pete was really business-like right now.
  
  
  
  Nick kindly remarked, “Pete, you did a great job. Organizing everything for the whole day in this case is probably not as easy as it seems. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Martha was looking at him intently. Pete just nodded. Nick continued. “You have to decide what kind of help you should get—to get more people…”
  
  
  
  Pete nodded yes.
  
  
  
  “You need to be confident that the goods will be delivered on time. Even with such a large cold storage warehouse, you may run out of stock..."
  
  
  
  Pete sighed at the thought of these responsibilities.
  
  
  
  “And it’s not child’s play when there’s a rush and orders pour in...”
  
  
  
  'Like this.' Pete admitted that he had a hard job.
  
  
  
  - Do you remember Hubie Dumont?
  
  
  
  “Yeah, interesting...” Pete stopped, turning his head towards Nick to help his blurry eyes. "Hubie who?"
  
  
  
  “I told him Hubie was here,” Martha said reluctantly.
  
  
  
  Pete narrowed his eyes until the red corners disappeared. “Indeed,” he said slowly. 'Good guy. Martha knew him quite well, didn't she, sister? And then, he left! I think he could say goodbye to me.
  
  
  
  “Did he also tell you what he’s working on?” - Nick asked. "I'd like to see this guy again."
  
  
  
  "No..." Pete hesitated; Nick had a lot on his mind
  
  
  
  ...he was talking about.
  
  
  
  Bob Half-Crow walked out of the restaurant into the kitchen. He ignored Pete and Nick and said to Martha, “Everything looks good today. I'm going home for two hours. Otto is there; at a table by the front door.
  
  
  
  The tall Indian left. Martha said quietly, “Jim, Otto is one of Rick’s people.” Maybe they found out what kind of car you have...
  
  
  
  'I don't think so. If they knew that, they would have already jumped on my neck.”
  
  
  
  She stood up. - Will I see you tonight?
  
  
  
  'No. I probably have a late shift. He knew he couldn't get rid of it this way. Pete mentioned that Molly Rainey worked as a waitress. Undoubtedly related to Taskmaster Duke Rainey. If you knew anything about women, you might realize that Martha might have consulted her about his work hours (“You know, that new guy from St. Louis or something”). And Molly would find this out from Duke. Nick really hoped Martha didn't mention his last name. If a customer like Otto asks a waitress like Molly if she's ever heard of Jim Perry, Molly might say, "Oh yeah, he works for Duke at Reed!"
  
  
  
  When they were alone, Nick asked Pete, “Are you going for a swim?”
  
  
  
  'I think so.'
  
  
  
  - Do you think I can swim there too?
  
  
  
  - Naturally. They don't check there. Park your car there and just walk in. Keep your clothes. There are several changing rooms.
  
  
  
  'Where is it?'
  
  
  
  “Sickler Road. You turn two kilometers past Asterpark. Paved road through Beggar's Notch. After three kilometers you will see an iron fence.
  
  
  
  - Go take a nap there, Pete. Maybe I'll wake you up.
  
  
  
  Nick left, and Pete looked after him suspiciously. Therefore, you should not ask a heavy drinker to go to bed. Looking like a cat for mice, Nick found a spot for his car in the Reed-Farben staff lot. He found Rainey in a glass office at the end of the large shipping department. Most of the trailers were gone, and four more drivers waited on the bench. Nick gave Rainey the shipping bills, and once they were alone, he asked, “What do you say to that?”
  
  
  
  “Very simple,” the elderly man muttered so quietly that the others on the bench outside could not hear him. “They use these monkeys to try out what they do. What is more human-like than ape? They are always used in laboratories. He grinned and flipped through his papers. “I'd like to see them sometime. Imagine: a bunch of baboons on drugs!
  
  
  
  “I have other news,” Nick said, wondering where Rainey spent her free time. You sometimes vacation in Copperpot Valley or Forge Crossing. -Can you give me some free time?
  
  
  
  "Everything is fine with me. If you don't mind spending money on it. I certainly can't do this for you. That damn computer checks every trip against time sheets. What new things have you discovered?
  
  
  
  “I slept with Greta Stoltz.”
  
  
  
  Rainey whistled discreetly. 'Go ahead, keep going! I never thought about it. God, yes, a handsome boy like you... If you manage to seduce her, we might have a good chance. Use it, man!
  
  
  
  Nick swallowed. Warned to be careful. - Rainey, don't mention my name here. I mean, if there's no other choice, just tell Jim when other drivers are around."
  
  
  
  “Don’t Greta know you work here?”
  
  
  
  "Yeah, but that kind of connection doesn't make Perry a very popular name among the other bosses, you know?"
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Rainey said very quietly. “You're doing a great job with this. Fine.'
  
  
  
  “Another question I wanted to ask you: Do you know Molly Rainey?”
  
  
  
  'Certainly. This is my brother's daughter.
  
  
  
  — Did she ask about me?
  
  
  
  'How did you know that? Yes, she said Martha wanted to know if you were good for your money.
  
  
  
  “Martha knows damn well that this is normal.” She just wanted to know when I worked and how I was doing.”
  
  
  
  “I think you better tell Martha to shut up about Perry.”
  
  
  
  - I did it too. But she played me and Molly before she knew I was up to something else. You know how women think.
  
  
  
  'Yes.' Duke rubbed his chin. His gray eyebrows knitted together. “Do you want me to tell Molly to shut up?”
  
  
  
  - Is she capable of this?
  
  
  
  'No.' Duke shrugged. “And then she gets curious too.”
  
  
  
  “Let's not fantasize too much and hope for the best.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick picked up his swim trunks and found Pearly Abbott's place in the mountains, just like Pete had told him. It was located in a remote corner of Aster Park and occupied an area of about twenty hectares. It lay between two mountain peaks, more than half of it was a beautiful, flat meadow, and the rest was still possible to work with draft animals, because the tractor could always tip over on the slopes.
  
  
  
  The valley never dries completely, but you can’t make a decent living here either. The place was beautiful, the soil was good, but the summers were short, and every five or six years there was a very severe winter. Such winters, of course, did not drive Pearly Abbott to extremes, but he was not dependent on the season or hard work in the open air. Now the meadows were neatly trimmed, but this was only for show. Behind the white picket fence were four Appaloosa buildings.
  
  
  
  The previous owner converted the farm into a twelve-room house. Perley completely remodeled it, adding a wing with ten more rooms. Two barns were also converted and painted white, and an eight-car garage was added and a large swimming pool with a row of cabanas on one side was added. A man in khaki was polishing a Cadillac in front of one of the car booths. Nick parked the car, nodded to the man as if he were a regular, and quickly walked along the winding gravel path to the pool. Pete was sitting alone, with a coffee pot and a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him.
  
  
  
  'Hello.' He waved to Nick, then pointed to the booth behind him. -You can change there.
  
  
  
  Nick bathed, dried off, went over to Pete and drank. Pete looked no better or worse than he had that morning. He said, “I thought you were coming. You're interested in what I learned about Reed-Farben, aren't you?
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Nick said honestly. 'Right. And now that I've taken a closer look at the company's setup, I understand what you mean. Their security is as reliable as a safe. I've delivered some cargo to the main building and picked up a few things, but you can't get anywhere near the loading dock doors. These white coats don't even say hello. They just give you papers or sign them.
  
  
  
  “I don’t even think many of them speak English.”
  
  
  
  "Is Pearly interested in this?"
  
  
  
  Pete stopped his hand halfway to the bottle and slowly pulled it away. “You also notice everything right away.” He looked Nick up and down and said thoughtfully, “You're pretty muscular, dude.” Where did you get these scars?
  
  
  
  “There were a lot of different clashes. What about Pearly now?
  
  
  
  'Well. You probably know more than you care to admit. Yes, he helped develop the entire plan for the company. With other people's money, of course. Perley doesn't believe in financial guarantees. His relationships in Washington serve as bait. You've seen military equipment fail. These goods are in special packaging - waterproof boxes.
  
  
  
  - Yes, I saw it. It's okay if you trumpet this story. You cannot divulge military secrets. That way, of course, Pearly would be angry, and he or Benn or whoever would be able to boycott Martha's business. These things have happened before.
  
  
  
  Pete shrugged. “I’m still a journalist.” He said it as if he wanted to convince himself. "I know how far I can go."
  
  
  
  “Do you think Hubie Dumont was interested in Reed-Farben?”
  
  
  
  'Yes. He wanted to sell chemicals there.
  
  
  
  'Come on. After all, it was more than that.
  
  
  
  “Well...” Pete finally grabbed the bottle and poured himself a drink. “Okay, then: yes. He asked too many questions.
  
  
  
  — Perhaps dangerous questions?
  
  
  
  "I don't know about that."
  
  
  
  “Do you believe that Joe Felix and Hubie knew each other?”
  
  
  
  Pete didn't finish the glass a third and pretended to swallow it whole. "Perhaps you are asking too many questions, Jim."
  
  
  
  “Of course, all of this may be relevant to the story you are researching.
  
  
  
  Nick heard a car driving down the road through the valley. He slid down in his chair as if he wanted more sun on his face. Pete stood up and walked to the edge of the patio. The car pulled into the parking lot.
  
  
  
  'Who is this?' - Nick asked quietly.
  
  
  
  "Kenny Abbott. Comes to receive orders from his uncle.
  
  
  
  - Is Pearly inside?
  
  
  
  'Yes. He usually comes here in the summer.
  
  
  
  Nick said, “I’ll hide. Keep quiet about me, Pete.
  
  
  
  But it was too late. Kenny Abbott and a buxom young man wearing the required employee attire - dark suit, white shirt, striped tie - quickly entered the patio.
  
  
  
  Kenny said, "Hi Pete." When he found Nick, he stopped. "Hi - Perry, I think so?" (Unspoken comment: "What the hell are you doing here?")
  
  
  
  “Hey Kenny, hi Bart,” Pete said. - “You seem to know Jim Perry. I asked him to come for a swim.
  
  
  
  
  'Oh right. Hello Perry. This is Bart Auchincloss. He is with us. “With us,” Nick suggested, meaning Reed-Farben.
  
  
  
  He could guess young Abbott's thoughts. Once he gets the chance, Kenny will make it clear to Pete that he can't let truck drivers hang around the Pearl Pool, even if his uncle told Pete he can take whoever he wants. After all, there are limits.
  
  
  
  In the house on the pool side, the door slammed shut. The large, heavyset man waved to them and crossed the clear lawn. He was wearing a white sports shirt and beige pants—tailored, Nick noted, because even the largest size didn't fit him. Pearly Abbott definitely weighed more than two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a large, square head with an unnaturally intrusive, welcoming expression on his face. The rosy friendliness of elderly family men in television stories. But there was clearly a misunderstanding if Perley was considered that way. He was just trying to look like it.
  
  
  
  
  He walked up and gave everyone his quick, wide smile. Pete, having difficulty pronouncing the words, introduced Nick. Nick's arm was intertwined with an arm the same size as his, but very weak. - How are you, Jim? I always enjoy meeting the people from Reed-Farben. I helped create this factory. We really need healthy businesses here that provide enough employment for people to continue to live in our beautiful mountain country. I hope you enjoy your work and stay with the firm for a long time.
  
  
  
  Build your future, help build a company, then you will also help the country.”
  
  
  
  Nick was convinced that Pearly could talk like this for an hour without even asking for a sip of water. He spoke in a loud voice that could be heard for miles around. The words flowed smoothly and easily. as if each one of them had been pushed out. When he turned to Kenny, he saw that the older gentleman's hair was completely white and long - a hairstyle that was considered youthful and progressive in Parliament.
  
  
  
  Kenny was nothing like him. He said briefly, “Perry drives trucks. The meeting with Max is cancelled. He got a job with an airline and flew to Dallas this morning.
  
  
  
  "Ah, it's true." Pearly spoke faster now, but with the same volume. “I wanted to fly to Bartlett to meet Max. Could you borrow one of Benn's pilots?
  
  
  
  - I already tried. Everything is busy.
  
  
  
  Nick said, “Do you need a pilot? I have a license. Also for night flights and twin-engine aircraft.”
  
  
  
  Pearlie turned around like an elephant in a ballet. "Well, tell me..."
  
  
  
  Nick was glad to see Kenny standing there with his mouth open.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The former congressman was a textbook example of the "Honorable Statesman" as he looked at Nick with his head held high, even reminiscent of one of the statesmen of Ancient Rome, perhaps Cicero, as the young lawyer imagined him. Perley said, “Well, tell me, Mr. Perry, it’s a lucky coincidence. We have a Cessna 172 at the company airport. Do you know such devices?
  
  
  
  Nick put on a charming and confident face. 'Great. Great device. The maximum flight altitude is four hundred meters. Four people plus luggage.
  
  
  
  -Can you give us four or five hours? I just want to fly to the airfield at Bartlett, stay there for twenty minutes, drop off a few things and pick up a few things back. We'll be back for lunch today.
  
  
  
  “I have a day off today,” Nick said.
  
  
  
  Twenty minutes later they were in one of Purley's Cadillacs, heading to Reed-Farben Airport. Pete seemed to naturally fit into the company. He was allowed to leave. Nick later realized that this was a mistake, even though the fourth passenger did not weigh that much. Kenny didn't want to fly; he was returning home in a car that later picked him up from the airport.
  
  
  
  Many people were wrong that warm summer morning. Marvin Benn and Robert Rick have already done this without checking with Kenny Abbott to see if he hired Jim Perry. Robert Rick organized a systematic hunt, as the prey almost got in his way. Benn made another mistake by sending Shircliffe's pilot to Dallas to keep him away. Benn planned to kill Pearly Abbott in the near future in the Cessna in which he loved to fly. But Benn had other plans for Shircliffe. The man was a good pilot, and soon Benn would need more pilots.
  
  
  
  Purley blamed himself - even though Benn was about to get him out of the way - hinting that Joe Felix's accident was something of a failure and expressing the hope that such incidents would not happen again. “Liquidations like this,” he told Benn in a booming voice, “give us a bad reputation.”
  
  
  
  “There’s no advertising at all,” Benn replied coldly. - It could have been... it could have been. I was a tough guy when I was young, Marvin. But I softened. And now we have something wonderful built here. Let's just be quiet, okay?
  
  
  
  “Perhaps,” Benn assured him. Quiet. Eternal peace will suit you better, you fraudulent swindler. I wonder what you would do if you knew what Reed-Farben's real plans were? Are you outraged? Did you take part of the profits? Benn told Perley and many others that Reed-Farben was on the verge of a major medical revolution. A cure for cancer? No, even better. Even better, gentlemen! Over time, competitors will be able to find a cure for cancer. We, he told them, are on the threshold of creating perfect artificial organs - or rather, breeding them. You will no longer have to wait for a heart, a kidney, or a retina from a dubious corpse. Reed-Farben will be making them!
  
  
  
  It was all a lie, of course. Not really, but it was a lie nonetheless. Benn, Rick and the real insiders lied to everyone. The true insiders were a closed group of dedicated people who had known each other for many years, worked together, and often stood side by side in battle. The so-called insiders were business adventurers, smart guys and multimillionaires who raised most of the VPN money for the project. Men like Stosis from Greece and Cowper from Texas. Men who could make a fortune from circumstances and other people, but who went out of their way to get involved with Benn, Rick and the like.
  
  
  
  It was a day of fatal mistakes, mostly of figures born for this. And with one colossal mistake that Nick Carter made...
  
  
  
  In the on-duty hangar, he checked the plane, consulted the maps and chatted with the young man performing this service.
  
  
  
  Pearly, Kenny, and Bart Auchinloss carried several boxes from the Cadillac into the plane's cargo hold. Nick asked how much it weighed approximately.
  
  
  
  “Fifty kilograms,” Bart replied. "Good weather. Light wind. Nick gave the plane a quiet, long start into the east wind. He gained quite a bit of altitude before making two 90 degree turns and heading towards Squawpack Pass. According to the map, it was only 3245 meters above sea level, across a ridge that rose like a huge fence. You could complete this in about an hour.
  
  
  
  The mountains suddenly swallowed them up. The daring Cessna raced between the first peaks like a fly between the bookshelves in a library. Nick moved the tiller an inch forward and back. Control was easy, but the device responded sluggishly. He adjusted the lift and increased the fuel supply. The plane flew well, but was poorly controlled.
  
  
  
  Jagged ridges extended their dark gray arms, below the tree line the hues changed from green to brown. Nick was flying lower than he expected on Ralston Peak and made an S-turn to get around it. He said, "Mr. Abbott, have you flown this route before on this plane?"
  
  
  
  'Certainly. Three or four times with Shircliffe. Is there something wrong here?'
  
  
  
  Nick shook his head. He had flown enough around the Allegheny to know the important tips needed by a mountain pilot. (Fly into the wind over the peaks, avoiding descent. Take ridges with a slight approach angle and not perpendicular so that you can turn without turning too much. Fly with the sun up the slope to get rid of the wind. Pay attention to your ceiling, wind, weather and your weight.) All you have to do is make one mistake with a small plane in the mountains and you fall at a speed of 600 meters per minute, which is the equivalent of falling with an umbrella from the George Washington Bridge.
  
  
  
  Abbott leaned forward to take in the wild world around them. It filled its place like plum pudding in a cup. He said cheerfully, “Don't worry, Perry.” We are on the right track. What is Ralston? Squawpack Pass is about twelve miles away.
  
  
  
  The gap in the ridge through which Squawpack Pass passed was indeed ahead - and, by Nick's estimate, another 250 yards above them!
  
  
  
  
  Nick checked the altitude, airspeed and rate of climb, which dropped to almost zero. He has flown many Cessnas, including the 172. This aircraft performed well; I just didn’t want to climb up. They were above 2000 meters, but did not rise higher.
  
  
  
  “I’m not worried about our course,” Nick said calmly. “But have you ever flown so low past Ralston?” You're really looking forward to it.
  
  
  
  'No. But it's such a beautiful sight.
  
  
  
  They passed through a turbulent layer of air. The wind picked them up and for a moment Nick thought their troubles were over. But suddenly they lost altitude again - with a jerk. Nick corrected course. The device is ok. Safe route. There must be something else wrong! “Mr. Abbott,” he asked suddenly insistently, “how many men were on board when you flew here with Sherrcliffe?”
  
  
  
  'Just the two of us.'
  
  
  
  - Was there no one else?
  
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  
  — Did you have a lot of luggage? Like the boxes we have now?
  
  
  
  “Hmm... no. No, just a big bag.
  
  
  
  It was clear to Nick now. 172 is designed for four people plus 55 kg of luggage. You can even fit a fifth passenger in a jump seat in the luggage compartment, as long as they weigh no more than 55kg and you're not carrying any luggage. There is also a margin of safety; if necessary, the plane can be loaded even more - but certainly not in the highlands, where there are tailwinds!
  
  
  
  Nick summed it up quickly. These 55 kilograms for luggage were already completely attributed to Pearly’s excess weight! Bart gave up fifty kilograms because of the boxes he put in the hold. Besides, Bart didn't seem like the kind of boy who had ever had to lift anything heavy in his life—his mother would have taken care of that. Nick asked, "Bart, how many boxes did you take on board?"
  
  
  
  'Six.'
  
  
  
  — Were they heavy?
  
  
  
  - Hmm - everything is fine.
  
  
  
  He said this, of course, just to keep his head up. Nick remembered that the guy had a very difficult time delivering this batch of boxes. These weren't shoeboxes at all. He did the math. Even just twenty kilograms per box.
  
  
  
  Crap!
  
  
  
  He began to look very carefully for a sunlit place between the peaks where he could turn. There was nothing suitable. He flew as close to the starboard rocks as he dared, but was wary of the gusts of wind. He could now clearly distinguish the layers of shale and copper sulfate. There were several areas on this side of Squawpack Pass that he couldn't see. Perhaps there was an opportunity where he could go or where he could make a turn. He imagined a map - no, hardly.
  
  
  
  The plane now resembled an eagle flying into a horizontal shaft on the side of a mountain. He had no room to turn around and crashed into a stone wall. But the eagle could stop, but she could not!
  
  
  
  Nick turned on the radio to the emergency line, called out their registration number and location, and then said, “Mayday, mayday, be ready for mayday, please. Report to me in a few minutes. Request assistance from Richards-Gebaur Air Force Base.
  
  
  
  - My God, is it really that bad? - Pearly roared.
  
  
  
  'What's going on here?' - Bart asked in a quiet voice. “Stay calm, men,” Nick said. “We are overloaded and chose the wrong day.”
  
  
  
  “Let’s throw something overboard,” Pearly whined.
  
  
  
  “Shut up and stay where you are,” Nick snapped. If they had time, they could have thrown the boxes away, but now they were dangerously close to the rocks. With his very keen eye, Nick distinguished details at the bottom of the ravine - inhospitable-looking Scots pines, junipers and cedars, here and there a proud pine sticking out like an arrow. The wasteland gave no chance of survival. They passed a steep sandstone slope up to two hundred meters deep with several horizontal stripes like narrow steps. Trying to land on one of them? It was tantamount to suicide. The plane will fall and crash.
  
  
  
  “Oh my God,” Pearlie. “Does that mean we can’t turn around and we can’t get past this?”
  
  
  
  
  Nick looked at the three double chins. Perley lost heart greatly; there was a feverish flush on his cheeks, as if he were a painted corpse. Nick felt guilty. It was his fault that they were in danger, even if Bart was the real culprit. The pilot had to check everything.
  
  
  
  He smiled broadly at Pearly. “Wait, Mr. Abbott, and I’ll show you what flying is.” Don't worry.'
  
  
  
  Bart Meckerd: “It’s impossible to turn around. The plane will slide down or fall.”
  
  
  
  “Shut up,” Nick replied. “First do your raid and get your license, and then I’ll listen to you.”
  
  
  
  Behind him, Nick heard Pete say, "Have it his way, Bart... He's a great pilot." Pete said something to calm the guy down, but he probably didn't care. With the same success, one could go towards the lightning one way or another, as long as the blow was strong and everything would soon be over.
  
  
  
  Nick didn't bother turning on the radio to see if his distress call had been received. They didn't gain even an inch of height.
  
  
  
  Now the plane was flying in the sunlight. It was as if a strong light source had suddenly turned on. The sandstone slope disappeared, and Nick anxiously followed the arc of the mountain. He stole a glance at the wall on the other side—about two hundred yards away? - but they were nothing more than flashes, because he had to keep his eyes on the nearest rock. He was like a driver who stubbornly clings to the side of the road before making a sharp turn. But there was nothing underneath him except thin air, and the steering wheel didn’t work very well.
  
  
  
  He began the turn, sliding along the sunlit wall, hoping for a pick-up in the wind. The plane hardly reacted when they tried to put it into a horizontal turn without sliding.
  
  
  
  The wing tip sank in the inner bend and stubbornly refused to rise. They turned slowly—ten, fifteen degrees. Then the plane lost altitude again, continued to slide, and fell like a bird too exhausted to keep its wings spread.
  
  
  
  Nick felt it in his fingertips. The balanced plane seemed to want to say: “I’m not for fun either, but I have nothing left under my wings, and the cold air is pushing me down, and in this place you need to have speed, and to gain speed, height.” Nick took a chance and increased his speed.
  
  
  
  They dived down the sheer cliff at an angle, missing the horizontal ledges by several decimeters. Nick felt the device respond to his demanding fingers, like a nervous woman asking when he was going to pull up, as if there was no point in crashing into the bottom of a ravine.
  
  
  
  He let the plane run its course and lose even more precious altitude before realizing that now was the opportunity. Now, if this doesn't work properly, they might fall. He slowly pulled the bat toward him, feeling the back pressure as the plane struggled with its tail falling and rising at its new angle of attack. A rocky outcrop showed them the way; Nick threw the left wingtip over him and they plunged into a long dive towards the bottom at ever-increasing speed - if only he could find a place to use it.
  
  
  
  The plane again reacted immediately, partly due to the increased speed, partly due to the increased density of the air at lower altitudes, and also, as he assumed, by luck, having flown into the gorge into the wind.
  
  
  
  Nick flew directly over the pine trees, trying to accelerate the plane to maximum speed, and soared over the unevenly jutting treetops, studying the heights towering before him. It was below the steep slope they had just descended, but his searching gaze found that the lowest point was still a hundred and fifty feet above them.
  
  
  
  They were all talking to each other. They constantly made comments, but then he distanced himself from them. Now Perley's loud question reached him: “I thought we would die there. Can we handle this?
  
  
  
  Nick smiled at him again. - 'Probably. Don't worry. Now enjoy this best stunt work ever.”
  
  
  
  Nick let the plane rise. Fifty percent chance, he thought, and I should go straight to that edge. If I fly at an angle, we might not make it in time. If I want to overcome this, I have to climb another thirty meters higher to avoid hitting the sides.
  
  
  
  The engine roared as if it wouldn't stop, as if they were on a shuttle from Stroudsburg to Teterboro. The forest belt dropped below them, but the slopes with their lower vegetation were nearby and continued uphill. Get up boy, get up, well...
  
  
  
  The lowest point of the slope was ahead of them - and still above them. They flew over low bushes and then over brown rock that had been worn away by wind, rain, snow and time.
  
  
  
  Behind them lay a deep abyss, a ravine of death. Ahead lies the return journey, room for flight and a gradual descent along the ridges and cape.
  
  
  
  But first they had to get back to it.
  
  
  
  Nick concluded that they would not survive. It’s just not... What difference can there be in just ten meters...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When you react quickly and your brain works correctly, the rest of the world seems to move slowly. As they struggled for those last few feet that Nick knew they couldn't make it through, time seemed to stand still.
  
  
  
  You can qualify Nick higher than most pilots. He also had a lot more experience than most hobbyists because during your AX training on aircraft and aircraft you spent a lot of time in all types of them. But this time it wasn't AX training he went back to; it was the many hours he spent sport flying with Mohawk Daniels on the edge of the Catskills near Kingston.
  
  
  
  The memory of this came to his mind as a windswept rock approached them. He could never say whether he was acting purely on intuition at the time. He thought later that he did it deliberately, but he certainly didn’t have time to think. Instead of aiming for the rocky ledge they couldn't cross, he lowered the reaction device just a little bit. He lost about ten meters, hit the last part of the ridge slope and crashed into the landing gear once, twice, three times, like an airplane making an emergency landing in a meadow. They lost some speed, but not much, as the engine continued to run smoothly and the propeller stubbornly turned in the thin air.
  
  
  
  With these jumps the plane crossed the mountain range!
  
  
  
  The ground suddenly became 600 meters below them. Nick put the plane into a dive and told him: “Good boy, well done. Now calm down. The Cessna descended 250 meters and then Nick calmed down. Beneath them there were only lower mountains and hills that separated it from the Kansas prairie.
  
  
  
  Pearly sighed heavily, then began to speak again, perhaps losing confidence for the first time in his life. “I thought we were there.” What the hell went wrong? Perry - was everything okay with the plane? Was the engine not pulling enough or something else?
  
  
  
  Nick looked back. Pete sat looking gloomily out the window. Bart vomited into his handkerchief. Nick activated the microphone and reset the signal. The base grumbled, “If you had finally submitted your flight plans to our service, you would have lived longer.”
  
  
  
  “You’re absolutely right,” Nick reassured. "But we had a lot of gusts today."
  
  
  
  "You get it there every day."
  
  
  
  Nick grinned and looked at Pearly. “Too much workload, as I said. You're quite fat, Mr Abbott. And if we weigh these boxes, we will probably get much more than fifty kilograms.”
  
  
  
  Pearly looked over his shoulder at Bart. - "Dumb bastard!" Bart tried to wipe his mouth. He didn't answer.
  
  
  
  Nick contacted Kenny to ask him to pick him up in his car. He flew the plane carefully, like a woman placing a crystal vase. While they were waiting for the car, Pearly wiped his brow and took Nick aside. “Perry, it was a flight! This excess weight is not your fault, but Bart's. We need to get rid of this guy. I’m used to hanging out with fools, but to die so stupidly, no.”
  
  
  
  “He probably hasn’t had to lift much in his life,” Nick explained.
  
  
  
  - So would you like to be my pilot? We can arrange for you to come off duty when I need you, or I can hire you full time and fly the company plane when I'm not using my plane."
  
  
  
  Nick could all too vividly imagine Pearly calling Benn and saying, “I found a pilot who works as a driver for us. I'll transfer him to our flight service...
  
  
  
  He said, "I'd love to fly with you, Mr. Abbott, but..."
  
  
  
  'But what?'
  
  
  
  “The boss and the expedition guys are going to need me desperately over the next few days, and I don't want them to think I'm going any higher. I have several reasons for this. So, if you don't say anything about my transfer for about a week - until I tell you when it might be... Business boy, thought Pearly. Maybe he has something up his sleeve. The type that suits me! And he can fly like the best pilot, damn it! He patted Nick on the shoulder. “We'll get along great, Jim.” You know, working for me can be fun from time to time.”
  
  
  
  “Does anyone else use your Csesna?” - Nick asked. “If not, I can fly it around a bit and adjust the motor. I have experience working as a mechanic on such devices.”
  
  
  
  "Damn, I got a good specialist!" it sounded enthusiastic. “No, no one will use this box except you and me. Where can I contact you if I'm in a hurry?
  
  
  
  Nick wrote down Alpine's phone number on a piece of paper. He signed Jim Pilot behind it, hoping Perley would forget Perry's name. “Would you like to take to the skies today, Mr. Abbott?”
  
  
  
  - Write this on your stomach. Today we were quite close to the gates of heaven." When Kenny pulled up, Perley told him to put the boxes in the car and deliver them. He didn't talk about anything to Bart, who crawled into the front seat like a beaten dog. They drove back to Perley's country house in silence.
  
  
  
  Nick left Pete with a bottle of whiskey by the pool and drove his car back to the airport. The young man in the hangar office greeted him cheerfully and turned off the country and western music. -Are you going to try again?
  
  
  
  Nick smiled sheepishly. “So you heard that, didn’t you?”
  
  
  
  The guy pointed to a large receiver, the muttering of which was drowned out by the radio station's program.
  
  
  
  -You don’t fly yourself?
  
  
  
  “I'm learning this. Little by little. I only have fifteen hours of flight time.
  
  
  
  — I'm Perly's new pilot. Give me a few days to tinker with the plane, and then from time to time I will lift you into the air.
  
  
  
  The young man beamed. 'Fantastic! I always have to go to Denver to get a plane and an instructor... and it costs a lot.”
  
  
  
  "They don't fly here with little equipment, do they?"
  
  
  
  'No. They had a Beechcraft here from the company, and you didn’t even see these guys from afar. It was the same with cargo pilots. I've never seen such arrogant bastards.
  
  
  
  Nick stared at the makeshift runway glistening in the sun. Ahead, a bulldozer was leveling a strip of land with a roar. - Nothing to do, huh?
  
  
  
  'No. I'm really just here for the show.
  
  
  
  “Hasn’t anything started in the last few days?”
  
  
  
  “The DC-3 arrived last night and left early this morning.”
  
  
  
  'Oh yes?! Nick looked at his new friend with interest. “Faithful old mare! With the guys from the company?
  
  
  
  “No, freight. At least that's what they said.
  
  
  
  'Then what kind of cargo? Medicines and chemicals.
  
  
  
  'I wouldn't know. These bastards showed me nothing.
  
  
  
  “Yes, so-so,” Nick said thoughtfully. “You’re not surprised where such a large load can be transported.”
  
  
  
  The young man grinned. - We don't have to know that. But my brother works in air traffic control. He tracked them on Air Force radar. They were heading to Nebraska.
  
  
  
  Nick laughed. “It’s damn convenient to have a brother like that.” He stretched. “Come on, I’ll call and then fly a little.”
  
  
  
  "If it's a local call, you can call from here."
  
  
  
  “No, long distance.”
  
  
  
  Nick went to a pay phone and sent a short code message to a number in Chicago that was not in the directory. The lady on the other end of the line simply said, “Indeed. This "really" meant that his request to meet with George Stevens and Bill Rohde at the North Platte Post Office would be forwarded immediately.
  
  
  
  He flew the Cessna over the rolling hills and within half an hour was over the South Platte. Sometimes you felt like you had to act when certain details became clear and pointed in one direction.
  
  
  
  He met two of his colleagues from AX, left the rental car in the parking lot, and George drove the three of them at high speed in a northwest direction. Driving the heavy-duty AX on the highway south of headquarters, George said, “This Reed-Farben warehouse is the furthest you can get without a pass from headquarters. Bob Kline is watching him.
  
  
  
  - What are they doing there? - Nick asked.
  
  
  
  'I don't see anything. Usually once a day a car enters or leaves the gate. We don't know who the guard is yet.
  
  
  
  "Were the goods delivered this morning?"
  
  
  
  'Yes. For the first time since we've been following them. Two loads with Avis truck. This car was rented by a man named Coles, in whose name the license plates are registered. According to the registry office employee, he lives at the Stockman Hotel. But he hasn't been there since he got the keys. We assume he lives in the warehouse. He put down a deposit on an Avis truck.
  
  
  
  They found Bob Kline behind an abandoned barn, overlooking a small modern building across the main road. It was in good condition, including the front lawn. It could house a small plastics factory or a thriving contractor.
  
  
  
  “This is it,” George said to Nick. Rented by the same Coles at an incredible price from the company that built it. They wanted to have this building at all costs. He mentioned Reed-Farben and that's how we found out about it. He said it was for top secret experiments or something like that.
  
  
  
  Nick greeted Bob Kline, a serious man whose gentle manner hid the tenacity of a bulldog and a brain that thinks through all the possible and impossible aspects of a case. Bob handed him the binoculars. “They are doing something there. They opened the blinds on this side for the first time.”
  
  
  
  Nick peered through the undergrowth with his binoculars. He couldn't see inside and couldn't get close without being noticed. Nick sighed. So it was now... They might have to examine the building up close before finding anything of interest in it, by checking license plates, taking telephotos of people entering and leaving, or by further investigating the mysterious Coles.
  
  
  
  “Well,” said Nick, “I would like that myself.” Why is not entirely clear to me. Looks like I should have done a better job of monitoring the parent company.”
  
  
  
  He bade him farewell with a few kind words, and went back to town with George, leaving the other two on their guard. Before we even reached route 80, the phone in the car began to buzz. George intervened and Bob Kline's measured voice said, “Mountain goat nine, buck three. You understand me?'
  
  
  
  “Mountain goat nine sits next to goat three and two,” George replied in terms designed to exclude the uninitiated. 'Go ahead, continue.'
  
  
  
  “Two senior military pussies with a sergeant at the wheel just headed north. Army limousine. Three-star pennant.
  
  
  
  Nick fired. Senior officers call out when no one has entered? And they go to headquarters? He said quietly, “Turn around.”
  
  
  connection
  
  
  George turned Mercury around. “Catch up with them,” Nick said. "Give it full throttle."
  
  
  
  At a speed of 180 km/h, the Mercury screamed along a flat road across the prairie. If this sergeant had been speeding, the army vehicle would have reached the headquarters gate before them. There were a few things he could do now that he had radio communication... and it was also possible that the war machine was completely ordinary. What if the warehouse was a secret exit from the headquarters? Nick felt sweat pour into his armpits. There was no connection to tie it to anything. tense
  
  
  
  He began to draw conclusions. They will catch up with the other car in about forty minutes, even if it is traveling at 130. What could these numbers actually mean to justify the alarm?
  
  
  
  If he had been able to see the neatly polished staff car pull up to the gates of headquarters, he would have realized that its three passengers were very tense. The sentry in the booth was so busy standing at attention and unobtrusively pressing the call button that he barely glanced at their pink plastic badges and badges, which the sergeant showed through the door window.
  
  
  
  The sergeant of the watch, running from the guardhouse across the road, had a keen eye. US Air Force Lieutenant General Packard and Major General Burns with Sergeant Swenson as driver.
  
  
  
  The sergeant of the watch stepped back and gave an exemplary salute.
  
  
  
  The limousine sped along the wide driveway to the headquarters. None of the three passengers said a word. The two generals in the back sat completely straight, their heads darkened, impassive, but nevertheless very wary. The sergeant was skilled and drove the car with extraordinary precision. In fact, the car and its passengers were too perfect. It looked like an overly beautiful work of conscientious television props and makeup artists...
  
  
  
  The car turned right a second time and drove along a two-lane road towards one of the residential complexes, also surrounded by a high fence. One of the neighborhoods in the town... Here the check was even more thorough, although the three military men on duty were imbued with the same spirit of reverence and humility. The shiny olive green car slid under the guardrail.
  
  
  
  Having passed the checkpoint, the car stopped in front of the main entrance to a large two-story building on the outskirts of the airport of this “town.” It looked like a smaller version of the Pentagon.
  
  
  
  The two generals exited and walked through the entrance and security checkpoint at the elevators in a vast basement area that was larger than the above-ground building. They finally arrived at the office of Colonel Barringer M. Freestone, the duty officer of the Planning and Inspection Division.
  
  
  
  Generals Packard and Burns praised Colonel Freestone for his good work. Freestone, concerned about the withdrawal of funds from a planned hangar in favor of a runway extension—not a falsification but a deliberate misinterpretation of orders—was overly friendly. When he was handed the letters from the commander-in-chief, he stopped thinking about it. The letters were “personally signed.”
  
  
  
  If Freestone had a long life to live, he would automatically not have found both generals on the roster for personal and service reasons. In a way, it’s good that Freestone, who came from a line of professional officers and, accordingly, suffered from very limited powers of observation, never found out about this.
  
  
  
  General Packard said: “The letter speaks of a general inspection, but I think the boss was careful in what he said. We will leave this inspection to the Adjutant General. In fact, we mean the archive and command post of the Central Research Institute.”
  
  
  
  Freestone almost suffocated. “General...” He searched for words. “There are secrets of the greatest importance.” This can only be done with the permission of General Sweet...
  
  
  
  “Obviously,” Packard agreed with a sour-sweet smile. "Just call him."
  
  
  
  Freestone felt that he had never met two generals more like members of the General Staff than Packard and Burns. Staring eyes, square heads, one hundred and eighty pounds. They had a lot in common. All senior staff officers, by the way, looked more or less the same.
  
  
  
  “General Sweet is not here now,” he said gloomily, knowing what awaited him. This morning he flew to Los Angeles for an emergency meeting with Rand. He won't be back until five..."
  
  
  
  General Packard now looked less friendly. “That’s not quite according to the rules, is it?” Technically, no one is in charge here right now.” He stopped there. Freestone felt it hanging around his neck like a yoke. “You see, this is just the basis for a possible emergency situation. It would hardly be called working under normal circumstances. We are, of course, always ready for immediate action, and General Sweet will dot all the i's and cross them, I assure you.
  
  
  
  The defense was weak, he knew it. General Packard sighed. I understand that, Colonel. By the way, this is not your problem. We will discuss this issue with him when we see each other. I suppose you could show us the command post.
  
  
  
  "Of course, General." Now Freestone had made a mistake, and this was his last mistake. Visitors to the command post, as well as those who wanted to view top secret files, had to go through double security checks... He led his visitors to the elevator.
  
  
  
  The cavernous command post housed a minimal number of personnel. Four reservists for communications and control functions, designed for forty people, and one captain in a red chair to view a sixty-meter projection of the globe.
  
  
  
  It turned into a massacre. First, the two burly generals shot at Freestone, followed by the captain and four reservists. Shots were heard in the soundproof room. Packard and Burns completed their mission without further ado. Burns walked to the elevator shafts, where he determined that none of the three elevators were moving and that the car they had descended in was still waiting for them.
  
  
  
  Packard walked over to a low, two-drawer filing cabinet to the left of the captain slumped in his red chair. The closet had two locks; one had a key with a picture on it. Packard, with perfect aim, shot through the other lock with a magnum bullet, which fell into a drawer before opening the cabinet.
  
  
  
  He pulled out three red folders, only an inch or two thick, and a black plastic box, about four inches high, with numerous plugs on the bottom. This small switchboard contained conductors for several dozen televisions that had a special function. If all the human initiates were dead or missing, the box or its duplicate in Washington could continue the defense of the North American continent, as well as launch counterattacks. If he were studied in detail by experts, he would, of course, reveal details of the complex installations that he controlled.
  
  
  
  Packard wrapped the folders and brain box in thin rubber, which he took from his inside pocket. He and Burns took the elevator up the stairs, picked up their caps from Freestone's office, walked back through long, nearly deserted corridors, and cheerfully responded at checkpoints to the military honors diligently bestowed upon them...
  
  
  
  The news of their arrival, meanwhile, had spread around... A military police captain appeared at the main entrance to escort the important guests with dignity (“inspection from above” was called on the internal telephone). They responded to his harsh greeting with welcoming gestures.
  
  
  
  The telephone rang in the guardhouse. The sentry picked him up, swallowed in horror, jumped up and shouted: “Captain, hold them back, they say!”
  
  
  
  The captain roared: “Stop!” to the back of the car, which sped away as if none of the passengers had heard it. He turned to the sentry: “Why? What did they say? Who called?'
  
  
  
  “Something was stolen from the command post... they say.” The guard's last words expressed doubt.
  
  
  
  Captain Fownes ran to his jeep and rushed after the large vehicle without waiting for reinforcements. He seemed unable to accept the situation. In fact, they were two generals! How is this possible!
  
  
  
  Of course, on a long straight line the jeep could not keep up with a fast passenger car. They were flying over the road! George and Nick saw two cars approaching the base, where their own car was rushing at top speed.
  
  
  
  “Slow down!” - said Nick. "Something strange is happening..."
  
  
  
  Intuition again, but this time it hit the bull’s eye.
  
  
  
  “Yes,” George said tensely. “An army jeep is trying to catch up with them.”
  
  
  
  'Turn around.'
  
  
  
  George slowed sharply, bringing the Mercury speed to a hundred, then entered the turn in a cloud of dust and pebbles across an open field and was now racing behind two cars. Three hundred meters from the jeep they were only third in the race.
  
  
  
  
  Captain Fownes was still tormented by doubts. He had a pistol with him. Could you stop two generals? If you do it wrong, you will immediately put an end to your career. He saw one of them looking at him through the rear window. In any case, they knew that he was now pursuing them. He let out a series of short beeps, a time-honored stop sign. He saw the rear window roll down. Hey, that guy had a gun!
  
  
  
  Captain Fawn's doubts met an inglorious end. He pulled out the gun, but realized there was no round in the chamber, and the steering wheel made it very difficult for him to open the lock. Finally he developed a template. Almost at the same time, a magnum bullet flew over the hood of the Jeep through the windshield and hit Fownes in the chest. The injury was not fatal, but what followed was. The jeep began to tilt and tumble like a box rolling down a hill. Due to the fact that the captain's knees were jammed under the steering wheel, he got stuck in the car at the first somersault. On the second occasion the side of the wagon nearly cut him in half, and immediately afterwards he was flung from the wreckage, as a lifeless rabbit is flung away by a fiery hunting dog.
  
  
  
  Nick and George held their breath as the jeep began to tumble. George steered the Mercury off the road and struggled to maintain its course over the rough terrain. He slowed down slightly to balance the car. Don't stop,” Nick said. “I saw shooting from the front car. I think they shot him. George said nothing to this, but as soon as he had the Mercury in his hands again, he gave full throttle again and drove the car back onto the road.
  
  
  
  They were still three hundred yards behind. - Do you think you can catch up with them? - Nick asked.
  
  
  
  “I bet you ten bucks we’re faster.”
  
  
  
  'Accepted.' - Nick pulled Wilhelmina out from under his arm. They said that it was an awkward weapon, even with a shortened barrel and a narrowed butt. The weapon fit comfortably in his hand and was well suited for a dire situation like this.
  
  
  
  
  Nick saw the shadow before he heard the engine. He stuck his head out the window. A blue helicopter flew slowly over them towards the large machine in front.
  
  
  
  “You can say what you want,” George grumbled, “but these guys mean business.”
  
  
  
  "He's flying up!" - George exclaimed.
  
  
  
  The helicopter slowed until it was directly over the olive-colored car and hovered over it like a heron about to catch a trout. Now the Mercury quickly caught up with the big car - Nick was glad to know that he had lost a ten dollar bet. A rope fell from a helicopter. The basket seemed to be hanging at the end of it.
  
  
  
  “I can’t believe it,” George exclaimed in surprise. "They can't help those guys with this..."
  
  
  
  “It might work,” Nick replied, “but this box is too small. They're definitely going to give that helicopter something.
  
  
  
  George leaned forward, his hands on the steering wheel. They were only three hundred yards from the big machine. 'Keep an eye on them. Gun again!
  
  
  
  Nick leaned out of the window, took aim and shot at the man looking at them through the left side of the open rear window. Red flames rushed towards them. Nick struggled to aim accurately, hampered by the shaking of the car, the pressure of the wind, and his watery eyes. It was even more difficult than shooting pigeons in windy conditions. Something bounced off their car. The other man hit the target first, but Nick believed that his bullets also hit the mark. He took aim again at the moving target and pulled the trigger again.
  
  
  
  The face with the gun disappeared. They put their hands through the window and put something in the basket. Nick made up his mind. He would have liked to have discussed this with George first, because he knew his stuff. But this was one of those situations for which they gave you special qualifications. N3 raised his Luger and fired the last three rounds into the cockpit of this small helicopter.
  
  
  
  The helicopter pilot was pleased. He approached the army vehicle in exactly the prescribed place and in the prescribed manner. He let the basket hover near the car window, just like in the good old days when he was still a movie stuntman. He didn't feel guilty. He knew that his patrons were frauds and were probably engaged in some form of espionage. But they paid well...
  
  
  
  The sudden pain became unbearable. He coughed, lost his breath, and tilted the tiller forward. The small aircraft veered to the right, crashed into the ground and flipped several more times, scattering debris like confetti.
  
  
  
  The limousine rushed forward, the Mercury followed. Nick inserted a spare clip into the gun. George put into words what was on their minds: “Those guys must have had something to do with it. And we ourselves saw how they shot this captain.”
  
  
  
  “Let’s hope it’s not a TV production,” Nick replied. “Now I’ll try to shoot them at the tires.”
  
  
  
  Another face appeared in the back window, much like the first one they had seen. It was completely expressionless. You would think that people would show any emotion in such a situation. Unfazed, Nick thought as he fired.
  
  
  
  He hit the tire. The man had just stuck what looked like a high-caliber revolver out the window when the limousine began to lurch, dancing a stupid samba from one side of the road to the other. George braked so hard that the Mercury shuddered with a scream of warm, abrasive rubber. The military vehicle skidded and flipped once before coming to a stop. The Mercury stopped about twenty meters away.
  
  
  
  “Cover me,” Nick told George.
  
  
  
  He ran, ducking and zigzagging, toward the cloud of dust enveloping the limousine. He stopped five meters away and saw two men get out and stand next to the car like lackeys. The sergeant stood at attention next to the driver's door, and the lieutenant general to the left of it. They were the same height, tanned and had good figures. They seemed like relatives. Both were completely impassive - their faces expressed nothing.
  
  
  
  “Hands up,” Nick barked at them.
  
  
  
  Neither of them flinched. Nick got ready. There could still be another person hidden at the bottom of the car. Suddenly he heard a tinny voice as if through a telephone. That general in his cap? Nick understood: “Blow up...”
  
  
  
  The general reached into his uniform. The sergeant turned quickly, stuck his head into the machine and pushed or pulled something. Nick heard hissing and crackling. He turned and ran towards a small hill that he had passed on the way to the limousine and which he had in mind as a possible cover in case of a firefight. The first explosion occurred before he even reached the hill, and he was literally carried towards it the last two meters. The explosions that followed were equally violent. He opened his mouth to relieve the pressure on his eardrums and crawled towards the Mercury. George fell on his stomach. They both remained in the embrace for another ten seconds. Nick looked up slowly and confused. It took a moment before he could see clearly again. The olive green car was a sea of flames. Ten yards away lay a pile of burning cloth that might have belonged to the general. The sergeant completely disappeared. Nick snorted and coughed. Cordite, nitroglycerin, gasoline and burnt meat...
  
  
  
  George stood next to him. "Jesus, let's talk about guts..."
  
  
  
  - Or discipline. What nationalities were these guys? They all looked the same.
  
  
  
  George shook his head, coughed and rubbed his neck. “Nick, if we hadn’t collapsed, this shit would have been all over us.” Did you see how it flew above us? Who are they? No idea.'
  
  
  
  “We were just below the shock wave,” Nick said. He imagined the faces of people who had died so suddenly and so decisively. They looked like guys from expensive catalogs advertising cool casual clothes. Like actors who immersed themselves in their roles. What dedication or discipline was behind this?
  
  
  
  A siren wailed in the distance. “Let's go,” Nick said. “Leave me at that intersection so you can go back and help the military and local police sort out the details. Don't say anything about me. My cover is now of utmost importance.
  
  
  
  George drove the Mercury back onto the highway. There were two holes in the windshield. “If these guys gave them your description, you might have blown your cover,” he said. “If any of them knew you...”
  
  
  
  “Then you need to tense up,” Nick admitted. “But this gang is too dangerous to move away from now.” These people are cunning, dangerous and have a lot of money behind them. I think you will find that they broke into the headquarters and stole something very important there.
  
  
  
  “Let's hope so,” George said, releasing Nick and then quickly driving the Mercury back to the scene.
  
  
  
  Nick wiped his face with a handkerchief and slowly walked on. George had a great sense of humor. Nick was given a ride by a Methodist pastor...
  
  
  
  In North Platte, Nick thanked him for the ride and wished him well. The man made a thoughtful but kind face and said: “Good luck to you too. I guess I'm just trying to figure out if I'm really a Christian."
  
  
  
  The Cessna brought him back to the highlands at sunset. The plane was so easy to hold in his hands that he had plenty of time to think.
  
  
  
  He was a few minutes late when he parked the Ford next to Greta's red Porsche in the Algiers parking lot. He helped her into his car. She looked radiant and cheerful in a yellow dress that highlighted her rosy face and neatly styled silver-gray hairdo. She smiled kindly at him and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you again, Greta.”
  
  
  
  He took her to Chez Rouge on the way to Denver. He had an excellent reputation. He found the atmosphere to be as great as the prices.
  
  
  
  Greta was cheerful and relaxed, like a boarding school student enjoying a quiet night out. She still had difficulty coping with the first vodka martini, but the second went faster, and the third disappeared down her throat immediately after receiving it. Nick sat next to her in the soft blue light of the semicircular soft sofa. “I was introduced to former Congressman Abbott. Interesting guy. He is one of your major creditors.
  
  
  
  Greta froze. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. - He is... the commissioner of our company.
  
  
  
  Nick leaned towards her as if he was about to reveal a big secret. “I have a feeling Reed is going to do something big. Something of global significance. This old fox does this for a reason.
  
  
  
  “We always do research,” she said, choosing her word carefully, “but…” She placed her hand on his. “Please remember what I told you. Reed doesn't want anyone to know about this - forget about it. Just do your job, don't talk about it or spy on it."
  
  
  
  “Who's talking about espionage? I just want to be able to make a little extra money. I've already saved some money. If they are on their way to something good, surely I can take advantage of that too? I bet big boys like Pearly do the same. Why should these guys always get the big booty?
  
  
  
  She sighed. 'You are right. But they are so... so unapproachable. He was sure she would have said "dangerous" if she had been less thoughtful. “If they thought we were even curious about their results, then “we would have ended our careers.”
  
  
  
  It seemed to him that the word “finished” sounded too emphatic. “They won't know if we keep our mouths shut.” The only question is: what are they doing?
  
  
  
  - Well, you are right in saying that this has global significance.
  
  
  
  He settled down a little lower on the sofa. Their bodies touched each other. He stroked her hand, suggesting that he was doing it completely unintentionally. “Global enough that some people can get rich from it?”
  
  
  
  'Yes. Do you know anything about heart transplant?
  
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “The big problem is getting hearts. As well as kidneys and other organs. Artificial organs are working more and more efficiently, but there is an even better way, which only Reed is developing..."
  
  
  
  "An even better way?" - he asked carefully.
  
  
  
  "Growing new organs."
  
  
  
  'Come on! Just like new skin...'
  
  
  
  'Yes. In the laboratory. Grow them all the way out and then replant them.”
  
  
  
  “Millions,” he muttered. "Billions if they can maintain a monopoly on it."
  
  
  
  "They can do it."
  
  
  
  'How much?'
  
  
  
  'I don't know. Most of us aren't even allowed into the big growing building." She laughed bitterly. 'Introduce! Some of us think this is all just funny, but what can we do about it? Either way, only a few get to see the finished product. But I've seen enough of this myself. And she did too.
  
  
  
  — Did you participate in this work? Greta, dear, you yourself have the right to take advantage of this! These big organizations always get money. Why should people who do mental or dirty work be content with a meager pension? Do you think they'll put it up for sale soon?
  
  
  
  "I think so." She was playing with her empty glass. “I already cultured the first heart in my department over six months ago.”
  
  
  
  "What a thrill that must have been," he said enthusiastically. “Seeing your work produce results in this way. Did you have to start with an existing organ? I mean, do they need pieces of the old heart for this?
  
  
  
  'No no. There is only the same growth model, so to speak. This infinitely complex combination of small particles with which the computer can specify the different phases of the growth process."
  
  
  
  'Oh my God.' He seemed impressed, and he was impressed. 'Step by step. You could say, particle by particle - under computer control!
  
  
  
  'Right. People couldn't do it. Moreover, you would need a thousand or more people to do nothing day and night except study and promote the growth process. How I... we set it up, it's automated.
  
  
  
  'Amazing.' Fantastic! So, once the programming is completed, the growth process can begin. After the first copy, production even becomes child’s play because the method is fixed.”
  
  
  
  She was pleased that he showed such interest and enthusiasm. “You just have to repeat it over and over again.” But you should have seen the first cellular structures. A collection of thousands of colored balls, even smaller than the head of a pin, on a wire frame the size of a desk. Nimura made the first copy. He's a genius...” When she mentioned Nimura's name, she suddenly jumped to her feet in reality. She grabbed Nick's hand. “You definitely shouldn’t tell anyone about this. They are extremely closed off about it.”
  
  
  
  - Selfish, you mean. Don't worry baby. The only question is how will we get out of this?
  
  
  
  - I'll have to leave this to you. Buying shares, etc. But for the sake of both of us, don't let yourself look at the map!
  
  
  
  Otherwise, the fake cards will come out of the sleeve, he thought. Obviously, she knew nothing about the financial origins of the company. Reed-Farben was a private company. No part of it could be obtained through official channels or by backdoor routes. Abundant funds from this mysterious Swiss source helped the company get started, and profits from conventional chemical and pharmaceutical products supported the business. He wondered how far Marvin Benn would go in serious business. Not that Reed-Farben wasn't serious, but in many ways there was something strange going on.
  
  
  
  They took chateaubriand and two bottles of rose wine. At the appropriate moment, over coffee and cognac, Nick asked: “Have you ever met my friend Hubie Dumont?”
  
  
  
  She leaned her head back on the soft railing. Her answer came without any hesitation. - Dumont? No. I've never heard of him. Who is he and what does he do?
  
  
  
  “Representative for chemicals. I thought you could order from his company.
  
  
  
  'No.' She thought. “Drake is negotiating. I'm just writing requests. They are doing everything they can to prevent us from having personal contact with representatives."
  
  
  
  He believed her. There was something about Greta that made you believe that she rarely, if ever, lied, although she could do it very cleverly if absolutely necessary. You could tell by the little things, like how openly she sipped her drink and how she responded to his kiss last night. In more important matters, she showed a stoic look, an awareness that you will soon forget everything and that everything will soon forget you too. She was what one might call a mature woman, he concluded, but there was something unspoiled about her that showed she had not been harmed by the process of growing up. It's a pity that she ended up in this company. She would make a splash in Washington circles and would probably soon find a good man.
  
  
  
  She looked at him dreamily. “What would you do if you had a lot of money and didn’t have to drive trucks anymore?”
  
  
  
  'Took the day off. Do you feel something about Hawaii?
  
  
  
  She laughed and ran her cheek along his chin. At that moment he looked up at the surprised and angry eyes of Martha Wagner...
  
  
  
  Nick smiled tightly and began to say hello, but she continued walking. She was alone. Even this, he thought, not only was the entire Reed-Farben gang after me, but now my best relationship had become as dangerous as an abandoned woman can be - and this is important. He said, “Sorry, Greta,” and followed Martha across the bar.
  
  
  
  Martha's back was straight as she walked across the long room. She was apparently looking for someone - in the bar or at the tables. Nick caught up with her when she was two-thirds of the way to the door at the other end. He put his hand on her arm and said: "Martha..."
  
  
  
  - Ah, leave me alone. She pulled her hand away, looked around for a second and left the bar. Nick followed her.
  
  
  
  "Martha, are you looking for Pete?"
  
  
  
  She stopped under the colored lights on her way to the parking lot. She looked sad, angry, excited and very beautiful! - How can you guess? It was a sarcastic remark to which no one expected an answer.
  
  
  
  “I left it with Pearly.”
  
  
  
  'I know it. I heard how good you can fly. And that you asked if Hubie Joe knew Felix. And also that you will work for Pearly. If you end up in a meat grinder, that's what will happen to you! What do you think Rick and the others will do when Pearly tells them he hired you?
  
  
  
  “Are they still hanging out with you looking for Jim Perry?”
  
  
  
  She took a few steps, her shoulders, which she had previously held straight like a boy from cadet school, now seemed tired and defeated. "Why should I tell you anything else?" He walked with her. - Because we are together, Martha. We are both equally at risk.
  
  
  
  “Did you say this to Greta Stoltz too?”
  
  
  
  "Go quickly." He put his arm around her, very tenderly. "You can guess why I'm hanging out with Greta."
  
  
  
  - And, or! Because you want to dig up more of the crap Pete was doing."
  
  
  
  'ABOUT. You mean Pete never drank until I tricked him...
  
  
  
  She looked at him. Her eyes were wet and inquisitive. Then she suddenly grinned, short and wicked. It sounded bitter, as if she wanted to show that she understood the situation. She gave him a short, cynical smile.
  
  
  
  “Okay, Jim,” she said, no longer withdrawing her hand. “I’ve been looking for Pete since seven.” He comes here often. Yes, those guys from Rick are still following the case. I guess the big bosses haven't heard the name of Jim Perry's driver yet, although I do wonder how...
  
  
  
  "For some reason they forgot to ask Kenny about me."
  
  
  
  “Or they have prepared a very cunning trap for you.”
  
  
  
  “Yes,” he sighed. - Martha, go back to your business. I'll take Greta home as soon as I can get rid of her in a decent manner, and then I'll come to you. During this time you can learn something about Pete. If not, I'll help you find it.
  
  
  
  In the semi-darkness he kissed her. She wondered if he knew how much she needed someone to ease her burden, even just for a little while. “I’ll wait for you,” she whispered.
  
  
  
  As he walked back across the bar, he carefully wiped his lips with a handkerchief.
  
  
  
  Stifling a growing yawn, Greta said, “We need air other than this stuffy smoke,” and squeezed his hand. When he paid the bill and waived her contribution, he said as they walked to the car, “Have you had a long day, Greta? Do you have to stand a lot at work? Are you tired, baby?
  
  
  
  “The days are really long and I walk quite a lot. But I feel great...” She led him to the right side of his car. - I think you're the one who's tired. Let me go - I like to try a different car every time."
  
  
  
  She got behind the wheel and closed the door. He sighed. Which approach should he take now? She deftly maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and turned left, away from Copperpot Valley. Double martini or no double martini, she rode well, attentively, not too harshly and with just the right hand position on the wheel. He yawned again and snuggled closer to her.
  
  
  
  “That’s all,” she said kindly. —You've had a hard day, haven't you?
  
  
  
  “I feel like I’ve been beaten,” he replied.
  
  
  
  'Poor boy. You were probably late last night because of me. Now calm down...
  
  
  
  She turned off the main road onto the paved path to John Reed Mountain, drove about a mile and stopped the car in a deserted pasture next to a babbling stream that was probably the reason there had been a small farmhouse here long ago. As far as he could see in the darkness, there was not a single standing building left. The women managed to adapt perfectly; here, each female representative chose a nest for herself to camp in the mountains...
  
  
  
  She was different from Martha, who acted on impulse, and different from many women he knew, for that matter. Greta is used to methodically analyzing and then drawing conclusions. She stroked him, caressed him, whispered all sorts of sweet nothings to him, half-undressed him, licked his ears, scratched his nipples with the tips of her nails, bit his tongue - she attacked in a wide front!
  
  
  
  Nick relaxed. Don't argue too much. Be nice. Think about what she wanted. There have already been so many disappointments in her life. He winced as she used an unusual combination of gripping and caressing. Well, Carter, admit it: it's a skill. He cheerfully pulled out a blanket that was lying on the back seat. Hawk would be proud of him.
  
  
  
  Unmown grass makes an excellent mattress. He saw Greta hanging clothes on a tree in the light of the stars. Hawk will certainly appreciate this woman. Purposeful and neat. If he had offered her...
  
  
  
  He was given no more opportunity for pleasant speculation. Greta completely absorbed him. Just like in the truck cab, there were surprises, only now there were more of them, because there was room to turn around and apply variations. Greta knew what she wanted and how exactly. After a very pleasant experience, he fell back onto the grass. If Greta ever came into contact with a man who could appreciate all this, it could turn into a lifelong commitment.
  
  
  
  This active and varied approach was stimulating. Things like this didn't happen to you that often. Maybe it was because of the TV: you sat and enjoyed two-dimensional relaxation and forgot how to use your body to work with real pleasure. Have a wonderful experience! If you compare this woman to the unimaginative, lazy, fearful figures you encounter in Washington these days. Or, what was even more annoying, a narcissist who became attached to him like a shapeless pudding and went off into her own dream world.
  
  
  
  Greta took the lead until she felt it was time for her partner to take the reins, which felt good. It was obvious that she had not exhausted her range of capabilities in the cockpit.
  
  
  
  “Turn around,” she said, gently tugging on his thigh. He turned around.
  
  
  
  Another new product, another brilliant find. A moment later she gasped in his ear: “You’re hard to get, I’m glad...”
  
  
  
  “It keeps the fun going longer,” he whispered.
  
  
  
  Ah, what a woman! Men simply liked well-trained horses and sexually experienced women. He grinned, glad that she couldn't look him in the eyes. But then it was necessary to start with good material. Wisdom and enthusiasm were indispensable because every skill depends on what your mind tells you...
  
  
  
  “Now,” she said, “go ahead.”
  
  
  
  He stopped thinking about pleasure and got down to business. Some time later, as he lay looking at the stars, she put a cigarette between his lips, leaving him for a while to get a pack from the car. - You are very tired? She pressed herself close to him. - You're a tough worker, you know that?
  
  
  
  He took his hand. - And you are very inventive, Greta. You must be the devil's artist in the laboratory.
  
  
  
  He looked up at the stars scattered across the dark sky like sparkling artificial snow on a Christmas tree. Why can't people just enjoy life, good food, pleasure, sex... It's good that he thought about it. He had to put an end to this and continue his work and find Pete. But he still had a lot of time; None of the options for getting into the main building were good, and the later he tried, the better. Moreover, Greta could be a good contact person. You can imagine this as part of his responsibilities. He squeezed out the cigarette, turned and found her lips again.
  
  
  
  At midnight he dropped her off at a red Porsche. She understood when he said he had to get up at five, and even more so when he suggested meeting at the same place and time on Friday.
  
  
  
  It made saying goodbye easy. Greta knew what self-discipline was. She had to force this on herself all her life. As she walked back to her apartment on the Reed-Farben lot, she remembered what Nick had said about making money. It was smart and dangerous, but very tempting. It would be very nice to have money and be free. next to a man like Jim Perry...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick found Martha and Bob Halfcrow in a secluded corner of her restaurant. At first glance, he realized that Pete was still gone. As soon as he saw the right moment, he quietly asked what their plans were. Could he help?
  
  
  
  Martha sighed. “We can check all the tents again.” He usually hangs around here for a few days before allowing the city lights to attract him. And soon it happened to him.
  
  
  
  “Don’t the owners of those other establishments call you when he appears there?” So you won't warn those guys?
  
  
  
  “They don't like me. Pete spends a lot of money.
  
  
  
  This was completely clear. Nick said, “Tell me where to go and I’ll go.”
  
  
  
  “You know Augie, Deadwood, Ferndale and...”
  
  
  
  'Yes. And Bar-Nutin and Jim Perreault and Trace Quick, I'm heading west.
  
  
  
  He was driving his car out the side door when Bob Half-Crow jumped out, easily as a deer, jumped over the iron gate and stopped him. The Indian entered. We just got a call. Pete's is located on Wiggle Pass.
  
  
  
  Nick ran out onto the main road. - He is OK?
  
  
  
  'No. He's wounded.
  
  
  
  They covered seven kilometers in two hundred seconds and stopped at a place where four cars were parked on the right side of the road. One was knocked over, but did not appear badly damaged. The other car had a red flashing light. The man in uniform tried to turn on the radio, which crackled and hissed. Nick and Bob ran to the car in the ditch. A man was pointing a flashlight at Pete, who was sitting in front and moaning, mostly to the right and leaning to the left, as if he wasn't even driving. He was badly beaten and covered in blood. Nick recognized him by his build, the shape of his head and his jacket. A wheezing sound came from his throat. The light reflected from the teeth stuck to his chin in a blood-red mass.
  
  
  
  Nick said, “Keep an eye on him, Bob.” I'll take the blanket. Pete's car doors weren't broken. They picked him up as carefully as possible and wrapped him in a blanket. Pete tried to move when he was handed over and said something that sounded more like gurgling gibberish.
  
  
  
  Nick leaned over him. - Calm down, Pete. Just don't worry. It's me, Jim.
  
  
  
  "I?" "I?" With chapped lips and a broken jaw, he couldn't say a word. Nick held Pete's hand, and she squeezed it gently.
  
  
  
  “Yes, Jim,” Nick said soothingly. “You'll be fine again.” He brought his lips to Pete's ear. 'Who did this?' Saliva and blood splashed onto Nick's cheek as he put his ear to the wounded man's lips. "Z'ake'ense." Pete pulled it out with great difficulty. He coughed, spit out vomit, and asked again, “Jim?”
  
  
  
  Nick squeezed his hand and whispered, “Yes, Jim. Calm down, boy. Who did this?
  
  
  
  “Z'make'ense...” A minute of silence, then Pete made another convulsive effort: “Z'make'mense...”.
  
  
  
  A rude voice from behind and above asked Nick: What are you doing there? You can't touch him.
  
  
  
  Nick stood up. Local police. Nick simply looked at the man in the car lights and said, “He looks like he's about to go into shock. That's why I wrapped him in a blanket.
  
  
  
  “You shouldn't have touched him.” Do you know him?'
  
  
  
  His name is Pete Wagner. We are his friends.
  
  
  
  “The ambulance is on the way. I know his name. When was the last time you saw him?
  
  
  
  Bob Half Crow told him.
  
  
  
  Nick tried to speak with a local accent. “He wasn’t hurt that bad by that car.”
  
  
  
  No, it looks like they grabbed and robbed him. His wallet was missing.
  
  
  
  A strongly built guy in overalls joined the conversation, standing at a distance. “I know Pete well. I saw him driving east and honked at him. There was another guy driving, and then I saw in the mirror how the car was making a full turn. There was another car behind her. I'm pretty sure some guy got out and they continued east. I immediately turned around and found him right there.” His words sounded sincere. — I called his sister.
  
  
  
  Nick suddenly leaned over Pete's badly damaged head. He felt for the jugular vein and gently touched his eyelid when the policeman said, "Hey, don't touch it until the ambulance gets here."
  
  
  
  Nick stood up and sighed. - Wait for them, but I don't think he needs an ambulance.
  
  
  
  Nick was right. Pete was dead. Emergency personnel took his body, and Bob helped the policeman with information for the report. He then drove back to tell Martha. Bob Half-Crow walked into the kitchen. - You tell her.
  
  
  
  Nick did. They were in her corner from behind, and he made it look less bad than it actually was. She didn't cry or get upset; she agreed, but her dark eyes became moist and hard at the same time. Nick brought them coffee and a shot of whiskey. After several short sad remarks, she was silent for a long time. She then asked, “Did you leave him with Pearly?”
  
  
  
  - As I already said, yes.
  
  
  
  She went to the phone booth and returned a minute later. “He left there at about five o’clock.” And nothing happened.
  
  
  
  “It would be better if we met him...”
  
  
  
  - I saw how you tried. At Chez Rouge.
  
  
  
  “It's not fair, honey. I would risk my neck for Pete, whether you want to believe it or not.
  
  
  
  She lowered her eyes. 'I'm sorry. But I will find out who left him to die!
  
  
  
  "The police will be looking."
  
  
  
  “These guys can’t even find the men’s room.” And if they succeed, you can bribe them with change from the machine.
  
  
  
  She was, of course, very upset. Nick thought about what she said when the police showed up - a man he had already met, and now a detective. They asked the usual questions and nothing more. Nick stayed away. Martha avoided mentioning Pearly's name and only said that Pete was drunk. They nodded as if that explained everything.
  
  
  
  When they left, she said, “See?”
  
  
  
  'Not really. They are overloaded with work. You didn't say everything you knew either. They could have used the clue that he left Pearlie at five.
  
  
  
  She made a sullen face. Two well-dressed, cheerful guys walked up to the bar with great fanfare. Martha let him sit down and walked over to them. Nick hugged Bob Half-Raven across the room and pointed his head at the two men next to Martha. 'Do you know them?
  
  
  
  "Flash Waldo and Ben Milliken."
  
  
  
  - Did they know Pete?
  
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “Were they his drinking buddies?”
  
  
  
  'Sometimes. But they wouldn't harm him.
  
  
  
  Nick returned to the table. Martha immediately began asking about the men who might have ambushed Pete. When she returned to him, he casually asked, “Did you find out anything?”
  
  
  
  'No. They had just left Forge Junction.
  
  
  
  -Can you believe them?
  
  
  
  “I’m starting to not trust anyone.”
  
  
  
  “Would you have thought that perhaps he wanted some personal interviews for his Reed-Farben story—and that they were suspicious of his questions?”
  
  
  
  She opened her dark eyes wide. There was anger and fear in him. "I believe... they won't..."
  
  
  
  "Probably no."
  
  
  
  He already had his answer. Not from her words; he didn’t believe it, and neither did she, he thought. He finished his coffee and said, “I feel sorry for you, Martha.” I assume you want to be alone. See you tomorrow.'
  
  
  
  He knew that she didn't want to be alone. She wanted him to help her avenge Pete. Her cool "Thank you" hurt him more than he thought.
  
  
  
  He drove to Alpine, opened the trunk of his Ford, carried three bags to his cottage and carefully drew the curtains there. When he put on black crepe-soled shoes and a dark blue shirt, you could see how he became a completely different person. Nicholas J. Huntington Carter III became Nick Carter, N3 of AX, a man specially trained and equipped for the job. The man in the room was no longer Jim Perry.
  
  
  
  He pulled up his shirt and wore what looked like a white nylon money belt. In the various compartments were all sorts of creations by Eglinton and Swart, the bosses of the technical divisions of AX. There were hardened steel probes, hooks, tags, C4 explosives of various shapes, lethal and paralyzing bombs, unbreakable vials filled with sulfuric or picric acid.
  
  
  
  The bags had other straps for other companies. Including a very clever one with a listening device and a radar detector, and one that allowed you to stay alive for some time in the wilderness.
  
  
  
  The Wilhelmina, a short-barreled Luger with a narrow plastic stock, was in a tight bag under his arm. Hugo, a razor-sharp stiletto, lay at his left forearm. He stuffed a few more things into his pockets and put the bags back in the luggage compartment.
  
  
  
  Before turning off the light, he also slung a pouch containing Pepitas, fast-acting gas grenades that temporarily incapacitate someone without causing permanent harm, to his belt. Wilhelmina, Hugo, Pepita, Pierre and Lulubel... appear as useful codewords for requesting weapons. “Send me Swedish babies,” if the enemy was listening, sounded better than “Send me two Swedish-style submachine guns.”
  
  
  
  As was the case with the military, where they knew their Long Tom, Honest John and Jolly Harry, these names for the deadliest weapons now found acceptance among the AX fighters.
  
  
  
  
  He drove west, away from Reed-Farben, and followed the road that skirted the factory a little further toward the airstrip. Just a mile from the runway, he steered the Ford through the thick underbrush of an old logging trail he had discovered during his first exploration. After two hundred meters he could go no further and turned off the light. Based on his map and judging by the fence, he should now be a few hundred yards from the back of the complex where he walked up the hill behind the staff quarters. It seemed like a logical place to infiltrate. There, surrounded by families with children, you couldn't be too careful with death traps, high-voltage wires and toothy Doberman snouts. He had to make his way through the thicket of oaks and young conifers. It was a real pain, but it also indicated that the guards did not consider an invasion attempt from this direction very likely. He almost ran into a fence in the dark.
  
  
  
  He had already cut out two sticks with slots at the ends. Now he inserted a piece of wire into the cracks, held the sticks in rubber gloves and grounded the fence. Nothing happened. It was an ordinary factory fence with three rows of barbed wire on top. He shined his flashlight on it for a moment. One piece of barbed wire was attached to the insulators. If you cut this wire, the relay will activate and the alarm will sound. He pulled a large pine branch from the undergrowth to the fence and leaned it against it, then cut two rows of dead barbed wire, carefully crawled under the signal wire and jumped to the ground on the other side.
  
  
  
  He was silent and listened. Everything was quiet. He stuck the listening device in his ear and listened again. He heard the usual sounds, but they were faint. He walked slowly further, listening carefully. The amplitude of the signals did not change. He networked the wire he used to ground the fence and found that it partially blocked signals in his direction. Electronic watchdogs did not stand along the fence, but further inside.
  
  
  
  He crawled over the hill and saw the lights of factory buildings. The sounds and crackling sounds in my ears became louder. He carefully slid down the slope and, using a wire mesh, located the source of one of the signals. A column similar to an old fence post. It gave way when he pressed his shoulder against it. He crouched down like a linesman on the American rugby team and lunged at her. The stand broke and fell. He pulled it a few more feet until all the wires at its base were torn off.
  
  
  
  Then he ran diagonally across the hill in the other direction, towards the main building; now he passed the manufacturing workshops along the mown lawn. He reached a fenced-in transformer box and fell to the ground behind it.
  
  
  
  The area here was lit everywhere, and he crawled to the darkest corner he could find, lying on his stomach at the base of the enclosed area. The installation hummed quietly above him.
  
  
  
  The car sped up the hill from the gatekeeper's house; With his spotlight he illuminated the fence, where he could, and where he could not, the area around it. A guard came out of the gatekeeper's house - from such a distance he looked like a toy soldier - and took the Doberman from the pen. He walked east along the fence. It would take him an hour to get through the barrier to where Nick cut the barbed wire. There was also a possibility that he would stop his research by then.
  
  
  
  This seemed to Nick to be just the first reaction to alarm. This often happened to them when the animals came into contact with chains or as a result of accidents. The alarm could have been started by a large bird catching the worm. But somehow the other team was now wondering why the circuits had completely shut down. If there had been some smart guy sitting in front of an oscilloscope last night, they would have found the destroyed pole within a minute, but that probably didn't happen. Shrewd guards are an almost extinct breed...
  
  
  
  After the car and man and dog were out of sight, Nick ran across the grass and roadway, jumped onto the loading dock and crouched near the main door of the house, where people in white coats let people in while loading or unloading. Using a probe and several keys, he quickly opened the door. He slipped inside and closed it behind him. There were no alarms. Perhaps the alarm was connected to the main system that he disconnected, or the main fuse blew when he pulled the wires from the pole.
  
  
  
  He stood in a shiny, white-tiled hallway. There were two windows to the left, and the booths behind them were shrouded in darkness. He continued down the T-shaped corridor.
  
  
  
  He peeked around the corner a little further to the left and right. What a place to work! The long corridors were like tunnels of blinding white ice, crystal clear and ominous, like a cold crypt. There was a smell that seemed to emanate from all the operating rooms and consulting rooms of doctors and dentists around the world. Weak and perceptive - he could not help but think about the sharp steel in the flesh, about the inevitability of death. Ether and paired aldehyde, alcohol and alkali, sulfur and oil, smells thanks to which a person comes into the world and leaves again. Nick winced. He liked to imagine himself as a person free of emotions while working, but it was very creepy.
  
  
  
  Far to the left, towards the office portion of the building, a figure dressed in white ghostly crossed the hall, probably moving from one desk to another. Nick turned right as soon as the ghost disappeared and walked quickly down the sparkling corridor. His dark body against a white background would be an easy target for a shooter.
  
  
  
  He passed the offices. The doors of some were open, others were closed, names were written on the doors. It was dark everywhere. He saw laboratory rooms the size of banquet halls; the only light was on, and he heard the hum of pumps or motors. And suddenly he was where he wanted to be. A double steel door that would open into the central space of the building that once housed Lyman Electronics' manufacturing department. There were warning signs on the door in four languages:
  
  
  
  
  LIFE THREATENING. DO NOT ENTER. ACCESS IS ONLY FOR PERSONNEL WITH SPECIAL PERMISSION.
  
  
  
  
  It had an expensive lock that was worn out from the many keys inserted countless times. Thirty seconds later, Nick opened the door and closed it behind him. Immediately behind the door there was a screen from indiscreet glances. Nick looked around and held his breath. Again this emotion, but this time quite acceptable!
  
  
  
  They looked like giant wine bottles, stored in four layers in an aseptic operating room so large a sports plane could land there. No, not bottles, but six-foot test tubes, slightly tilted outward, each of which contained the body of a naked man, looking blankly at him!
  
  
  
  Compared to the corridors, the huge space was sufficiently lit. Nick entered the third row. Open steel staircases led at regular intervals into orbit above or below, and between opposing rows of glass coffins was a network of footbridges. He looked up. Monorails ran between tall shelving units; the test tubes could be operated or removed using a sort of gantry crane. It was completely quiet there. The thousands of eyes gave him goosebumps. Automatically, his hand reached into the pocket under his shirt, from which he pulled out a mask with slits for the eyes, nose and mouth. He was wearing a black and white mask, folded into a package no larger than a match booklet. For some reason I chose black. Silently, on crepe soles, he descended the first staircase, like a ship's staircase, and approached the first row of people with their grotesque appearance in test tubes. Then, at the back of the scaffolding, he discovered an intricate array of tubes and wires, resembling neatly attached colorful umbilical cords. He knelt down and looked through the glass tubes. Each stationary body had a white tube leading to where the navel would be, a blue tube to the belly area, a red wire to the head, and a green wire to the chest.
  
  
  
  He looked carefully at the nearby bodies and came to the conclusion that they had been placed head down, leaving their eyelids open. Was this mass murder or grave robbing on a particularly large scale? He had to swallow something and suppressed a chill. Surely you will find yourself in the midst of so many deaths! He carefully walked past a row of these empty bodies, and then something suddenly dawned on him. As far as he could see, all the bodies were the same. It is quite possible that they were created synthetically!
  
  
  
  He held his breath. Pete, of course, had gotten that far, too, probably through that hole in the fence they used to trap the overly curious. Knowing some details, he was able to evade the guards and get inside. They caught him, planned to drive his car into a chasm to make it look like an accident, but the driver probably panicked when this tough guy honked his horn and pulled over in Pete's car because Pete wasn't driving. Something along these lines apparently happened. But this could not be explained! Unless they wanted to grow a whole person and cut out the necessary organs from a synthetic prototype! Order your new heart and we will cut it for you from number G999. Nick gets goosebumps again. The male figures seemed complete in detail. What about women's? “Sorry, ma'am, but we don't have breasts or uteruses in stock.
  
  
  
  What did this red thread on your head mean? Could these figures finally gain the power of thought? Do you want to own as many Frankenstein's Monsters as possible? Did Reed-Farben plan to sell obedient, ready-made slaves? “Buy yourself a helper and use it for the rest of your life - the glucose to feed it will cost you less than a dollar a week!
  
  
  
  He watched the umbilical cords stretch across the room, like connecting wires from a huge telephone exchange. He discovered that they were passing through the wall through what appeared to be a removed double door. His gaze also fell on the door next door, marked ALWAYS KEEP CLOSED. He slipped inside and crawled behind a closed tank about three feet high.
  
  
  
  This room, not as large as the others, was located near the loading docks. Pipes ran from built-in stainless steel tanks to the outside wall, and umbilical cords coiled into thick white plastic pipes ended up connected to the tanks. This explained the nutrition problem. He heard quiet murmurs, clicking and buzzing noises and crawled along the row of bins towards the sound.
  
  
  
  A man in a white coat was dozing with his head in his hands next to a U-shaped switchboard. The whole thing resembled the control room of a power plant or an oil refinery, or a futuristic air traffic control installation. Behind the lectern, where countless lights created the impression of a city seen from an airplane at night, two giant computers and auxiliary devices occupied an entire wall. The buzzing sound was caused by the rotation of magnetic memory tapes. That's how these brains worked! But if they could program such a method of artificial reproduction at will - what would you want, a doctor, a lawyer, a Native American tribal leader, a soldier, a politician, a department head or a robber? - then they possessed power of unprecedented magnitude!
  
  
  
  The bell rang quietly at the pulpit. The man in white raised his head, looked at the sensors, pressed buttons, flipped the switch, looked at his watch... and lowered his head again. It was four o'clock, Nick noted. It's time to leave before dawn. You'll never guess what interesting traps this organization has in store for those who manage to slip through the barriers. They could already find the cut barbed wire. Instead of a company that had only commercial goals, Reed-Farben seemed armed to the teeth.
  
  
  
  He slipped back into the large room and closed the door. He cautiously crept past the stacks of “growth coffins,” as he mentally called them. He was six steps from the stairs he had descended when he suddenly felt something rushing secretly towards him from the passage between the walkways.
  
  
  
  He realized it too late. He was grabbed from behind and grabbed with both hands, almost knocking him off his feet. The strong arms seemed like leather-clad steel clamps.
  
  
  
  Before they could complete the capture, he launched a counter-offensive. He stomped his toes, kicked his heels against his shins, twisted backwards, bent and twisted. He had never experienced something so powerful, so imperturbable, and terrifying. The tentacles squeezed even tighter and caused him pain.
  
  
  
  He shifted his center of gravity to attempt a nagewaza throw or an atemiwaza attack, depending on the opponent's grip or defense. The trouble was that all his actions seemed perfect! His thumbs felt the vulnerable spots on his forearm.
  
  
  
  Nick paused, even though his brain was working faster than a relay rack. Again that sickening hospital smell of breath rushed past his nose. Nick, who spent months on the wrestling mat, practicing all the fighting techniques collectively called "judo", could know what perfection in this area is. When he gave up shizenhontai, or perfect balance, his opponent was willing to let him try a particular throw or move, but Nick knew he would be immediately beaten by an even better one based on his own choice...
  
  
  
  Nick stopped. His opponent did the same, his thumb creeping up to the nerve of Nick's arm and nearly breaking his ribs with another grab. With a powerful push of his legs, Nick threw his entire weight to the side - straight towards the nearest row of glass tubes, where the empty eyes of the “men” stared at the menacing struggle.
  
  
  
  The giant on his back swerved with him, and then pulled him away from the huge test tubes. Nick rushed towards the scaffolding again. This was the right tactic; his opponent did not want them to be damaged. The arms around him loosened their grip, one hand squeezing his wrist, the other trying to grab his arm to perform a randoricata hold. The latter drove Nick away by hitting the enemy with two fingers.
  
  
  
  Instead, he received a kick. He was thrown against the wall like the last of the inexperienced children. It looked a lot worse than it actually was because Nick let himself go; this interruption was very useful to him, and he allowed his enemy to think for a moment that he had won. With his arms turned inward and elbows bent, Nick landed on the wall in a zempo ukemi technique.
  
  
  
  Six meters from the one who knocked him down, he rushed upward again, immediately in perfect balance hidarisjizentai - the big toe of his left foot facing out.
  
  
  
  Suddenly he realized that he was now face to face with one of the "men" from the test tubes! Artificial man? He doubted. This one seemed very real and alive... He was wearing a white sleeveless shirt, white pants and blue sneakers without laces. The creature immediately assumed the shizen-hontai pose - perfect balance with its legs at the same level. Nick moved to migisjizentai - right thumb forward, but always in perfect central balance. His opponent stood motionless in front of him.
  
  
  
  But the showdown is not over yet. Like two cold, calculating, pulsating mercury lamps, pale blue eyes looked into Nick. Nick raised his right arm like a boxer starting his final round and wondered if he could throw an over-the-shoulder throw. His enemy's hand advanced an inch, but not enough to cause a cutback or an imbalance that would limit his options.
  
  
  
  If the computers taught these guys according to the programmers' instructions, Nick thought, the programmers would leave a lot to chance. They certainly didn't need to remind this robot what a good judoka was at this point.
  
  
  
  Nick thought about Frankenstein again. Now he himself was stuck in a fight with such a monster; he had the same rectangular head, but not those terrible scars. His monster looked much more well-groomed, like a perfect killer with a straight, impassive face. Two hundred and forty pounds, Nick estimates, and nothing but bones and muscle...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A film of what followed, on a black rubber floor amid the antiseptic and sterile-looking contents of a giant laboratory production facility, would cost a fortune. This kind of thing can no longer be imitated. Will you ever be able to bring together two beings, one of whom is fighting for his life, and the other is fighting or his life does not matter, and both of them are masters of judo, karate, savate and numerous variations of these fighting techniques?
  
  
  
  Every time Nick tried to escape or launch an attack, the white giant took over. They used Greco-Roman wrestling, jiu-jitsu, rough throws and strikes. For every attack there is a defense, for every defense there is a counteraction. And to almost any opposition... in any case, read the works of Dr. Kano, famous for his book Sodeturikomigosji.
  
  
  
  Nick didn't even find his superiority in judo with the AX instructors. His exceptionally keen gaze, his remarkable responsiveness and his constant good condition even forced him to resist them. But it's here...
  
  
  
  The creature attacked, defended, parried, blocked - everything was fine. At some point, Nick fell into the cruel stranglehold of judo: hadakajime. His lungs hurt, and when he freed himself from this deadly grip, he felt as if he had fallen over Niagara Falls, trapped in a beer barrel. He was convinced that he would not have been able to break free if he had not spent so many hours practicing special techniques with George Stevens.
  
  
  
  Nick's kicks to the monster's groin were accurately deflected by his crossed arms. He also used this defense himself and then grabbed his shin. Much to his delight, he managed to shake off his opponent... narrowly avoiding a katagura. Nick hit back, narrowly missing a blow to the solar plexus and a blow to the neck.
  
  
  
  He found that given the opportunity to achieve a perfect balance position, the monster would imitate him and leave the initiative to him. The creature reacted immediately to any attack or weakening of defense... and its defensive movements and attacks were extremely accurate.
  
  
  
  Nick quickly mentally scanned his weapon. Gas bombs and Hugo were not an option - he would never have had time to get the first one, and any well-trained judoka could easily fend off a knife attack.
  
  
  
  Then only Wilhelmina remained, but he had the strong impression that this room, as well as the next room, were equipped with an alarm system that responded to any loud noise. Looks like I'm programmed to fail, he thought.
  
  
  
  Programmed? They looked into each other's eyes at close range.
  
  
  
  Shall we try something now that is not in the program? - Nick asked.
  
  
  
  No answer. Blue eyes sparkled.
  
  
  
  Nick turned and ran.
  
  
  
  He didn't dare look back. Whatever speed he could achieve, he relied on his powerful leg muscles. In this sprint he set a time close to the record - now all we could do was hope they didn't produce guys who were also breaking records!
  
  
  
  He pulled his head between his shoulders and shook his arms. It's entirely possible that he broke some kind of record between their battle scene and the white tiled wall outside the control room. He quickly came closer. He threatened to run through it or smash his head on it.
  
  
  
  One can imagine that these creatures were trained - programmed - to chase. And, if they overtook you, they attacked, hit and threw you. It was all about speed - they probably didn't program them enough to stop in time. Anyone can stop. Another three meters from the wall. Nick ducked, braked, turned, and hit the wall with the same zenpo ukemi hauchi he had used when the monster threw him against the other wall. He turned around and pushed off in the opposite direction, like a swimmer on a turn.
  
  
  
  The monster slowed down and slowed down. Nick hit his feet at knee level and managed to sprain his ankle. The monster still had some good momentum when he slammed his head into the tiled wall.
  
  
  
  Nick rolled onto his side and lay there, breathing heavily. He had never felt so exhausted physically or mentally. The monster's head was twisted and pressed against its neck, as if it had sunk into a cement pond with no water in it. A quiet last whisper escaped from the open mouth, and a red stream dripped from the lips onto the rubber carpet. Blue eyes remained half open. They have lost their shine.
  
  
  
  Nick reached out and dipped two fingers into the red liquid. He felt it. It really was blood. Then, breathing heavily, he ran along the road he had come by.
  
  
  
  Someone discovered something. All the lights in the area were on. Near the hill along which he had arrived, three security vehicles were parked, scanning the area with searchlights. The guard who had gone on patrol with the Doberman came downstairs, gesticulating, and another guard met him from the gatekeeper's house with two other dogs.
  
  
  
  Nick ran past a large building, behind a low bush, and arced towards the main road. As he turned the corner and was about to head east, a huge figure blocked his way, Big, two hundred and forty pounds, blue eyes - a monster!!
  
  
  
  Nick froze. He felt himself growing cold inside. It was the person he had just seen die, or the thing that broke! A square head, a blank, handsome face, sparkling blue eyes reminiscent of a Siamese cat haughtily watching a puppy. But it was someone else, in dark clothes and a hat! Nick took a deep breath, So another one! The one who was making his rounds outside. Nick stepped aside. The creature did the same, saying, “Come with me, please.”
  
  
  
  The voice sounded full and musical, the pronunciation was excellent. He spoke as mechanically and smoothly as a radio or television announcer.
  
  
  
  'What is your name?' - Nick asked quietly.
  
  
  
  'John. Please come with me.'
  
  
  
  “They should have called you Frank II. I just met your buddy Frank the First.
  
  
  
  “Come with me, please.”
  
  
  
  Nick pulled Wilhelmina as fast as he could and held the weapon right under the creature's nose. - Step aside, John!
  
  
  
  John walked towards him, diving right past him as he raised his hand. Another one, Nick thought, perfectly programmed to defeat all types of weapons. He shot John twice in the left kneecap, knowing full well that the first bullet hit the center of the disc, but he did not know whether these creatures had a sensitive popliteal fossa. John collapsed like a tower whose base had been detonated by an explosive charge. Blue eyes turned white. So he felt pain.
  
  
  
  Nick searched him for weapons, keeping his eyes on the life-threatening arms and legs. He found nothing and was not attacked again. Perhaps a strong pain impulse in these synthetic people caused the same short circuit in the brain as in real people.
  
  
  
  Nick ran across the lawn, still protected by the bushes between him and the gatekeeper's house. By the time the guard with the dog came to see who was shooting, N3 was just a small figure scrambling down the hill towards an opening under the fence off the main road. Just before he was completely out of sight of the factory and the factory grounds, Nick looked back. Reed-Farben security seemed to be very busy early this morning. He wondered if any of the men who raced in cars, chased with dogs, climbed up the hill he had snuck up, or trudged across the lawn after the Doberman who got wind of the new trail knew what the deal was? Probably no. Synthetic guards were tasked with ensuring that the vulnerable core of a large building remained inaccessible to outsiders. He took off his black mask and put it in his pocket.
  
  
  
  He crawled under the fence, left clear tracks on the road towards Denver, then crossed the road in a few easy leaps and walked along a rocky area into the forest. Finally, crossing the abandoned pastures to the east as quickly as possible, he reached the neat little house of Bob Half-Raven in three-quarters of an hour. Nick knocked on the back door. A dog barked inside, which was immediately drowned out by Bob's commanding tone. The big man opened the door, and Nick had the feeling that a shotgun or carbine was within the reach of one of those powerful hands.
  
  
  
  Nick said, “I need a ride now. About ten miles, Bob. Three seconds later, the Indian's black eyes seemed to draw conclusions from Nick's black clothes, the cool, still dim dawn and the deserted highway. “Sit down,” Bob said. 'I'm coming.'
  
  
  
  Bob's Camaro sat in the garage with the doors open. Nick found a piece of rope on the workbench and tied it to one of his rubber boots. When Bob came and sat down, Nick picked up his shoe. “It’s better if I drag this thing a few miles behind your car.” This keeps dogs away from your home. They'll think I wanted to steal your car, but it didn't have the keys.
  
  
  
  - Do they know who you are? - Bob drove slowly down the driveway. Nick threw his shoe out of the door and onto the road.
  
  
  
  'No. I don't believe they have any idea. Turn right please.
  
  
  
  -Are you looking for Pete's killer?
  
  
  
  'Yes.' - It was a half-answer, but it was true.
  
  
  
  “If they have a really good tracker, they won't let that shoe fool them. Such a person will soon understand what happened.
  
  
  
  “They must be men with Dobermans and security officers from the area. Is there anyone who can do something about this?
  
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  
  Nick thanked Bob when they reached the sawmill. The black eyes were incomprehensible when Bob said, “As long as you help Martha or look for Pete's killer, I will help you. But if you do anything to piss Martha off, we're screwed.
  
  
  
  “Martha is my friend,” Nick replied. He walked down the overgrown path to retrieve his car.
  
  
  
  At seven o'clock Nick left the factory on a heavy road train for the lowlands. He left the trailer at the loading dock, hitched the empty one to his tractor, and was just in time to meet George Stevens at the Fort Logan junction. Even if Reed-Farben had sent a man after him—and he was looking for him—it would have looked innocent. You stopped to drink a cup of coffee from a thermos and decided to exchange a few words with tourists in the parking lot.
  
  
  
  This time the tourist was a thin, gray-haired man in an ordinary dark blue suit, who could be George Stevens's rich uncle. It was Hawk, extremely direct and observant, but thanks to the fact that he had been communicating with him for a long time, Nick could read concern in a few extra wrinkles in his lively, kind eyes. Without further ado, Nick said, “Hi, George. Welcome to the Rockies, sir.
  
  
  
  As they stood by the road, admiring the mountains, he slipped Hawk a tape on which he recorded the events of the last few hours in the motel. Without looking at them as they spoke, he verbally summarized his actions. When his quiet story ended, Hawk said, “It’s not much yet. But it may be the dirtiest business we've ever encountered. By the way, those last words from Pete - do you believe he was trying to say that they make people?
  
  
  
  'Specifically. Pete was a good reporter. He collected material for his story... but he did not have the opportunity to write it down."
  
  
  
  “George,” Hawk said, “tell Nick what happened at headquarters.”
  
  
  
  George told Nick what the two generals had done. Nick breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad we got it right. What did the coroner say?"
  
  
  
  “There weren't many remains there to make sense of. Maybe Division will do something now that we know they were robots.
  
  
  
  “I doubt it,” Nick said. “These samples were grown in natural conditions. I think there's nothing left but flesh and blood. Can we link this headquarters raid to Reed-Farben?
  
  
  
  “Not right away,” Hawk said. “What we can provide as evidence is only our statement that the car came from their warehouse.”
  
  
  
  “Then go and look there.”
  
  
  
  “We've already done this. They have vehicles there and some chemicals in bulk. The guard has disappeared. A call to headquarters indicated that their Nebraska facility was not being used.”
  
  
  
  “They drove us into the middle of the maze,” Nick said with a grin. "We don't know which direction to go."
  
  
  
  “We could raid a factory complex in Colorado,” Hawk said thoughtfully, “but if it looks as harmless as their company in Nebraska, we would have achieved nothing and would have exposed ourselves.” And Pearly Abbott will make sure we are turned away in Washington. Nick, are you ready to act on what Pete said? I won't tell you what to do, but you have to assume that he found something there.
  
  
  
  - I'm almost sure of that.
  
  
  
  “Then hit hard if necessary.” Far from being research scientists who are doing a favor for humanity with artificial organs, they are cunning criminals, no matter how respected they may be. But what do they do with these synthetic people?
  
  
  
  “I could think of a hundred different uses for this,” Nick said. "Ninety-nine of which were bad."
  
  
  
  “I'd like to see this Marvin Benn,” Hawk said thoughtfully. “This man is lurking suspiciously in the background.”
  
  
  
  “Completely legal! An anonymous figure like him could buy up all of Nevada."
  
  
  
  “Benn is ready for this. He's working on an arbitration case that will bring him or Reed-Farben at least half a million a year..."
  
  
  
  'What does it mean?'
  
  
  
  “He buys and sells stocks, supplies and foreign currencies for small but reliable profits because he has built a good communication system. That's a different story, Nick.
  
  
  
  Nick whistled softly. “A person who has developed such strength and is able to support himself in this way is a genius. You'd almost think...
  
  
  
  Hawk nodded. - 'This is Judas!'. He stood there like an expensively dressed tourist, admiring the distant mountain peaks. "We're looking for him."
  
  
  
  Nick snorted contemptuously. "Can't we track this guy down, despite our computers and seventeen intelligence agencies?"
  
  
  
  “We can’t even find rent receipts from our Saigon office,” Hawk said sarcastically. “They told the Defense Intelligence Agency that they had over one hundred and fifty linear meters of archival boxes with raw data. Somewhere inside there is the information I need. He took the wrapper off the cigar. “You should really study the history of George Washington, guys. He had no money, few people, few employees, and he was surrounded by traitors. He worked eighteen hours a day. In one year he organized an excellent intelligence service. He had brains. Nick and George were silent. When Hawk gave examples from American history, he listened carefully - he always did it with great inspiration. “We live in an era of violence,” Hawk continued. “It's in the air. Keep an eye on them, Nick. I believe they have big plans. They are especially dangerous. Greta may be the key. Are you meeting her tonight?
  
  
  
  - I was going to meet.
  
  
  
  'Great job.' Hawk relaxed for a moment and his eyes sparkled. “Martha may be more interesting, but you should contact Greta for information. So our life does violence to our personal preferences...
  
  
  
  They discussed what Pearly Abbott had been up to lately, including his anonymous influence on federal highway planning laws and the rapid growth of the contracting companies in which he was a secret partner. None of them asked the big question: How involved is Perley in Reed-Farben affairs? They let doubt work in his favor until he was caught.
  
  
  
  Nick took a shower by five. Now he was in Martha's restaurant - he was going to order a steak. As soon as Nick sat down, Bob Half-Crow approached his table: “Jim, Martha has gone somewhere.”
  
  
  
  Nick made the same inscrutable face as the Indian's and looked at him. 'When? What's happened?'
  
  
  
  'Nothing happened. She came around nine o'clock and said that she would be gone for a while, but would be back before lunchtime. After that, no one saw her.
  
  
  
  - And her car?
  
  
  
  'She's gone.'
  
  
  
  Maybe she's worried and took a day or so off.
  
  
  
  Black eyes looked at him intently. “You know Martha, and I know her even better.” She doesn't do those things.
  
  
  
  “Then do you have any ideas?”
  
  
  
  “This Rick guy has been hanging out here for quite some time and he didn't look happy at all. But today I didn't see him at all.
  
  
  
  
  Bob turned and left. Nick's steak was tender and cooked to perfection. He ate it without pleasure. At the appointed time—ten minutes past six—he called the number Greta had given him. Another woman answered the call and asked who she was talking to. Nick used the name they agreed on: William Deutsch. A few seconds later Greta answered the phone. - Hello. I'm so glad you called.
  
  
  
  'Do you want to go bowling? In the same place - about eight o'clock?
  
  
  
  "Yes Yes. Fine.' She hung up.
  
  
  
  Nick hung up slowly. Greta's voice sounded strange. This is an unusually very short conversation. You could tell there was fear in her voice.
  
  
  
  When she parked the red Porsche and got into the Ford with him, he immediately noticed that she was nervous. As they approached their secluded place, he asked her to light a cigarette for him and out of the corner of his eye he noticed how her hands were shaking. Nerves? She was terrified! And this despite the fact that Greta Stoltz was not so easy to upset. He said, “Admit it, honey.”
  
  
  
  Her voice was excited. - What did you say?'
  
  
  
  “Tell me what happened,” he asked soothingly. "Someone scared you today."
  
  
  
  She grabbed his hand and pressed herself against him. He found a familiar clearing among the trees, backed towards her, turned off the light and kissed her tenderly. “Calm down, honey. I'll make sure no one hurts you.
  
  
  
  “You don’t know them,” she said, and every word was filled with despair. "They are…"
  
  
  
  - Samples?
  
  
  
  She tensed and held her breath. 'Why did you say that?'
  
  
  
  “All these big people are turning into monsters. There are no other people in the world for them.”
  
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered, “that’s absolutely correct.” They really are monsters.
  
  
  
  'Who in particular? Ben? Rick? Nimura?
  
  
  
  “Nimura only sees his own work. But the other two - ugh! And then it burst, as if a safety valve had opened. “Honey, our ideas to make money on new Reed-Farben developments were completely stupid. I knew we had made some breakthroughs. They told me they could grow artificial hearts and other organs. I saw them. But today I saw something different. We grow complete artificial humans and then remove the organs. But there's something else. Today Rick showed me the man, I mean the real man, that they are experimenting on. I had to try it. Transplantation of synthetic tissue to see if it can be made sustainable. Rick told me that the artificial organs work very well when put into monkeys and humans, but all the humans they breed will die within 10-12 days of being removed from their place unless they are reinserted through certain channels for recharging.”
  
  
  
  “I kind of suspected it,” Nick said. “Why did they suddenly take you on this project?”
  
  
  
  “They are also a little shocked. And I'm not alone.' She laughed bitterly. “Early this morning, someone broke into a large building and killed one of the prototypes, programmed as a security guard. They don't know whether it was an ordinary robber or a spy."
  
  
  
  - Industrial spy?
  
  
  
  - That's what they say, yes. But I think they are afraid of the government. Fair. The person to whom I transplanted this tissue did not die.
  
  
  
  — A well-built guy with red hair?
  
  
  
  She lost her breath. 'How did you know that?'
  
  
  
  "Someone who looks like this is missing."
  
  
  
  "ABOUT." She clung to him sadly. "That's not all..."
  
  
  
  'Tell me. It will lift your spirits.
  
  
  
  “They locked Martha Wagner in the laboratory. I wasn't supposed to see her, but when you work in a secret laboratory, it's hard to hide anything. This is one huge room with laboratory tables and instruments.”
  
  
  
  Nick felt cold. -What are they going to do with her? - He asked quietly, trying not to look worried.
  
  
  
  “Maybe they’ll use her for a transplant,” Greta said sadly. “They are devils. Or Rick is trying to hook her up with one of the synthetic males. Of course this is impossible; at least I think so. But that’s his mindset.”
  
  
  
  “These guys are asking for trouble,” Nick remarked. “Maybe we should get the police involved?”
  
  
  
  - Whatever you think is best. I don't represent anything for them. I know people like that...
  
  
  
  -You mean from the past?
  
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “Are Rick and Benn fluent in German?”
  
  
  
  'Oh yes. We often speak German.
  
  
  
  Nick stroked her chin and noticed that it was wet. He wiped the cold sweat from his neck. He suggested that she go to the police to see what she had to say. So Benn and Rick were crazy enough to keep Hubie and Martha locked in the lab, unless...
  
  
  
  He asked. - “What do they do with such an artificial person when he dies?”
  
  
  
  “Imagine an acid exterminator,” she said dully. “Something like a waste processing plant.”
  
  
  
  - Is this in a secret laboratory?
  
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  
  “Do you think if we get the police involved, they’ll throw that red-haired man you’re dealing with and Martha into that exterminator?”
  
  
  
  "Oh!" Greta grabbed his hand. - That's why they are, of course, on the other side of the laboratory. Certainly! Oh my God...'
  
  
  
  “I noticed there was a lot of traffic around your house when I drove the truck past it today,” Nick noted. “I wonder what they're up to. There were eleven trailers lined up on the loading dock, including mine. More than I've ever seen there. If you know there is no product to move out of that building, you start thinking about it. Do you believe they want to take these artificial people somewhere else?
  
  
  
  - Of course, I think so. Maybe they were just shocked.
  
  
  
  “These people are not easily frightened.” But they have nerves. Only—if they can make evidence disappear in a few minutes, no one can prove anything.”
  
  
  
  “Then why do you say they are nervous?” Rick didn't look nervous at all. More like deadly calm.
  
  
  
  “I believe they killed Pete Wagner. Now they wonder if he put his suspicions down on paper. That's why they captured his sister. I think to test her with a lie detector. That's not to mention your idea of Rick and his jokes about breeding. They wanted to make Pete's death look like an accident, but their plan failed."
  
  
  
  Greta sighed. “What madness. I thought I left this behind forever...
  
  
  
  Nick stroked her arm soothingly, then turned to him and kissed her. She clung to him like a frightened child, and not like a beautiful woman in adulthood - an age that she definitely would not have been given, by the way. She whispered in his ear, “I saved some money. Let's get away from these horrors."
  
  
  
  'No. We'll take advantage of this. You have to take me to the parking lot of that big building. You know those fir trees in your driveway?
  
  
  
  She gasped. 'No! You can not…
  
  
  
  "Bet I can." - he said firmly. “I will not allow this gang to kill innocents with impunity, as they want to do to these two prisoners. And baby, if they have something big going on, I'll just tell them I want some of the loot. I mean you and me together, of course, but I won't mention your name in case I mess up. I will...'
  
  
  
  'No no!' - Greta screamed. 'I do not want it...'
  
  
  
  'Fine. Then I will go alone, on a dangerous path...
  
  
  
  It took him twenty minutes to stop her tears and convince her that he was serious. It took another twenty minutes to get to Alpine, dress in black clothes and pack the equipment. This time it was a belt of weapons of war and destruction - heavy with plastic bombs C5 and C6 and the deadly Grote Pierre...
  
  
  
  Very carefully, invisible to Porsche from the outside, he followed the route as quickly as the turns allowed. We cross the main road, then a sharp turn to the gatehouse, a short pause, after which the guards wave the famous red car of Dr. Stoltz through. Stop at the fir trees fifteen meters from the main entrance to the building. He slipped out of the car without saying a word and heard her drive away. A dark shadow remained among the low trees, where it was out of reach of the powerful spotlights behind the thick spruce greenery.
  
  
  
  Almost at the same time that Nick convinced Greta to help him, Kenny Abbott, Chet Shirtcliffe and Bart Auchincloss were received in Benn's office, where the big boss, Robert Rick and Pearly were waiting for them..... Dr. Nimura and Dr. von Dirksen were just leaving . Kenny winced at the sickening smell coming from the two scientists. A stench appropriate to their profession, he thought. They gathered at the conference table and sat down at Rick's sign. Only Benn couldn't do it. He remained at his desk across the room, an ominous figure with no expression behind his antiseptic mask.
  
  
  
  Rick said, “We have called you gentlemen this evening as our plans are rapidly approaching completion. Mr. Shircliffe was able to bring pilots and aircraft together to deliver our first new product. Do you remember Chet?
  
  
  
  “Of course,” Kenny replied. It was always good to say something that the big boys couldn't touch, and it showed that you were up to date. — It was pilot Perley. We replaced him with Jim Perry."
  
  
  
  There was dead silence.
  
  
  
  Kenny had the uneasy feeling that what he said had completely paralyzed Benn and Rick. The mask of the ghostly ghost behind the table twisted awkwardly, and then looked straight at him. He didn't feel comfortable. Rick leaned forward and turned his head. He sent Kenny a look that made him flinch.
  
  
  
  'Who is this?' - asked Rick.
  
  
  
  “Jim Perry,” Kenny repeated. “He works for us as a truck driver. He did his job well. And he turned out to be a first-class pilot, an excellent pilot. Is this true or not, Uncle Perley?
  
  
  
  Perley's nerves sensed the threat in the air, but he didn't know where it came from. He answered carefully: “He’s a good pilot, yes.”
  
  
  
  Rick coughed and cleared his throat. — One of our drivers? Does it fly with you too? But he is not on our staff list...
  
  
  
  Kenny caught on quickly and said with relief, “He just got hired. He will be on the next list.
  
  
  
  A stream of objects flew over Kenny's ears. The boss - Mr. Benn - threw them at him across his desk! The left throw was too high. Kenny instinctively ducked. The paperweight, a 40mm grenade welded to a silver base, struck him closer, tearing a piece of skin off Kenny's head, causing pain. Kenny screamed.
  
  
  
  'Hello!' - said Pearly, starting to talk gibberish with excitement. "Raus!" - Benn roared and began to spew curses in several languages.
  
  
  
  
  Kenny didn't understand these words, but they were clearly curses and curses. He saw a mysterious hidden hand appear. Made of metal! Artificial hand! And even at such a distance, he suddenly suspected that the black protrusion on this instrument was a pistol. Kenny screamed. The weapon was pointed at him. He tried to jump out of his chair. It toppled over and he fell to the ground with it. A crash echoed through the office...
  
  
  
  While the sound was still echoing, Rick shouted, "Nein!" He jumped up, ran up to Benn and spoke to him in German.
  
  
  
  Chet Shircliffe and Bart Auchincloss beat Kenny and Perley by several yards in the race to the door. They managed to open it and get out, but Cousin and Uncle burst through the doorway at the same time and were stuck there for a moment. Sticky sweat ran down Kenny's back as he tried to escape, waiting for the bullet. His uncle pushed him hard. The few seconds it took Kenny to kneel around the corner of the doorway seemed like an eternity. Then he jumped up and ran after the others.
  
  
  
  The electric door to the hall was open. The night watchman stood at his desk, watching Purley's retreat. 'What's happened?' He exclaimed in alarm as Kenny flew past him and disappeared outside.
  
  
  
  Rick, a quick thinker, poked his head through the office door and bellowed, “It’s just an experiment. Explosion. Nothing special. Close this door and remain at your post. Hidden among the fir trees, Nick witnessed a breathtaking sight. There they ran out of the main door - first the stranger, then Auchincloss, then Pearly Abbott and finally Kenny. They rushed to their cars in the executive parking lot and sped off at full throttle, tires squealing and hands shaking on the steering wheel.
  
  
  
  Nick thought quickly, expecting that there would be more pursuers.
  
  
  
  When it turned out that this was not the case, he came to the conclusion that anything that could create excitement within would work in his favor. He ran across the lawn and burst through the double doors. The guard stood with his back to him, checking that the remote-controlled inner door was properly closed. It remained closed until it was unlocked using the handle on the remote control or the latch from the inside.
  
  
  
  The guard was quickly knocked down and gagged. A two-finger strike that didn't hit any harder than necessary. Nick put the handkerchief in his mouth. He tied his wrists and ankles tightly with nylon cords he pulled from his belt, like a cowboy tying the legs of a cattle together.
  
  
  
  Nick pushed the guard behind his desk and opened the inner door with a button. He was standing in a long corridor when the door slammed behind him. Suddenly it became quiet.
  
  
  
  He silently walked past the office door. Behind the other he heard voices. He decided not to risk being discovered - his main interest was the secret laboratory. It must be near the control room he discovered during his previous infiltration of the building. A room with a man in white at a keyboard.
  
  
  
  The adjacent door in the corridor delayed him for a moment. In big blue letters it said:
  
  
  
  
  DANGER, ACCESS BY SPECIALLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
  
  
  
  
  He concluded that they had at least two types of permits - blue and red. "I have full permission," he muttered as he passed the door.
  
  
  
  This section of the corridor was the same as he had seen before - completely lined with glossy white tiles. Either it was the same one he entered from the back of the building, or the floor below. In the distance he saw people walking back and forth. One approached him. Nick rushed into the office. Among the clothes hanging on a metal hanger against the wall, he found a long apron. This is what he put on; then he took a white mask from a pouch on his belt, with which he covered part of his head.
  
  
  
  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall. Picturesque, he thought, the abominable snowman visiting Dracula's children. Because the apron makes him look like a local employee
  
  
  
  If he wanted to take something out of his belt, he took out two Grand Pierres and held them in his hand, their flesh-colored rings sliding along his middle finger.
  
  
  
  There was a sign on the wall, like the ones used in hospitals to record patient information. He took it with him as he walked out into the hallway. Several people came closer, most in white, some wearing antiseptic masks. He quickly stepped towards them, heading towards the stairs he had used earlier.
  
  
  
  Like a doctor mentally preoccupied with the data in his hand, Nick walked past some of these people. He didn't look up, although two of them turned to give him a questioning look. Now he did look like a giant snowman come to life, but anyone who looked closely would find that his dark pants were not up to code.
  
  
  
  He quickly and easily descended the iron stairs and passed the motionless artificial people. He had to get around three people wheeling several giant test tubes on a cart into a metal shipping container that could hold six people. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched as one of them carefully loosened the umbilical cord.
  
  
  
  When he reached the door with the red warnings, he didn't hesitate for a second. He opened it, entered and immediately closed the door behind him. He returned to the control room. As he walked past the switchboard, he nodded to the man in white sitting behind it, without looking at him. He walked through another door with red warnings, closed it behind him and found...
  
  
  
  So that's the secret. He stood in front of a stainless steel door with a large metal dial, like a safe. There were no gaps where he could insert explosives, and with them, by the way, he would blow himself to pieces in this small space.
  
  
  
  Even when Nick was truly backed into a corner, he rarely expressed his feelings, and now he cursed, although so quietly that it was barely audible. He tried the dial, studied it, felt it carefully to see if it could make him a little wiser. Nothing. They didn't do things like they did in the Jimmy Valentine days. He thought about the man at the table. Will it force him to open the door?
  
  
  
  But what if he didn't get into the top category and didn't know the combination?
  
  
  
  The door through which he entered swung open. Nick pretended to be scared, dropped the board, crawled on all fours, picked it up and dropped it again.
  
  
  
  “Oh, forgive me,” said the man in white with the doctor’s briefcase. "Help you?"
  
  
  
  “Oh, I’m so stupid,” Nick muttered from behind his white mask. “And I took my glasses off because they fog up through the mask and I always leave that thing lying around.” He brushed himself off and added bluntly, “I’ll just come back and get it.”
  
  
  
  He went outside. A man came in with a bag—no doubt with a sympathetic smile, Nick thought. Nick gave him three seconds, then turned and walked back into the room. The man has just opened a mysterious door. Nick hit him with a Big Pierre and used his free hand to punch and punch with two fingers - fast, effective and without permanent damage, and you could do it if you did it right. When such blows are delivered by a non-expert, they usually have fatal consequences.
  
  
  
  They found themselves in a small hall, beyond which loomed a large laboratory with a maze of tools, mechanisms, long tables, shiny glass and shiny white tiles. Nick entered the large room.
  
  
  
  Five men worked or played a devilish game among pieces of meat and all kinds of organs pulsating in glass vessels and bottles. He saw Martha Wagner lying on the operating table. Immediately after this, he also discovered Hubie Dumont. It was disgusting...
  
  
  
  Hubie was lying on a cutting table, the top of which was partially covered with a rubber sheet. He was still alive, but he was almost unrecognizable. His severed body and swollen head looked terrible. Nick estimated the deformed body at two hundred and fifty pounds. They opened up Hubie's chest and abdomen, and judging by the stitches and bandages, there were tubes coming out of his body in several places. There were blood stains underneath, a purple mark on the tarp, and he had a bandage over his eyes. Apparently, one of the executioners had a moment of weakness...
  
  
  
  As Nick stood by the shredded meat mass on the cutting table watching the body, his mind went back to the old days. He saw Hubie as he knew him before - healthy, young, proud of his strength and full of cheerfulness. The image then distorted into a hideous body that lay there. Nick wondered if it was still possible to cure him, but realized that this was impossible.
  
  
  
  He turned away and walked slowly through the large laboratory, looking as if he was studying the tablet he still carried with him.
  
  
  
  Marvin Benn’s hysteria was cruel, but short-lived: “In our service! - he yelled at Rick. - In our service, damn it! Why couldn't you find him, Heinrich? Have you finally found out who killed Felix? Yes exactly! Because Perry was the man in Dumont's room. He's also the one who broke in here yesterday and killed Pfik 287. And even though we programmed him so well, he could live longer...
  
  
  
  Rick wasn't too worried. He and Benn had suffered too much together for this catastrophe to separate them as inveterate friends. He himself was more interested in facts, like a man studying an extremely complex problem. “You better not use my old name, Marvin.” Today or tomorrow someone may recognize him. Young Abbott is indeed a weakling, but still, I understand the delay in getting Perry's name on the staff list.
  
  
  
  "Bah!" - Benn snorted indignantly. He leaned back in his chair, shrugged, and began automatically loading the pistol built into his prosthetic arm. “He managed to win Pearlie’s trust in such a cunning way!” "Great pilot." If only they would come down. And what did he learn here? Imagine... a driver on our trucks! It's almost unbelievable... Rick calmly rubbed his chin, like a general staff contemplating a flanking movement of an army unit while the main force makes a maneuver. His uncle once recommended such an operation, in which 175,000 people were killed, but since the French and English lost an equal number of men plus two hundred meters of ground, the uncle received a high reward. “Our security system, Marvin, has been impenetrable until now. Where could he be from, Interpol, AX, CIA, FBI? Or from our competitors - the Sicilians Capallaro? Or that British organization that is becoming more inventive and dangerous every day?
  
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Benn answered. “But if it’s the AX person who’s already caused us so much trouble, then I’m almost ready to go down with him if I can catch him.”
  
  
  
  “Then warn me when the time comes.” It was Rick's dry humor.
  
  
  
  “Almost ready,” he said. Benn picked up the phone, looked at his address book, and dialed a number. 'Hello! Hello? Is this Duke?
  
  
  
  He listened, nodded and spoke decisively. -You have a new driver, don't you? A certain Jim Perry. This is a police spy. Benn held the receiver slightly away from his ear. Rick heard a crash; it sounded like the chatter of a maddened mechanical doll.
  
  
  
  "Calm down, calm down." Benn stopped talking. No, of course you couldn't do anything about it. But if you have the opportunity to send him... into the forest, let's say, so deep into the forest that he will never bother us again, your reward will be ten times greater.
  
  
  
  When Benn hung up, Rick nodded admiringly. "Your man from the expedition?"
  
  
  
  'Yes. it was Rainey. The old-fashioned tell-tale system still works best. With a large number of people and regular payment - if you have the money for it. He couldn't help but notice Perry. But if he appears tomorrow, he will be captured.
  
  
  
  The intercom buzzed. Benn looked up in surprise and pressed the button.
  
  
  
  A low voice was heard in the office. Mr. Ben. We caught a man in a secret laboratory. Martha Wagner called his name. His name is Jim. Big guy. He was wearing a mask. Dark hair....'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Duke Rainey hung up after talking to Benn. Without saying a word to his wife, he ran out of the house. As he accelerated his car to 100 miles per hour on the way to the factory gates, he sat and cursed incessantly. He pulled up to the truck that was waiting for Jim Perry and raced across the plant to the loading dock next to the main building.
  
  
  
  He was overwhelmed by the crowd at this time of night. The men were loading iron boxes into a pair of trailers, but the 4107 that Perry would be towing sat empty and abandoned.
  
  
  
  Rainey plugged it in and then drove to a charging station a few hundred yards away, where he parked it right in front of the repair shop. He tampered with the trailer's brake system, then drained some brake fluid and poured some water into the reservoir. He then drove the trailer back to the loading dock and parked the truck where he found it.
  
  
  
  It was only when he went home that he stopped swearing. It was at the very last moment! Fool! He must have felt it when Perry was so ready to get involved in this drug business. At least that's what Perry might be thinking about tomorrow when he tries to brake downhill. He hoped that Perry would fall into the abyss at Burro Bend. Straight down more than a hundred meters.
  
  
  
  Jim Perry had very different concerns at the time. In his attempt to look like a man who has his own business there. he walked through the large laboratory in search of an opportunity to free Martha and Hubie from this hell. As he stood and looked at Martha, he saw her eyelids blink. Either she woke up from the anesthesia that was administered to her, or she gave him a signal. One of the white coats approached her to feel her pulse. Nick stood motionless, like a doctor during a consultation.
  
  
  
  The doctor said through his mask: “She must be recovering now.” What if I give her another shot?
  
  
  
  
  Nick shook his head slowly and authoritatively. The doctor looked at him, shrugged and turned away.
  
  
  
  They caught him after the second round of the laboratory. Four robots were rushing towards him. He had no chance, he was no match for them.
  
  
  
  The fight against one perfectly programmed synthetic human was almost equal - against four it required space and time. They caught him as he turned away and dove to the side. He didn't even fall to the floor. One held his left arm, another his right, a third attacked him from the front, and a fourth made a very precise circular motion to apply a death grip from behind. The two on either side held his arms, his elbows pressed against their bent forearms. They could break his strong arms like matches if they wanted.
  
  
  
  As he stood pinned down so helplessly, the man he had knocked out the door approached. He pressed the wet rag to his neck. He looked at Nick with his hard green eyes over the gauze mask. So, friend. You still owe me something. Who are you?'
  
  
  
  “I’m from Life,” Nick replied. “We always smell it when there is news.”
  
  
  
  “Come up with another excuse,” the man said. He walked up to the table where Martha was lying and shouted: “Bring him here. Take off this mask from him.
  
  
  
  Nick didn't touch the floor with his feet when he was carried there. The robot behind him removed his mask.
  
  
  
  More white coats gathered around him, like assistants in an operation. The man holding the compress to his neck said, “I don’t know him at all. Does anyone here know this man? When no one answered, he said: “Ammonia.” Someone handed him a bottle. He opened it and brought it to Martha's nose. She winced and sat down. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets.
  
  
  
  The synthetic men pushed Nick towards the table. Martha's gaze turned to him. Despondently she said, "Oh, Jim... I'm so sorry..."
  
  
  
  “Jim,” the man said. "Jim who?"
  
  
  
  “McNulty,” Nick answered.
  
  
  
  “I think so,” said the other dryly. He walked to the back of the lab and they could hear the sound of his voice as he talked on the phone.
  
  
  
  Nick flexed his fingers slightly. Maybe he could still reach Grote Pierres. But every time he raised his leg even a centimeter, he was instantly pinned down. His arms were about to break, and the one who had him in a death grip from behind was not giving him the chance to breathe.
  
  
  
  And he couldn't use the Pierres. The wonderful, deadly gas bombs, the pride of Stuart, the genius wizard AX, will kill Martha and Hubie, although this may be exactly what Hubie wanted. The spheres contained a lethal charge at incredibly high pressure that spread so efficiently just seconds after opening that you couldn't even see the tiny particles. In fact, the pressure was so great that if you threw one into a fire, the explosion would be as powerful as two kilograms of TNT. The pin was held in place by back pressure and was only able to be pulled out thanks to a small equalizing valve. Beautiful thing. The only weapon that served him well - and he couldn't use it... The man who called walked over to meet Benn and Rick.
  
  
  
  The appearance of the leader and his minions made a strong impression. Six synthetic men dressed in black marched behind him, lining the wall like bodyguards.
  
  
  
  Benn, short and limping, looking unnaturally stiff, like a broken mechanical toy soldier, walked up to Nick and looked at him questioningly. - So, Mr. Perry, now you're caught! Because it will cost you your life. After a minute. I always wanted to see your face. The face of a man who cost me millions." He turned to Rick: “Can you tell it’s him? Does it look like the photos from Jakarta?
  
  
  
  Rick looked at Nick carefully from several angles, then shrugged. 'Maybe. Same length and shape of the skull. The hair is different, but you can do something about it. In any case, I propose to eliminate it.
  
  
  
  "We will do it, yes we will do it." Benn's voice sounded a little louder through the mask. A wet spot formed around his mouth, which interested Nick because of its irregular shape. “It’s you,” Benn said decisively. 'You drove my allies, the Chinese, to the point where they destroyed my Portuguese kits.....
  
  
  
  He paused and Nick said, “I’ve never heard of you.” What are Portuguese kits?
  
  
  
  'You're lying! You were also in Dumont's room at Forge Crossing. Are you both from the same organization?
  
  
  
  “I don’t know any Dumont.”
  
  
  
  - Well, if you don't care. Pfiek 391. Garbage destroyer. Pfik 448, you will get the person at the fourteenth table...
  
  
  
  He shouted words like a drill sergeant, and the synthetic humans responded like obedient soldiers. One lifted the lid from a hole in the floor more than three feet in diameter, then pressed the switch. The oily substance in the well boiled, bubbled and smoked. Another brought Hubie wrapped in plastic wrap.
  
  
  
  Throw it there.
  
  
  
  Hubie - or Hubie's corpse - was pushed over the edge into a murky dark pit and instantly disappeared. There was a short squeal, as if a meat grinder was working underwater, and then nothing. The liquid continued to bubble. “Now it’s your turn,” Benn told Nick. “I would like to put my mind at ease in your case, but I don’t know how much damage you’ve already done.” You are too dangerous for us. I have carefully studied your tricks.
  
  
  
  “Okay, my dear Benn,” Nick said. - What about that woman? She has nothing to do with the matter.
  
  
  
  Nick instinctively felt Benn smiling under his mask. 'Oh yes. But she called you Jim. Be that as it may, I have never wasted good female flesh. Pfiek 528 - take this woman to my plane. You are responsible for her.
  
  
  
  Benn stepped back, away from the dangerous hole in the floor. He couldn't resist the temptation to show Nick how one of the synthetic humans hurriedly left his post against the wall, wrapped Martha in plastic wrap and carried her over his shoulder like a rolled up rug.
  
  
  
  “Wait for us,” Benn barked after him.
  
  
  
  Nick said, “What are you going to do with these synthetic men? I don't see how you can make money from this, or get smarter. So, are you completely crazy?
  
  
  
  Benn approached him. - 'Psycho? I? Yes, I sometimes ask myself this question. Haven't we succeeded? As for getting smarter, don't worry about it. The world will be in disbelief. I might even start a new empire. You know as well as I do that in an era of violence, the rich are so afraid that they demand even more means of violence. More weapons - more police - and death for criminals! He raised his voice, but now lowered it again. “I see them all, curled up in the dust before my imperturbable, synthetic people. Pay or die. Do what I say or die! Rulers and financial tycoons will be jostling to kiss my shoes! Perhaps they will shout - take it all from us! Leave some for me and kill others, but not me!
  
  
  
  “Probably not all,” Nick said, but the words stuck in his throat.
  
  
  
  "You're all like that!" Benn roared. - Because I also promise them peace and order!
  
  
  
  A scream came from the entrance where a man was waiting with Marta over his shoulder. A piercing, heartbreaking, piercing scream. A surge of fear and anger that spread throughout the room, bouncing off the walls; a metallic explosion of sound from a throat that had been trained to bark orders over the noise of a hall of noisy eaters. Benn hobbled towards the door where the synthetic man was holding Martha. Rick followed him. Martha burst into a new crescendo. Benn shouted over his shoulder to the synthetic men behind him, “Drop him.”
  
  
  
  Nick clasped his fingers together, held his breath, and pulled the pin out of the Grote Pierres. He was dragged to the garbage chute. One step, then another, and the figure on the left let him go. The one in front of him fell. Nick escaped the grip of the synthetic man on the right, who staggered, grabbed his throat and fell away. Then he hurried to the door of the hall. Wilhelmina suddenly slipped from his hand, although first he had to lift his apron to pull out the weapon. He shot the man who was holding Martha. One, two, three shots before he died. Benn and Rick disappeared around the corner of the tiled wall. Nick dropped Wilhelmina to catch Martha and pressed his hand forcefully over her nose and mouth as if he was going to strangle her. She squirmed, scratched, and kicked as he dragged her toward the combination door, chasing Benn and Rick. He managed to carry it out, and at the same time he regretted that he had not learned about the speed with which the Pierres spread their deadly action. He continued walking until they passed the control room and slammed another door behind them.
  
  
  
  The man in the white coat behind the desk stood up and shouted, “What the hell is going on?” He collapsed like an uprooted tree as the door slammed behind Nick. Nick was badly scratched when he finally freed Martha's nose and mouth from his grasp. She gasped as he patted her back and rubbed her neck. She had to take a deep breath for half a minute before she could say, “You tried to choke me,” at which point she burst into tears.
  
  
  
  'Poison gas!' - he said in her ear. "You can go?"
  
  
  
  She immediately stood up, wanted to cover her nakedness with plastic wrap, then realized that it was transparent and threw it away. Nick took off his apron and handed it to her. He looked into the corridor. Benn and Rick have disappeared.
  
  
  
  “Wait here,” he said. "I have to take my gun."
  
  
  
  Holding his breath again, just in case, he rushed back through the control room. The corpse of a synthetic human is stuck in a door with a combination lock, holding it open. The laboratory became as quiet as a tomb, and it became a grave for shapeless, hunched figures scattered on the floor. He found Wilhelmina and ran back to Martha. He arrived just in time. A dozen artisans marched towards them. The transporters have disappeared; The cart chains were still rocking gently back and forth. When the synthetic humans noticed him, they formed left and right ranks, advancing like trained infantry on both sides of the passage. Nick dragged Martha towards the nearest iron staircase. "Upstairs - run as fast as you can."
  
  
  
  Martha was quick. She ran up the rough iron steps three at a time, not caring about her bare feet. They were halfway there when the synthetic humans began to run, stomping across the room with astonishing speed. Nick rose higher, turned, and used Wilhelmina's remaining rounds to throw the first three on top of the rest. It was rapid fire, but each bullet was aimed at the head, at a specific point on the head. You couldn't just shoot at these people at random.
  
  
  
  He led Martha down one of the white corridors and opened the door that led to the loading dock. There was no point in trying to get to the front of the building and face another group of determined artificial soldiers there. When they reached the top of the stairs, he saw the synthetic people run up to the landing. They also knew no fear.
  
  
  
  The fresh air pleased him. “Get out of here,” he shouted to Martha. He turned and threw a high-explosive fragmentation grenade diagonally back into the corridor. Holding the door open, he threw several of Stuart's best inventions at the same spot, hoping some would bounce off the tiles and down the stairs. High-explosive fragmentation grenades - two pieces. Buckshot bombs that scattered hundreds of razor-sharp particles - three of them. C6 grenades with an ignition time of fifteen seconds - two pieces.
  
  
  
  The first high-explosive shell exploded as he slammed the door and ran after Martha. In the direction she had fled, a truck engine roared to life at the loading dock. He heard Martha scream and then a shot. He reached her as she took cover behind the trailer. “It’s Rick,” she breathed. “In that truck over there. He shot me.
  
  
  
  Two workers crawled out from under the loading dock as explosions continued to roar inside the building. "Hey, what happened?"
  
  
  
  “An explosion in the laboratory,” Nick said. “Go see if you can help them there.”
  
  
  
  The men walked down the platform and Nick led Martha in the other direction. As the tractor-trailer turned around in the gliding light, he saw a number printed on the back of the large aluminum body: 4107.
  
  
  
  He said: “I need to take the car...”
  
  
  
  At that moment, the whole world seemed to fly into the sky. They felt the ground slipping away from under their feet and stretched out. He tried to soften Martha's fall, but they fell like tin soldiers.
  
  
  
  The loading dock doors spewed fire and debris flew out of the building as if it had been fired from cannons.
  
  
  
  Shards of glass and entire doors crashed into the slope for a hundred yards. The sound was deafening. It sounded like an atomic bomb had exploded in the main Reed-Farben building. When Nick recovered from the shock, he pulled Martha away from the flames that were escaping through all the holes in the building.
  
  
  
  He asked. - “Did you hit yourself?”
  
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  
  “If there were windows on the outer walls, the glass would have cut us.”
  
  
  
  "Did you... plant a bomb there?"
  
  
  
  “You can't carry a bomb powerful enough to do that in your pocket. I think my grenades were exposed to oxygen and other flammable substances.
  
  
  
  A second explosion shook the ground as they climbed the hill. Nick said, “We better turn onto the main road.” Now there will be nothing left of the cars in the parking lot anyway.
  
  
  
  “They parked my car in one of the airport hangars. This is what I heard from them.
  
  
  
  - How did they get you?
  
  
  
  “They just stopped me on the road. They said I definitely knew more than I told them."
  
  
  
  Nick squeezed her hand. "It was terrible, wasn't it?"
  
  
  
  
  'Yes. But even now I didn’t tell them that.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day, Nick returned to the plant to inspect the wreckage of tractor and trailer 4107. No bodies, no blood. This was a failure. While he was checking the brake system, a gray-haired gentleman quickly approached him. It was David Hawke. After they greeted each other, Hawk said, “Your voice sounded so interesting on the phone that I decided to take a look.”
  
  
  
  "I'm glad you did." Nick pointed to the brake system. “We can learn something from this. They ruined the brakes.
  
  
  
  They walked up the slope. Hawk said: “Very good job, Nick. McGee and the Reed-Farben team sift through the last remaining scraps. They need you to prepare Report C as soon as you have time.
  
  
  
  - I'll go there right now.
  
  
  
  Great. Once you do this, you can return to Washington tomorrow. I know you've saved up a lot of holidays...
  
  
  
  “Do you mind if I stay here another day or so?” Nick looked up at the towering mountains. "Damn nice place to get some fresh air."
  
  
  
  “In whose company? Martha? Or Greta?
  
  
  
  “They both deserve some rest. Are there any charges against Greta?
  
  
  
  'Probably no. She warned you as soon as she suspected criminal intent. This may not be enough for the judge. But we are not going to cause trouble for such people. And, of course, not least the attractive woman who had a hard time!
  
  
  
  Nick stayed in the mountains for more than a week. On the very first evening, he went with Martha to a rocky ledge from where a beautiful view opened up. He discovered that it was all really the same as that first night.
  
  
  
  Something extraordinary and rare, as he had already established. It's worth stopping and repeating...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  Something definitely strange was happening at the large Reed-Farben chemical plant. There were rumors of a discovery that would make human organ transplants as easy as removing an appendix.
  
  
  
  The ash-blond, pretty female scientist from the factory confirms this rumor to Nick Carter. But why did Reed-Farben have a warehouse next to the secret headquarters of the US military?
  
  
  
  And why did the people who showed curiosity about the chemical plant disappear?
  
  
  
  Things became a little clearer for Nick Carter when he faced his inhuman opponents.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  Killing the Red Cobra
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  Killing the Red Cobra
  
  
  
  
  translation by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  
  
  Original title: The Cobra Kill
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I came to Hong Kong to make love and found myself in the middle of a war. So I lost in that regard.
  
  
  
  I hadn't been in Queen's Colony for two hours before I was duped by a Chinese juvenile delinquent with the unlikely name of Mycroft, I saw a policeman killed, Semiramis' yacht blown up under my ass, I got shot. He and I lay in the balmy waters of Hong Kong harbor. I had a very strong suspicion that the Red Tiger was planning to kill me. I was sure that the entire Hong Kong police were after me.
  
  
  
  I really didn't have time to think about Frederica Masten-Ormsby, the unsuspecting cause of it all, the woman I came to Hong Kong for. Besides, she wasn't even in Hong Kong.
  
  
  
  The clerk who took Frederica's phone said, “Gone. I went to Singapore for two weeks. I don't know when she will return.
  
  
  
  But none of that mattered. Less than a minute after I hung up, there was screaming and I was worried. There was also little hope that I wasn't some kind of persona non grata to the Hong Kong police and that my boss Hawk would explode if I told him this. I was ordered to go to the US Consulate and call him on a voice converter phone. That's what I did, right after I got ashore in Victoria Park, looking like a wet cat in the heat.
  
  
  
  Now I was alone in the consulate's code room, I was given paper, a pencil, a shredder, a one-time pad, and the first attache, who introduced himself as Wilkins, looked at me coldly. Allistair Pembroke Wilkins was an arrogant asshole who took an immediate disliking to me. Perhaps it was personal, but maybe he just didn't like seeing wet guys climbing over his back wall and entering his consulate through the kitchen. At first he didn't trust my authority, but when I told him a certain code word, things got a little better. I was an AX agent and had every right to use his voice converter phone. He himself didn't like AX either, but that's nothing new. Without further ado, I told Hawk that I had a problem. “No more freedom of movement?” He sniffed like an old tiger, without exposing his teeth to the huge piece of meat. The only difference is that Hawk still has teeth. At this point I said, “This is still ongoing. I can still walk around Hong Kong, but it's risky and I don't know how long it will last."
  
  
  
  I wasn't too confident that Allistair Pembroke Wilkins would hold off the Hong Kong police if they came for me.
  
  
  
  Silence. I heard the whirring of all the thousands of miles of wires and the crack of the old man's cigar.
  
  
  
  "Should I tell you everything, sir?"
  
  
  
  Not now. Later when I see you again. I have a job for you. Highest priority.
  
  
  
  "End of the world. It was a lot of work back then.”
  
  
  
  It is absolutely necessary that you be able to move freely,” said the Hawk, “otherwise I have no need of you.” Can you leave Hong Kong without going to the consulate? I don't want to involve the government in any way."
  
  
  
  I've already thought about this myself.
  
  
  
  “I can do it,” I said. “I have a connection here somewhere.” I wasn't so sure when I spoke, but in my situation I had no other choice.
  
  
  
  “But it has to happen soon,” I said.
  
  
  
  Hawk understood. 'Listen. Now I hand you over to the gentleman. Don't fall in love with him, don't reason and don't ask anything. Get the hell out of Hong Kong and do this job for me."
  
  
  
  He said a few words to someone next to him, then a pleasant deep voice spoke. A cultured voice that spoke English with a very slight accent.
  
  
  
  “My name is Dato’ Ismail bin Rahman. Does this mean anything to you, Mr. N3?
  
  
  
  “You’re something of a doctor,” I replied. “Probably not in medicine. Are you from the Malaysian government?
  
  
  
  There was gratitude in his deep smile. 'Right. To be precise, from the cabinet, or rather, I am a minister without portfolio.” ...
  
  
  
  This meant: security service. Malaysian Security Service. Political or civil.
  
  
  
  - I understand that you have been to Malacca before, Mr. N3? - the voice continued.
  
  
  
  "Yes a little". This was during my previous deployment to Vietnam. The hunt and possible killings led me to the Malay Peninsula.
  
  
  
  "Do you speak Malay?"
  
  
  
  “A little, but I speak Cantonese fluently.”
  
  
  
  'Perfect. Very good. Although I think this will almost entirely take place in the jungle, where your Cantonese will be of little use to you. I, and by that I mean my government, of course want you to kill a man for us, Mr. N3. Your government has been extremely cooperative and has given me permission to work with your Mr. Hawke. He assured me that you are an expert in these matters and are the best person for the job.”
  
  
  
  All this fuss was starting to tire me a little. The door to the code room opened slightly and Wilkins looked inside. I glanced in his direction. Wilkins frowned and the door closed again.
  
  
  
  - What is the name of the man you want to kill, sir?
  
  
  
  “His name is Lim Jang, Chinese. Before the Chinese riots in Indonesia - now about eight years ago - Lim Jang was the most influential communist agitator in all of Indonesia. Of course, under a different name. Somehow, very unfortunately, he managed to escape the massacre that followed the Chinese riots."
  
  
  
  Code rooms and telephones with speech converters are wonderful inventions, because where else will you hear from the official side that the government itself carried out the massacre.
  
  
  
  Silence. In the background I could hear Hawk clearing his throat.
  
  
  
  - Does the name Lim Jang mean anything to you, Mr. N3?
  
  
  
  “A little, sir. I heard him disappear several times, but I don't know where he is yet. So, I understand that Lim Jang is now in Malacca, causing a lot of unrest there, and that you want him to come to his end as quietly as possible. Is that all, sir?
  
  
  
  I wanted like hell to get out of the consulate.
  
  
  
  “That's all, Mr. N3. Lim Jang is giving us a lot of trouble, although we have never officially heard of his existence. This will have a bad impact on trade and our tourism. We want him to die, Mr. N3, and, as you put it, “quietly.” My government just wants this man gone. But now I see your Mr. Hawk making gestures that mean you're running out of time. This is very bad. It would be more pleasant for me to explain this issue to you personally. It's almost ironic that I followed you to Washington.
  
  
  
  Hawk was on the phone. He coughed, almost bursting. If there's one thing the old man can't stand, it's eloquence. The door opened and Wilkins entered. I glared at him, but he continued to enter. I put my hand on the phone. Wilkins handed me a note with something scrawled in black pencil.
  
  
  
  
  
  My representative at the Hong Kong Police told me that several officers are on their way here to look for you. They can arrive in ten minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was surprised that he didn't sign it. He looked at me coldly and disappeared, slamming the door behind him. I should have told him that I underestimated him. Hawk snorted into the phone. 'What the hell is going on. Why don't you answer me?
  
  
  
  I explained this to him and told him he could talk for another five minutes.
  
  
  
  He used it very well. When the need is great, this man can be wonderful. He gave me some contacts in Singapore and promised me all the money I would need. I didn't think this was the right time to tell him now that the US government had just taken a loss on a slightly damaged yacht worth about two hundred thousand dollars. I simply didn't have time for this. Hawk had only used half his time when I was already walking towards the exit of this place.
  
  
  
  Wilkins was waiting for me at the green door that led into the kitchen and servants' quarters. He still looked sullen, and he still didn't seem to like me or what I represented. But the moment I walked past him, he took my hand.
  
  
  
  “Turn left when you're over the wall. There is a road there. Don't mind the mess. This road will take you to Cash Alley and then to Snake Row. This area is completely Chinese and you won't find taxis there. But maybe you will meet a rickshaw."
  
  
  
  I thanked him and continued on my way. “The police should be here any minute. I don't like it at all. I have received strict orders not to contact your people.
  
  
  
  I nodded and thanked him again.
  
  
  
  He started to look a little desperate. “What should I tell them? I do not like to lie.
  
  
  
  I looked at him for a moment. - 'Why not? You are a diplomat, aren't you?
  
  
  
  “I have my own job. I can't afford any trouble with the police at all."
  
  
  
  I walked through the kitchen and found myself in a small courtyard full of trash cans. None of the Chinese servants paid any attention to us. I knew they wouldn't talk. Unless there was a police informant at the consulate. It was possible, although it seemed unlikely to me.
  
  
  
  Wilkins was still walking with me.
  
  
  
  “Come up with a trick,” I said. “You have never heard of me or seen me. Be a little indignant. They don't know anything and are just trying to do something."
  
  
  
  He nodded, still frowning. - “Okay, as you say. I've never heard of you.
  
  
  
  'Good boy.'
  
  
  
  Then he had to let go of some of his affectation. He looked at me gloomily and said, “Oh, if only that were true.”
  
  
  
  I gently patted him on the shoulder and said goodbye. He wasn't even that bad of a guy for a diplomat. I left it among the trash cans.
  
  
  
  The moment I climbed over the back wall, I heard a bell ringing somewhere in front of the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Most agents, especially me, who do the gruntier work most of the time, have their own sources of information and outside help. They are personal and can cost life or death. You have this only for yourself. You do not share them with other agents, not even your own organization.
  
  
  
  Hawk knew these people belonged to me. Certainly. But he never asked about them. I wouldn't tell him anyway unless under duress. In addition, he had his own resources, and much more than me.
  
  
  
  One of the reasons, and certainly not the least, for Kim Philby's astounding success in maintaining anonymity and infiltrating our security services and the British SIS as he did was his talent for collecting and exploiting these resources. He had hundreds of them and used them with amazing talent.
  
  
  
  I didn't have a hundred. I had one now living in Hong Kong. One that I could rely on, albeit at a cost. His name was Ben Thomson, a former journalist from Chicago who was imprisoned for the murder of his wife and her lover. I haven't seen Ben for a long time and haven't thought much about him. I didn't need it. But now I needed it. He was supposed to give me some information and get me out of Hong Kong. So the moment I stepped outside to take a taxi, I thought about him. Ben Thomson served only a small portion of his sentence for murder. He had many influential friends. They pulled the strings, of course, anonymously, as is customary in such cases. When Ben was released, he left Chicago and moved to the East. For a while he tinkered as a freelance journalist, it's a lousy job, many of them die, become alcoholics or drug addicts, and others end up in the spy business.
  
  
  
  I heard Ben was a good drinker, but it didn't kill him. He stayed in the East for about ten years and became a legend; the same thing that journalists scream in bars around the world when they open the cork again. The last time I saw Ben was three years ago, and the last time I heard from him was at the Press Club in Washington.
  
  
  
  Someone like me hangs around journalists quite often. You can learn a lot just by listening, especially if you're also serving drinks.
  
  
  
  I heard that Ben bought himself an old castle-like house somewhere on Lugard Road near the university. Ben also bought himself several young girls. Most of them were Chinese - some Eurasian or white - whom he fired when they turned twenty. Ben knew a lot about things and knew where a lot of people were hiding. Anything you wanted to know or do that you could pay for, you could get it from Ben or let him do it. Ben was literally swimming in money.
  
  
  
  You hear things like this about him. They are partly true. Partially incorrect. But I was sure of two things about Ben Thomson: he was no ordinary whistleblower, and he had managed to become the most successful Chinese source in business. Some thought Ben had direct ties to Beijing. Maybe. Maybe not. I knew that AX had a file on Ben, but Hawk didn't know that I knew Ben personally.
  
  
  
  The taxi passed the Peak Tram trolleybus. I lit the American cigarettes I had stolen from the table in the code room—my own gold-filtered ones were not very resistant to the humidity of Hong Kong harbor. And I was thinking about Ben and Chinese informants in general. Chinese informants are usually diplomats, scientists and people in a certain position. They all know a lot about the East and especially about China. They study Chinese press releases very carefully and know exactly how to read between the lines. Most often, they openly express their opinions, but it is unlikely that anyone will mention their name or declare themselves publicly. This is probably the safest method.
  
  
  
  Ben Thomson is an exception. He writes the newspaper "Greetings from Hong Kong" and distributes it himself. It's weekly and limited edition - Hong Kong gossip isn't in high demand at Crabtree Corners - but some of its clients might surprise you. "New York" and "London Times" are just two names. I read his column, saw Hawke read it, and know it is read in the United States and in Downing Street. This gives Ben a certain amount of prestige and also gives him a fair amount of power. Sometimes he can secretly provide some services to the VIPs of this world, and this, in turn, can bring him some benefits - for example, leaving him alone when his activities are extremely risky.
  
  
  
  Ben has gone far beyond the confines of his prison cell. I thought about this as I paid for the taxi and walked up to the gray gate that led to the long concrete road. It was dark and cool here on the Peak. I winced. I was still quite wet and hoped that Ben would give me some whiskey and some clothes. If the stories are true, he most likely had this tape.
  
  
  
  The large iron gate, decorated with a curled gold T, stood open. As I approached the guard's booth at the gate, I heard snoring. The young Chinese man was sleeping under a small lamp. He crossed his arms in front of him on the shabby table and rested his head on them. He had shiny, messy dark hair and was wearing a floral sweatshirt. He looked to be about twenty years old. So Ben's security device wasn't working very well. But maybe he doesn't need it.
  
  
  
  I walked up the driveway and passed a pond, a lily pond, and a narrow bridge leading to a clump of pine trees, with occasional Chinese figs and camphor trees.
  
  
  
  A night owl in a tree was watching the night and a cry was heard somewhere.
  
  
  
  Two lamps were burning in the house. One upstairs and one downstairs. For some reason the porch light was left on. There was enough moonlight to see that the house was indeed a real castle: four-story gables, battlements and towers, a Victorian Gothic horror built of battered limestone. I walked up to the porch and rang the bell.
  
  
  
  An old mama in a faded cotton cheongsam opened the door. Her teeth were in a different place and she was muttering something to me. Behind her, I saw a glimmer of yellow light on the polished floor of the corridor.
  
  
  
  Finally I managed to convince the ama that I was not selling anything, but that I was a friend of Mr. Tomso and wanted to talk to him. She was clearly confused that I had managed to get past the guard at the gate.
  
  
  
  "Who are you, may I say?"
  
  
  
  - Mr. Arneson. Kenneth Arneson. There was no point in telling the servant who I was.
  
  
  
  - Mr. Ornwaso. I will say.'
  
  
  
  She trudged back to the hall and opened the old-fashioned sliding doors. The girl screamed not from shock, but from surprise. Then the girl laughed. Ben Thomson, rude as always, said something. Ama muttered something in response and returned to me. “I don’t know you. Leave now. Please mister.
  
  
  
  The doors were still open. I shouted down the hall.
  
  
  
  “You know this Arneson, Ben. I'm from Chicago.
  
  
  
  The girl laughed again with that faithful laugh that girls emit at certain times. The laughter stopped suddenly and Ben Thomson walked to the sliding door to look outside. I stood in the light so he could see my face.
  
  
  
  “I might drop dead,” Ben said.
  
  
  
  He said something to Ama in Chinese, not Cantonese of course, and she disappeared. Ben came up to me along the corridor. Behind him, in the light coming from the room, I saw a girl jump out, following the ama. She was cute and she was a damn doll. She had pink makeup on her face. One of her lemon yellow breasts was sticking out. I estimate she was about eighteen.
  
  
  
  Ben waited until both women were out of sight, then he opened the door for me and walked down the corridor to his large office. There were pillows on an antique opium bed. Everything looked rather crumpled. Ben closed the doors behind us. I looked at him with a grin.
  
  
  
  "You're a dirty old pervert."
  
  
  
  He grinned too. He still had teeth, although most of his mousy gray hair was gone. Ben was already over sixty.
  
  
  
  “And you are one of those scoundrels who harass people without warning them in advance. Although I can guess why, you chose a good moment for this.”
  
  
  
  “It can wait,” I said, “but I can’t.”
  
  
  
  “Wait, damn it? At my age you should do it if you can. You don't always succeed."
  
  
  
  A fragrant wood fire languished in the stone hearth. I pulled down the fireplace screen and hung my jacket on it to dry. In the background, Ben clinked glasses and a bottle.
  
  
  
  “I didn’t come here to talk about your sex life,” I said.
  
  
  
  'I know it. There's really very little to say about it. But I keep trying. By the way, how did you get through that gate without being noticed?
  
  
  
  I told him.
  
  
  
  He handed me a glass half filled with whiskey. He pointed to a tea table on high wheels. “Soda, water, ice, whatever. Now I only drink it neat.”
  
  
  
  I took a sip of whiskey. Excellent. I saw him look at the Luger holster and the stiletto sheath. He didn't say a word about it. I didn't think so either. Ben may know who I am and who I work for, but he will be the last one to say anything directly. “Damn Lee,” he said. “Always sleeps when he needs to work. Good thing I don't really need it. Plus he's a good boy when he's not sleeping - ha - some of his sisters work here. And he carefully takes his salary home.”
  
  
  
  I knew what Lee did for him. Lee found Chinese girls for him. Most likely, from the occupied territories or even from the province on the other side of the border.
  
  
  
  I took another sip and said to Ben with a grin, “I didn’t come here to talk about Lee.”
  
  
  
  Ben smiled and nodded. He then pointed to the leather chair. “Cigars, cigarettes, whatever. I know why you came, Nick. I heard that there are some problems at the pier. They're looking for a guy named Arneson, or rather Kenneth Arneson. His body has not yet been found."
  
  
  
  That’s the way it is,” I said, “and if it’s up to me, they don’t need to look for the body at all.” Certainly not mine. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I need help, Ben."
  
  
  
  "Okay, Nick. Enough nonsense. Who's first?"
  
  
  
  While we were joking, he drank half a glass of whiskey. He filled it halfway again and drank it as if it were Coca-Cola. The light in the room wasn't the best, but I could see what the drink was doing to it. He was a little swollen and had red burst veins on his nose and cheeks. Plus he was fatter than I remembered. He was wearing trousers, shoes without socks and a brocade robe over his bare torso. The thick hair on his chest was gray. The blond hair on his head had all but disappeared, save for a wispy fringe and a few hairs on his shiny scalp.
  
  
  
  I looked at the stack of newspapers next to the chair. Red Flag and Volks Dagblad. Further down on the solid rosewood table lay another stack. I took everything at my leisure. I wanted to read if possible and knew it was a safe home. Ben finished his glass and refilled it. I wonder how he managed it.
  
  
  
  “I’ll ask you,” I said. “I want to know why I was torpedoed last night, who did it and why they noticed me so quickly. This is for starters. Then I need information about a man named Lim Jang, plus some information about Indonesia and Malacca. I also want you to take me out of Hong Kong. This night.'
  
  
  
  Ben nodded and lit a long brown cigar. I took one of his cigarettes out of the box, lit it, and waited.
  
  
  
  He rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked at me with a banker's appraising gaze.
  
  
  
  "What is this?"
  
  
  
  Each AX member has a personal account from which they can debit “expenses” in the event of an emergency. As the oldest Killmaster, my account was second only to Hawk. Besides, it was a damn emergency.
  
  
  
  “Ten thousand,” I told him. "American dollars."
  
  
  
  Ben gave me a dirty smile and waved his fat hand. “I know that they are American. I don't work at that price in Hong Kong currency. We are running a business. I'll give you some things for free first, and the rest will cost you money. I have it in my garden and it doesn’t cost me a cent.”
  
  
  
  I took a sip of whiskey. “You have a beautiful garden.”
  
  
  
  'The best. It took me a long time to grow it this way. As for you, torpedoing is simple. On your last job in these parts, you killed one Jim Pook, executive director of the Red Tigers. This is right?'
  
  
  
  'Wrong. I didn't touch it with my finger. Nevertheless. I reported something about him. A few words to the right ears."
  
  
  
  “Okay, it's the same thing. I've heard about it. Beijing wanted him dead because they heard he was selling them...to your people. So, what else.
  
  
  
  I took off my shoes and wet socks. “I hope ten thousand is enough for dry clothes.” Ben blew a blue cloud at me and nodded approvingly. “You've always been one of those assholes who kept his mouth shut, Nick. A good way to stay alive."
  
  
  
  'More.'
  
  
  
  “As soon as that Jim Pook died, a new man took over the Tigers. Pok's cousin. You know how the Chinese are when it comes to family honor - and besides, there is honor and prestige. Prestige is money. Are you starting to understand this?
  
  
  
  I began to understand this. In fact, I already understood it, I always understood it, but I just didn't think about it. I'm a busy person.
  
  
  
  I told him about the boy Mycroft.
  
  
  
  'I know. Small fry! some of those beggars work for the mafia. Their way of getting marks for possible gangsterism.”
  
  
  
  “So how did he get to me so quickly, Ben? My God, I felt unpleasant, I had just been registered with the authorities, then I wanted to take a shower, shave and drink.
  
  
  
  Ben laughed briefly and took a sip. Now he only drank half his glass. “These Red Tigers are damn well organized, Nick. Their service is wonderful. But it was easy. The last time you came to Hong Kong, you arrived on a yacht called Corsair and arrived at the same pier. You caused the Tigers a lot of trouble. You killed Jim Pook. The Tigers couldn't do anything about you back then, but when they got a new boss and reorganized, you got the tongue mark. Battle axe.
  
  
  
  This made ironic sense to me because the AX logo is also an axe.
  
  
  
  “They might as well have gotten you killed,” Ben continued. “They have many spies and junks in the harbor. Some smuggle contraband, some deceive the police, but they are all on their guard. You could be seen as soon as you entered the harbor.
  
  
  
  I drained my glass and refilled it.
  
  
  
  'But it's more likely that they had someone in customs, or that someone was watching the yacht club itself.'
  
  
  
  “I don’t think it was a harbor,” I said. “I had a pretty unshaven face and wore sunglasses. Besides, I've never been near a junk or a sampan."
  
  
  
  I stuck my ass towards the fireplace and grabbed another cigarette. It must have been that little boy Mycroft. After I shaved, it got dark. These Tigers should have my photo and I don't like it. Not at all. If I had caught that Mycroft back then, I would have kicked that little blue ass of his.
  
  
  
  All I could do was laugh, shrug and say, “Okay, Ben, that explains it. I always like to know why certain things happen. Let's move on. Start making money."
  
  
  
  It was a great pleasure to see another expert at work. Ben put on his granny glasses, which made him look like a slutty, horny professor at some girls' boarding school, and walked over to the green steel cabinet. He opened the drawer and took out a stack of papers, which he quickly leafed through, turning his back to me. He took out a piece of paper, put the rest back in the drawer, closed it and returned to me. He was lighting a new cigar and chewing on it, which reminded me of Hawk. He only smokes these cheap cigars.
  
  
  
  A tall Hong Kong clock ticked in the corner. I was worried, but a man like Ben couldn't be rushed. He was an old-fashioned journalist. He checked everything and when he said it was 100% true.
  
  
  
  - Hmmm, Lim Jang? Former third man of Hai Wai Tiao Cha Po. It's hard to say what he's doing now after that fiasco in Indonesia. Probably a minor member on the list of thugs.
  
  
  
  Hai Wai was China's international spy apparatus. The only department I knew much about was the active Teh Woe department. I killed several of these guys when they tried to attack me.
  
  
  
  “The list of failures makes sense,” I said. Beijing hates losers. This could explain why Lim Jang is now vegetating so much in Malacca that he wants to return with good fortune.” He studied the paper in his hand, his grandmother's glasses almost sliding off his nose. He reached for his glass and drained it without looking at him. Then he raised his finger.
  
  
  
  “This Lim is cool. Moreover, he cannot be trusted. About fifty, with glasses, the appearance of a university graduate. Doesn't drink and has nothing to do with women or boys. He appears to be involved in politics or organizing Ching Pao. But this is not true. He is with Te grief. A killer, although he doesn't do that anymore. In the past, he himself helped people cross into the other world.”
  
  
  
  Ben reached for the bottle and filled his glass, still staring at the paper.
  
  
  
  “So he killed some on his own. When this rebellion failed and his club members were killed, Lim Jang fled and ended up in Sumatra. There he carried out his little massacre at Bangkalis, and then, they think, he crossed the Strait of Malacca and went into the peninsula. This can be done very easily. The strait in this place is not so wide.
  
  
  
  I said nothing. I knew I had already made a mistake by readily admitting that Lim Jang was in Malacca. We all make mistakes, but that's not the best thing to do in this business. It was of little consolation to me that Ben Thomson already knew, but a mistake is still a mistake.
  
  
  
  He looked at me and smiled. He tapped the paper again. “It's getting pretty melodramatic here, Nick. After the Bengkalis massacre, Lim became known as the Red Cobra."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The way things were going now, I might meet Frederica Masten-Ormsby in Singapore. Her image, at least as seductive as I remembered it, was published in the Singapore Times. She was an important person at a World Relief Organization meeting and was staying at a Malacca hotel.
  
  
  
  I registered with Goodwood. Traditional, old and with two swimming pools. I was hoping to choose a suitable pool to meet my contact. This was important. If I actually met him, if I could, it would be my only contact with the Malaysian government and the only one I would probably ever receive. They all played it cunningly. No one in official circles admitted that there were Red partisans in the jungle. It's bad for tourism, bad for trade and bad for those gigantic foreign loans they were trying to get. Nobody invests their money in a country that could be taken over by communists.
  
  
  
  Personally, walking around Raffles Place and looking like any other tourist, I didn’t think that Red Cobra had informants. I had to laugh when I remembered that a grinning Ben Thomson had tapped the paper and said the name melodramatically. My visit to Ben cheered me up a bit.
  
  
  
  Ben made his ten thousand dollars well. He pulled me out of Hong Kong on a fishing junk. Thirty miles from Macau I was picked up by a flying boat, which flew two thousand miles south, where I was taken on board another junk, which took me up the Singapore River in the dark. There I climbed ashore, and then was left to my own devices.
  
  
  
  Well, not quite of course. I had a phone number, I dialed it and half an hour later I met an Australian gentleman in a tent on Bugis Road. He was middle-aged, polite, and completely uninterested in me. All he wanted was to do his job and get this over with as quickly as possible. Sometimes, in deep moments, I wonder if the smell of death is hovering around me. He didn't tell me his name or ask me for mine. He handed me a huge wad of bills, gave me some instructions from Hawk, and took me shopping after letting me take a shower for the first time to wash off that dirty stench. It cost me a whole bar of soap.
  
  
  
  But it was still midday when I checked into Goodwood. I slept for an hour, read the newspapers and thought about my contact. It was a girl. At least a woman. I was supposed to meet her by the pool. So far it looked promising as I noticed that monsters and hobgoblins don't like to appear near pools.
  
  
  
  Now, a little after two, I was hanging out at the Victoria Memorial Hall and having fun watching the drivers. Every car owner in Singapore thinks that he is a racer and that there is no tomorrow. Sir Stamford could hardly have dreamed that his own city would one day turn into a racecourse.
  
  
  
  In the inner and outer harbors, freighters, liners and warships rocked at their anchors. Closer, sampans darted back and forth like daphnia, and the people of Singapore rushed past me, around me, and sometimes almost through me.
  
  
  
  The Chinese of Singapore, and there are quite a few of them, speak a dozen different dialects. Indians may be Punjabis or Sikhs or Tamils or Bengalis. One of the oldest churches is Armenian and people laugh at Urdu, Malay, Chinese and Ceylonese. When local natives come to a big city, they speak a language that only they understand. The Negroid pygmies speak Semang, which I know because I met some of them during my previous assassination mission in Malacca. Negrites are excellent fighters, and the government trains them to be excellent counter-guerrilla fighters. Of course, this is not talked about much because there are no guerrillas in Malacca.
  
  
  
  It started to rain, which meant that three o'clock was approaching. I caught a rickshaw and risked my life. After a few blocks, even I got very scared. I paid him and walked back to Goodwood in the rain. It was rainy time. It happened that between three and five o'clock it rained heavily. As I walked along, as wet as when I lay in Hong Kong harbor, I thought about the work ahead in the jungle and could not help laughing. I told myself not to forget about the fever and the salt tablets. I was hoping I wouldn't need those fever pills, but I was sure I'd use those salt pills. I can sweat like a horse on Fifth Avenue, but that's hardly possible in the rainforest.
  
  
  
  For a quick drink, I went into Gordon's Bar and then went back to my room. I had to be at the pool at four o'clock. I took a shower to wash off the rain, put on my swimming trunks and cleaned the Luger. I always do it like a soldier polishes his boots when he has nothing else to do.
  
  
  
  My swimming trunks were white with a red cross emblem. I passed the rescue swimming test. A man from Australia prepared clothes for me in his apartment - an order from Hawk. Now, when I smoked a cigarette and cleaned the Luger, I remembered the code word to say it without laughing. Sometimes I think Hawke is reading too much Sax Rohmer.
  
  
  
  Of course, the old man is right. The agent's life hangs by many threads. All these tricks and the one hiding behind the wallpaper are good for something. It keeps you alive. I know it.
  
  
  
  I looked at the white phone and thought about Freddie, so close to me here in Singapore. Then I just stopped thinking about it. No, only while I was working. Only in exceptional cases. And only with someone from this profession, a lady from the sister guild, whom I could at least trust.
  
  
  
  One last thing, as I had to admit as I prepared my last sip before heading into the pool, was a challenge. Because who could you trust?
  
  
  
  At ten minutes to four the rain stopped. The sun came out again and Singapore turned into a steam bath. The air conditioner pleasantly caressed my skin and hummed softly. I thought again about the jungle in front of me and trembled internally. I've never liked this jungle so much. If only they could figure out some way of air conditioning for me.
  
  
  
  From my window I saw a beautiful white mist rising from the hotel's expansive garden. Below me lay a huge bed of red and white benga raya, a type of hibiscus, their national flower. It was quite warm outside and meeting by the pool didn't seem like such a bad idea.
  
  
  
  I put the Luger and stiletto in a waterproof bag, carefully zipped it up, and dropped it into the toilet sink. It was quite a childish place, and that wouldn't fool the professionals for a second, but I was more concerned about the servants doing their jobs. If I had been pursued by professionals, I would have found out soon enough. I didn't think so. I was truly confident that I was clean. I was Kenneth Arneson, a gentleman tourist - lots of money, lazy and drinks too much. Now he was on a well-deserved vacation from working at a chainsaw factory in Indianapolis. Looking for adventure. Little ones. So, women. AX is pretty good at these things.
  
  
  
  I took a light batik rug - hotel service - and went down to the pool; there was a special elevator for swimmers. He stopped at the second one, and an American couple entered. She was fair-haired and dark-skinned, and she ran her expert gaze over my body. She smiled at me, urging her husband to do something about it. He was fat, dark, sullen, chewed cigars, and didn't give a damn. I avoided her gaze and hummed a dirty French tune. Neither of them responded, which is not surprising. I learned this in Algiers, in a place that turns Place Pigalle into a kind of Sunday school. Apart from my singing, during the descent we were silent in all languages. Their boredom could be cut with a knife. Boredom! This is something that an AH agent never has to worry about. You may get overwhelmed quickly, but at least it's not boring. I'm lucky. One of the pools was closed for renovation. This meant that at least I didn't have to walk back and forth between two pools looking for my contact. Young woman. That's all I knew. The woman will take care of the contact.
  
  
  
  The pool was good. Not some damn kidney-shaped thing that wastes space, but square and deep, with lots of jumps and rafts. A rim of pure white sand surrounded the entire pool. Half of it was covered with a glass roof. There, the sand was always dry, and the glass was specially adapted to filter out the strongest rays of the sun. If you wanted to fry yourself and it wasn't raining, you just lay down on the open sand.
  
  
  
  There were the usual number of tables, chairs, lounge chairs and sun mats. Malaysian boys in white coats walked back and forth with drinks. The pool had its own small bar. But I didn’t feel like drinking. I wanted contact.
  
  
  
  I took the diving board so she could see my white shorts with a red cross (that is, a Red Cross sticker). Then he swam across the entire length of the pool several times. At the moment when I climbed out of the water and stretched out on the dry sand under the canopy, the Pernod clock above the counter showed ten past four. I relaxed, put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Almost. There was no one on the other side, where the sand was still wet. So that cut it in half. I started at one end of the pool on the right and worked my way up. At first I almost screwed up, almost laughing. No matter what you encounter. She was about fifty and had the face of a feeble-minded cherub. Her hair was pale blue and she was sitting in a deck chair, knitting and wearing a mink stole. The sun falling through the canopy illuminated the many stones on her hands and almost blinded me. I had to look away to regain my composure. I yawned and looked around in imaginary boredom, then covered my head with my hands again.
  
  
  
  A fat gentleman with a cigar pushed his wiry wife into the water. Despite the cigar, the devilish expression on his face was clearly visible. His wife shouted something when she returned, something about a perm. He gave her one last glare and headed towards the bar. Clearly not a couple on their honeymoon.
  
  
  
  Another couple was on their honeymoon. They were a little older than children. They lay so close to each other on the rubber mat that it seemed as if they were busy with something. At least she was doing something to him, because from time to time he timidly looked around with glazed eyes and a dumb expression on his face as his legs jerked up and down.
  
  
  
  More couples. But nothing special. A tiny girl who looked English and was watching me out of the corner of her eye. But it wasn't her. She looked at me as a man, looked at my body.
  
  
  
  The Chinese girl, calm and reserved, was smoking and reading a paperback book. A bunch of Malaysians who were clearly busy with business. But nothing more. Nothing. By this time I approached the bar; it was a small oval bamboo case with six chairs. A tall guy in white with greasy hair and sunglasses was talking to a dark-haired girl who had several hundred dollars worth of clothes hanging around her girlish figure. She was heavily made up. No bathers. They really don't belong here. They belong to Prince Street.
  
  
  
  My cigar smoker was next to him, pointing to a bottle that probably contained Bourbon. His wife was nowhere to be found. Probably at the hairdresser now. Three chairs left. Two of them were busy. Both girls were pretty, but one of them was white, and for some reason I wasn't expecting a white girl. It had nothing to do with logic, but I just didn't expect it.
  
  
  
  The white girl was waving her bathing cap with one hand and playing with a martini with the other. She had golden blond hair and her skin was too fair for someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. She seemed to be the only one of the two talking.
  
  
  
  The other girl was half turned towards me, her long legs crossed. "Long" means: really long. There are men who prefer breasts, other men who prefer the face, and still others who prefer a shapely butt. Carter is a tough man. I might add, if I have time and don't have to work: Carter is also an expert. These legs were classic. Every connoisseur's dream.
  
  
  
  I slowly looked up. I like it. Of course, she was not my friend, but there was nothing else for me to do. It won't interfere with my work. Even Hawk couldn't tell me that.
  
  
  
  Most men don't know this, but you can tell a lot about a woman by her legs. They were aristocratically narrow, with high insteps and unpainted nails. Her ankles were covered in light skin over perfect bones. Up from there. Just the right distance between her ankle and knee. Clear curvature of the popliteal tendons. Then we move on to the absolute perfection of her thighs. She moved back and forth in her chair, showing off the rapid twitching of her muscles beneath her soft, dark, golden brown complexion. These were the legs of the century. Legs Grand Prix.
  
  
  
  She wasn't wearing anything that could be called a bikini. The white girl was wearing something similar, but my dark beauty was wearing what a liberal violin maker's guild member might call a thong. Her bra was about the same proportion. It just covered her nipples - I think it said "Goodwood" on it - but when she bent over to scratch her ankle, the bra disappeared and I could see everything. Perfect breasts, which depended on an equally perfectly formed torso.
  
  
  
  Carter, I told myself, you will become a wonderful poet, but you are a pervert.
  
  
  
  She sat down again and said something to the white girl.
  
  
  
  Both girls slid out of their chairs and walked over to me at the other end of the pool with a plan for a high dive. I sighed and buried myself in the sand like a sullen crab with dirty thoughts. It couldn't be her. I was very lucky, Carter's luck is always great, but not that much. So, we leave the wandering erotic miracle alone and continue our work.
  
  
  
  They walked five feet, chatting. The girls chat, unaware that this depraved AH agent is burying himself in the sand. At night I had dreams full of desires... Sparkling legs - white and dark, black and white - chatter, chatter. They were already six meters away from me when the dark girl said loudly in English: “Hey, Jesus, I forgot my hat. Come back quickly, Janie.
  
  
  
  I watched with narrowed eyes. And what I watched. She turned and ran back to the small bar. She did not look in my direction; I did not exist for her. Those perfect legs rose and fell rhythmically. She ran towards me without noticing me, tripped over me and fell headfirst into the sand on the other side of me.
  
  
  
  So I might get lucky.
  
  
  
  I was already standing next to her, extending my hand and apologizing. With my best grin, I smiled as I returned to my role as Kenneth Arneson.
  
  
  
  “Forgive me,” I said out loud. I wanted everyone to hear it, and I knew she wanted it too. “It’s awkward of me to just lie here. But I'm so damn big. I could hardly hide from you.”
  
  
  
  She allowed me to grab her hand and pull her to her feet. The ball felt like rice paper to the touch. Maybe cigarette paper. She pressed it into my palm.
  
  
  
  Her eyes were as brown as her body. She smiled coldly at me. - Yes, you are quite tall. But it was my fault. I didn't pay attention to where I was going. Besides, without glasses I'm a little nearsighted. Thank you, I wasn't hurt anymore."
  
  
  
  I took her hand and remained in my role. “Can I offer you something? In the United States, it's a custom when you knock someone down." I nodded to her friend, who was watching us curiously. No one seemed to notice except this little English blonde. She bit her lower lip with her small, shiny teeth.
  
  
  
  I was still holding her hand. “Of course, together with your girlfriend. Why not? I'm just a harmless American tourist."
  
  
  
  She removed her hand and let the ice creep into her voice.
  
  
  
  "I can't. Impossible. Goodbye.'
  
  
  
  Even her juicy ass showed style as she turned and walked back to the bar. These Americans are also so assertive.
  
  
  
  She actually left her bathing cap on the bar. So she was a pro. I shrugged, still playing my part in front of my only spectator, and threw myself back into the sand. The little English girl smiled at me with an obviously attractive smile, but I ignored her and pouted.
  
  
  
  The honeymoon couple didn't even notice the incident.
  
  
  
  I returned to my room and closed the door.
  
  
  
  It was a small piece of rice paper. Blue ink, very thin and very feminine, read: Curry tiffin - 324-17-6826. Singapore phone numbers have a maximum of seven digits. This -17- was supposed to be a time indicator. Seventeen o'clock. Five o'clock in the afternoon. She did a good job. It was a quarter to five.
  
  
  
  I berated myself for my own inadequate thinking. Of course she will use the phone to convey the message. Unless she meant five in the morning, but I doubted it.
  
  
  
  I poured myself a drink and stood by the window looking at the hibiscus below me until it got so late. She answered the first call. So she was at the hotel or very close by. Maybe somewhere in a store. 'Hello?' - she said it in English. I already guessed that she must have had an English upbringing.
  
  
  
  I asked. - "Is this Curry Tiffin?"
  
  
  
  "Yes, who are you?"
  
  
  
  “Dacoit. But don't be alarmed. I'm not as terrible as my code name."
  
  
  
  A nervous giggle that was immediately suppressed again. - "This is a public phone.
  
  
  
  “It has to be safe if you want to use it.”
  
  
  
  “Well, just for a moment. Let's go further?
  
  
  
  “Of course,” I said. 'Where and when?'
  
  
  
  'I have. I'm alone because I let all the servants go. Asperian Road 928. This is that part of the April Hills. You know it?'
  
  
  
  "I think so. When?'
  
  
  
  'Ten o'clock. Goodbye.'
  
  
  
  'Wait a second. Where exactly are you now?
  
  
  
  Her voice became very cool. 'Why? I really don't understand...'
  
  
  
  I let my voice sound as cool as hers.
  
  
  
  “Look, Curry, if you start not trusting me now, we won't be able to work together successfully. And if so, we better find out right away.”
  
  
  
  “It's not true, but why should you know that? I do not understand why ...'
  
  
  
  “Because I might need a secure phone.” I spoke briefly. "Is this reason enough?"
  
  
  
  'Certainly. I was not thinking about it. Just a hairdresser here at the hotel. Madame Rudy. We are old friends and I can use her personal account. Of course, for a fee.
  
  
  
  'Certainly.' A new thought came to me. “Tell me, curry, is there a wiry blonde American woman there now?”
  
  
  
  'Heaven. How did you know that? When I walked in, one of the girls was crying - this terrible woman was screaming at everyone."
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I thought, “Right.”
  
  
  
  "But how did you know?"
  
  
  
  "I was born smart."
  
  
  
  She laughed. It was real laughter. But her excitement came from him. She was a terribly tense woman. I've already started to imagine it a little.
  
  
  
  “I heard that all Americans are crazy. Now I'm starting to believe it."
  
  
  
  “Not all,” I said. Bye, Curry Tiffin. Until ten o'clock.
  
  
  
  I threw the paper in the toilet and took another shower to get rid of the smell in the pool air. As I lathered up, I thought about her legs, how she snatched her hand away from me, and how nervous she was. She was too nervous, and I don't like working with nervous people. That's why I teased her a little. I wondered if there was another reason for her nervousness. Something other than just the nature of our work.
  
  
  
  As I came out of the shower, there was a knock on the door. The servant gave me the evening papers. I drank another glass, changed into linen shorts, and lay down on the bed to read. I wasn't interested in much. Disputes between Malaysians and Filipinos have become more hostile. They were arguing about Saba, a part of North Borneo that was claimed by both countries. A Philippine destroyer had been spotted off the coast of Sandakan in the Sulu Sea, and now the Malaysians were shouting and threatening to file a complaint with the United Nations. Prince Abdul, the prime minister of Malacca, was about to call an emergency meeting of the cabinet. I had to yawn.
  
  
  
  Message: There has been a new outbreak of piracy on the coast of Sarawak. I've read about this before. Piracy off the coast of Bornean was quite a lucrative business after the demise of the White Rajah, and the government seemed unable to cope with it.
  
  
  
  I yawned, lit another cigarette and made myself a drink. I'm already hungry.
  
  
  
  Message: One more thing about Sarawak. Some of these hot Dayaks got drunk and cut off some heads. This is so contrary to current standards that it will not be tolerated and strict action will be taken.
  
  
  
  I pulled the newspapers off the bed and yawned again. All in all, I could understand that the government didn't have much time to worry about the Red Cobra, even if they acknowledged its existence.
  
  
  
  I left the newspapers on the table and fell asleep. Just before I fell asleep, I burst out laughing, again thinking for a moment about the code word assigned to me this time. Dacoit means clakait in Hindu. The dictionary describes it as a member of a gang of robbers in India.
  
  
  
  I knew from my own experience that scoundrels sometimes resort to strangulation. I've done this myself often. It's quiet and fast, and all you need is a piece of cord or wire. Poindexter, the AX Weapons Chief, came up with a nice garrote for me. Piano string with wooden handles. I wondered if Hawke had actually read those Sax Rohmer books when he was coming up with the code names, or if he was just playing a joke on me, the old man can do that.
  
  
  
  They woke me up at eight o'clock. I ordered food through room service and got dressed while waiting. When the air conditioner made a lovely hum and I whistled my cheesy French tune, I suddenly felt good. Hectic, but good. Finally things started to happen.
  
  
  
  I usually wear a neat white shirt and tie, but not in Singapore's climate. I wore silver gray Palm Beach pants and a nice batik sweatshirt. I let my shirt hang off my pants. It looked a little sloppy, but perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing for Kenneth Arneson. In addition, the shirt hid the Luger. It was impossible to hide the stiletto on my arm unless I was wearing a jacket. I thought about it and finally decided to wear it. I didn't expect any trouble, at least not yet, but I'm a cautious person from time to time.
  
  
  
  The food arrived and I ate it slowly. I had a vague idea of where this Casperian road was. Probably not too far. I would rate her pretty high on the prestige scale. The Kasperian road meant money and status. I began to wonder who my dark and nervous virgin really was.
  
  
  
  I asked the hotel to rent a car for me and they said there would be a map of the city in the glove compartment. I had a lot of Malaysian dollars.
  
  
  
  I left Goodwood through a side door and found the car in the pre-arranged parking spot. I checked the number just in case. The keys were inside. The bored Sikh guard was combing his hair and paid no attention to me. And no one else, as far as I could see. Wonderful. Exactly the way I wanted it.
  
  
  
  I drove as carefully as possible because I didn't want to mess with some Singaporean creep and be late for my meeting. Cops love accidents, and Hawke warned me that the Malaysian government would be very annoyed if I had to deal with the law.
  
  
  
  I drove carefully down Sago Street. Linen fluttered from the poles and smelled of burnt moss. It was already getting dark and the neon lights were on. I drove past the bright red neon dragon and turned into Empress Square, where government buildings dimmed the lights and ama workers got to work.
  
  
  
  I still had time, but that's what I meant. I drove for a bit, stopped once to look at a map of the city, and drove off again. I looked around, yawned, stuck my head out and smiled at people. Most of them were Chinese and people thought I was crazy.
  
  
  
  After making sure I wasn't being followed, I headed towards the April Hills area. And I made a promise to myself. If I could do this without endangering us or the mission, I would have this lady. I was nervous and didn't find it particularly pleasant. This could be the point. But the sooner I deal with this, win or lose, the sooner I can function normally again.
  
  
  
  I came upon a stretch of four-lane highway and continued driving along it until I found the exit for Durian Road. This will take me to Kasperian Street.
  
  
  
  Returning to the center of Singapore, I saw the dome of the mosque in a sea of floodlights. The air here was filled with the pungent aroma of thousands of flowers, which blew from the light wind from the Strait of Malacca.
  
  
  
  “Bad night to die,” I thought. But in reality, every night is a bad night to die.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The moon was a white ghost playing with the elephant colored clouds. I left the car in the alley and walked around the house. As I said, I am a cautious person, and this is necessary for business. The thought of her being nervous also made me a little nervous.
  
  
  
  Now she didn't look nervous at all. I watched her from the shadows for five minutes. Standing in a grove of ferns, orchids and vines, I had a clear view of the balustraded courtyard, where the fountain echoed Chopin's playing. She played well. I'm not much like Chopin, but I know some of his mazurkas.
  
  
  
  I searched the area at my leisure, half expecting to bump into someone. I wanted to run into someone. That would make her a liar, and you know what you're capable of when dealing with liars. But I didn't meet anyone. There was nothing moving around. An elongated, artificially wild area - just me and a few nocturnal animals. It took me half an hour to comb the entire area and I was late for the meeting. I think she was telling the truth. She was alone.
  
  
  
  I watched her face as she moved on to the sketch. She leaned back slightly from the small wing, tilting her head slightly and closing her eyes. I already guessed that she would be Malay-Chinese, and now I’m convinced. Almond-shaped eyes without slant, round chin, full mouth and high cheekbones without angles. The nose was not too wide and had two graceful nostrils. She was beautiful.
  
  
  
  She noticed me too. The only thing that has changed is the music. She played louder and banged on the keys. Chopin disappeared and Chassin replaced it with "Hong Kong Rush Hour".
  
  
  
  I grinned, jumped over the railing and knocked on the half-open garden door. I said quietly. - "Tabai, curry tiffin, apa kaba?"
  
  
  
  The music stopped. She looked at me from behind the shiny piano as I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me.
  
  
  
  "Tabai, Tuan."
  
  
  
  I drew the heavy curtains on the doors and turned to her. "Tuan suda sampai", which roughly means: master is here, let's begin.
  
  
  
  She closed the piano and stood up. "I didn't know you spoke Malay."
  
  
  
  I smiled at her. She had something to smile about. Tonight she was wearing a natural closed silk sarong in a scorching color over her beautiful mature body. It was beautiful and I hated it; it covered her legs.
  
  
  
  “Of course I speak Malay. Everyone in Brooklyn speaks Malay. Didn't you know?
  
  
  
  She became nervous again. This happened exactly between the closing of the piano and the rise. Her voice seemed too high, and as she stood looking at me so hesitantly, she bit her full lower lip. There was doubt in her dark amber eyes. Doubt and a kind of panic.
  
  
  
  "I... I'm not quite sure how to address you, sir... Dacoit?"
  
  
  
  We both burst out laughing. That helped.
  
  
  
  “Arneson,” I said. Kenneth Arneson. And you? I don't think Curry Tiffin has anything to do with you.
  
  
  
  She laughed again. But now I exaggerated a little.
  
  
  
  “I...my name is Maura. I think that's enough. But, Mr. Arneson, who came up with these ridiculous code names for us?
  
  
  
  “There is a man in Washington who does nothing all day. The gold letters on his office door: the department names are fictitious. The best job in the entire company. All you have to do is read the Bible and Shakespeare and then choose something. Maybe a little Kipling every now and then."
  
  
  
  Then, if she needed clowning to calm her down, I would be the clown. For now, the job is done. I took a few steps towards her, random and unconscious steps without any ulterior motive, and suddenly the piano came between us. She moved like a ghost in the shadows.
  
  
  
  There was excitement in her voice again, and again her smile became too wide as she said, “Would you like a drink, Mr. Arneson? Or something to smoke? I don’t smoke myself.”
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. 'Both. I smoke and drink. Besides, I'm afraid there's a lot of both.
  
  
  
  To try it, I took a few more steps towards her as she stepped out from behind the safety of the piano. She jumped back and almost ran away.
  
  
  
  “This... this won't last that long. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable."
  
  
  
  I did it. I sat down in a chair next to the non-working fireplace, above which hung the head of a tiger, lurking behind me. I thought she was afraid of you, Carter. You're making her nervous.
  
  
  
  But why? She accepted my credentials. She knew I was coming. She was the only contact I had with the Malaysian Secret Service. I'm tall and people say I'm quite handsome, I've seen a few things, I'm not a living room intellectual. I just didn't understand. I went to the piano and played the flea march. I lifted the seat of my chair, flipped aimlessly through the sheet music, and came across a small Mendoza automatic pistol. Caliber .25 with mother-of-pearl grip. A neat women's pistol. Acts like a .45 pistol if you do it from the right distance. I put it back and closed the chair seat. What did he really represent? I knew I needed to take precautions, but I still wasn't satisfied. And it’s not that she was professionally afraid of me. This was something different. But if she was afraid of me for personal reasons - what was that?
  
  
  
  I heard her come back and come up to me. She was barefoot, and on each ankle there were thin gold rings that jingled as she walked. This also got me thinking. Why this outfit tonight? She was not a jungle girl.
  
  
  
  She came in with a silver cooler filled with ice and a bottle. This wine is not from the jungle either. It was Balaton Riesling. Dry white Hungarian wine. Hm. I had to force myself to realize that this was Singapore.
  
  
  
  I sat motionless, watching her put out wine, cigarettes, ashtrays and all that damn change. I didn't say a word. I just allowed myself to look at her. I didn't know what it was with this girl, but I was going to figure it out.
  
  
  
  She rushed to prepare everything to get away from me. I saw a blush underneath her light brown skin. The wine glass clinked against the bottle.
  
  
  
  “You probably prefer whiskey,” she said, “but I’m afraid there isn’t any. My father only drinks wine, and I myself don’t drink at all.”
  
  
  
  “The wine is wonderful,” I said. I grinned as idiotically as possible.
  
  
  
  “By the way, tell me, how did you know that I was following you? You then turned it into a beautiful musical melody."
  
  
  
  She finished her business and ran to the sofa in the corner, as far away from me as possible in this room. She sat on it and pulled her bare feet under the sarong.
  
  
  
  "You're late, Mr. Arneson, and..."
  
  
  
  “Ken,” I said.
  
  
  
  I'm sorry?'
  
  
  
  'Know. Not Mr. Arneson. I only work with professionals on a friendly basis." I emphasized the word "friendly" as I looked at her face.
  
  
  
  Oh,” she avoided my gaze. She tapped her finger against her lips. I cursed the sarong again. Not a trace of a leg or chest. There's barely a bulge to indicate she has breasts. But I saw better. This afternoon, when she bent over, that's when I saw them. Now she wasn't even wearing a regular bra. Today she was dressed modestly. She was wearing a choti, crisscrossed, which pressed her breasts tightly against her body.
  
  
  
  She stared at the polished wooden floor. I made her distracted. "I am late?"
  
  
  
  'How?'
  
  
  
  "You said I was late."
  
  
  
  “Yes, you were late, and when I was playing Chopin, I suddenly felt, I don’t know why, that you were standing and looking at me. That's why I played Chassin.
  
  
  
  I studied her carefully and she noticed it. She tried to pull herself together and almost completely succeeded, but I saw it. She shuddered. Sudden involuntary muscle movement. Then it was all over. Of course she was afraid of me. Then I thought I found out. She knew what I was doing, who I was and why I was in Malacca. She just didn't like being alone with a professional killer. This irritates anyone. Tonight it started to look a lot like AH is interfering in my life again.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said, “let's move on, Maura. Do you know exactly where Lim Jang is now? Red cobra?
  
  
  
  ' We knew it. That is, our security service knew about it, but he left his previous camp. By the time our troops reached this place, it was already late."
  
  
  
  I lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. She didn't seem to like my look.
  
  
  
  "First of all, how did you get this information about the exact location of Cobra's camp?"
  
  
  
  “Some of our native troops, the anti-guerrilla troops, found two of his men. One died without saying a word, but the other spoke. He told us where this camp is. But, as I said, when our people arrived there, Lim Jang was no longer there.
  
  
  
  I blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. "Do you know what that means unless he happened to be planning to find another place?"
  
  
  
  'I know. Of course I know. That's why you're here, sir. That's why you and I are sitting here together now. Therefore, this cannot be organized through official channels. We can't trust our people. There are leaks. There are always leaks. Red Cobra was warned the moment his man opened his mouth.
  
  
  
  I knew, but I asked anyway. “The partisan who spoke, was he tortured?”
  
  
  
  “Of course he was tortured, otherwise he would not have spoken.” They acted a little impatiently.
  
  
  
  “So right now you have no idea where this Cobra is? Right? Do you have any information, rumors, messages or anything else? There's quite a bit of jungle here in Malacca."
  
  
  
  Speaking about the matter, her voice sounded less tense and nervous. I continued to smoke and did not look at her.
  
  
  
  “The last message came three days ago. He ambushed a small group of our men near Coeal Lipis. It's somewhere in the Central Highlands. The bodies were found by the planters." I nodded and thought for a moment. “How far is this Koela Lipis from his previous camp? Did you mean from the camp that was captured?
  
  
  
  "About fifty kilometers."
  
  
  
  "And how much time happened between these events - I mean the story of these people, the raid on the camp and the last attack of Cobra?"
  
  
  
  About ten days - maybe a day more or less. We do not keep any official records about this."
  
  
  
  So Lim Jang was not very active. This made sense. It's damn hard to be mobile in the jungle. You move, but not so fast. This is a real jungle, and if you know it a little, you don't need to move so fast. I thought this gave Cobra some advantage. Perhaps he had more experienced partisans with him, the kind who knew the jungle like the back of his hand, if he had any. Recruits enter the battle, seniors lead.
  
  
  
  “How equipped he is. With what weapon? How much, what caliber and how effective it is.
  
  
  
  She thought for a moment. I looked at her again. Frowning, she leaned forward, playing with the ring on her ankle. I remembered the view from the bar this afternoon. Why cover this beautiful body of choti? What the hell does this have to do with fear of a professional killer?
  
  
  
  I encountered two difficulties. One personal and one professional. On the professional side, things are quite simple. Not easy, of course, but easy. Routine. I wasn't so sure about the other one.
  
  
  
  “Several machine guns,” she said. “Lots of pistols and hand grenades. As far as we know, they have no shortage of ammunition. And a lot of small arms. By this I mean pistols. Most of the weapons are English or Japanese. Some American. Mostly pistols.
  
  
  
  “Are there explosives? Bombs, TNT, dynamite - what do they have?
  
  
  
  She shook her head. "I know next to nothing about these things."
  
  
  
  "Well, let me put it another way - Cobra blows up a lot of bridges, trains, or all sorts of structures?"
  
  
  
  She shook her head again. “Not much yet. You know, he should stay in the jungle. This is his only defense.
  
  
  
  I knew it. Some of these Malaysian jungles have never been entered by whites. There are still places where you can imagine yourself a thousand years ago, a kilometer from the main road. Whoever invented these partisans also invented this jungle for them.
  
  
  
  We talked for another half hour. She was even a little less worried. She gave me a few note cards which she anxiously handed to me at arm's length, but overall she did exactly what was expected of her and was very professional.
  
  
  
  Now I began to realize that I would have difficulty completing this task. I would use myself as bait to catch the Red Cobra or one of her little cobras.
  
  
  
  Gradually I began to change course. Really slow to strike when she wasn't paying attention and I was done.
  
  
  
  It was quarter past eleven. She was now relaxed enough to play Strauss. “Relaxed with wine,” I thought. She found a box of cigars somewhere, which she placed on the piano for me. Then she retreated to her couch, far away at the far end of the room—oh, my gosh, too far—and pulled her aristocratic legs under her sarong, rested her chin on her hands, and looked in my direction. I wonder what she saw? Tiger?
  
  
  
  I took a sip of wine. The bottle was still half full. This makes me an optimist. A pessimist would say the bottle is half empty.
  
  
  
  “Sometimes, Maura, I can do my job better if I have a fairly complete understanding of the political factors influencing circumstances. So something different from the military background. Have they really told you why I am here?
  
  
  
  I looked at her face; she almost didn't answer. She simply nodded and did not take her almond-shaped eyes off me.
  
  
  
  'Yes, I know. You must kill this man, this red cobra Lim Jang.
  
  
  
  'Exactly. Maura, your answer must be very honest, how dangerous is this person now? How successful is he? Why is your government sending someone to Washington to enlist the help of a professional assassin tasked with leading a guerrilla force that only has a few men on hand?
  
  
  
  I watched her eyes. She barely blinked at the word "killer." So that wasn't the case.
  
  
  
  She lowered her narrow leg and tapped the floor, her ankle bracelet jingling. She looked at me, frowning. “I was only ordered to tell you, which I did. What you are asking me has nothing to do with this.
  
  
  
  I shrugged. "If you do not want ..."
  
  
  
  “But I want to tell you. Maybe it will help if you say so. You are helping us. You have come so far and are risking your life for us.”
  
  
  
  She was right about that. There was no point in pointing out to her that I was just doing my job, that I was paid very well for it, and that Hawk would fire me if I refused. No, there was no point in telling her that. “Things are going very badly,” she said, “much worse,” than anyone outside the government would suspect. There is a real danger of a coup if Cobra is not quickly hunted down and killed. We're terribly afraid of foreign capital, Ken. We already have something, not much, but something. Until Lim Jang showed up. Now these funds are starting to dry up. Large companies and other countries are afraid. This is of course not known to the general public." I nodded. - 'I know. There are quite a lot of tourists here. And why not? In the happy forests of Malacca there are no guerrillas at all."
  
  
  
  She didn't laugh. - Yes, we like to give that impression. On the outside. But important people know. These people take their real situation into account. Banks of Switzerland and London, Paris and New York. Have you ever studied exchange rates?
  
  
  
  'Sometimes. Not recently. Is the Malaysian dollar really holding up that well? '
  
  
  
  'Badly. And it gets much worse. Unless we clean up our own street. They told us to clear this alley now.”
  
  
  
  I could well imagine who "they" were who said this, and why Dato' Ismail bin Rahman - may Allah allow him to enter his pleasure gardens - was sent to Hawk. And who gave this order that set Hawk in motion. And I'm on the move. A stick hits a dog, a dog bites a cat, a cat eats a mouse, and so on. All because on that bloody night the Indonesians failed to lock Lim Jang in their nets so long ago. So now it had to be done by one person.
  
  
  
  “It’s not just Cobra,” I said.
  
  
  
  “No,” she agreed. “But his presence here is enough. This news has reached the right ears. From our point of view, of course, the ears are wrong. That's why my... was an envoy sent hastily to Washington. We're getting desperate, Ken. These partisans are already beginning to reach young people. So far, little has happened in Singapore, but yesterday there was a student demonstration in Koeala Loempoer. Small, but enough to scare us. This Cobra organized something like Maidan.'
  
  
  
  I understood how the message was spreading. Beijing, Ching Pao. Policy and good planning. They knew something good when they saw it. There are rumors that Malacca is on the verge of collapse and may fall apart. After falling through Indonesia, cross the strait and start again in Malacca. These bastards never give up.
  
  
  
  I stood up and stretched. Instantly she tensed up again. She kept looking at me. Like a lamb tied to a pole, like bait for a tiger. Maybe I was a tiger too. I walked up to the tiger's head above the fireplace and looked at it in admiration.
  
  
  
  “Maura,” I said, deciding not to feel sorry for her anymore. “Maura, I would like to ask you a personal question. This is good?'
  
  
  
  “I... I don't know. What a question? Her voice sounded tense again, like a piano string.
  
  
  
  I stroked the soft muzzle of the dead tigress without looking at her. “This man, that Dato Ismail bin Rahman who went to Washington, are you his wife, his mistress or his concubine? what do you like?'
  
  
  
  By law, a Muslim can have four wives and as many concubines as he can afford. If she was like that, I'd be willing to give it up. I wanted her. I felt a little hot there. But I had no intention of consuming Dr. Bean's personal treats. Muslims are very sensitive to their personal glory. Moreover, he was a significant Muslim and I was in his country.
  
  
  
  The last thing I expected was a fit of laughter. I turned around. She let herself fall slightly to one side onto the sofa and, leaning on her elbows, burst into uncontrollable laughter. A fit of laughter with a hint of hysteria, but a fit of laughter nonetheless. "I was joking?" - I said, going deeper into it.
  
  
  
  I took a few steps towards the sofa - the tiger was now halfway - and she didn't seem to notice. I doubted she did it. She was still laughing. Her hands were clenched into small fists with white knuckles. I took a few steps towards the sofa again.
  
  
  
  “I thought - did you think so? Was this Dato my husband or lover? She looked at me with wet eyes.
  
  
  
  "Did you really think that?"
  
  
  
  I stayed where I was. "It's plausible enough."
  
  
  
  She shook her head. - 'He is my father. I thought you already knew. I slipped when I mentioned this wine and whiskey thing and I found it annoying because there is no reason why you should know anything about my personal situation. I'm telling you this against my orders. Dato told me that it would be better if you knew as little as possible. But he couldn't trust anyone else to do this, to organize this meeting. That's why I became a liaison. But I wasn't allowed to have anything to do with you anymore and oh no! Do not do that. Please don't do this. I ...
  
  
  
  I knew she was vulnerable now. Right now. In three steps I was on the couch and holding her in my arms. At my touch she tensed and tried to break free, trying to avoid my lips seeking her. But now I knew. Now I really knew.
  
  
  
  I told her kindly. - "Mora." “Mora... Maura, don't fight me. I won't harm you. I want you. Look at me, Maura! Don't you want me?
  
  
  
  She didn't want to look at me. She struggled like a possessed cat and pressed her fists to my chest. I held her close to me like a child and stroked her shiny dark hair. "It's okay, honey, it's okay." I kissed her ear and whispered, “You don’t need that gun on the piano stool. I won't do anything you don't want. Don't be afraid, Maura'
  
  
  
  The moment I let my lips slide past her ear, she stopped resisting. She relaxed in my arms, closing her eyes tightly.
  
  
  
  No, she muttered. 'No no no. I can not do it. I do not need it. You don't understand, Ken.
  
  
  
  I understood this all too well.
  
  
  
  I suppressed her words by pressing my lips to hers. She moaned and resisted again, weaker this time. Then she gave in and hugged me.
  
  
  
  She hugged me tightly and started searching for my mouth with her mouth. Our breathing was loud in the quiet room. I felt her right breast. She arched her back, grabbed my hand and folded it, moving it from her sarong to the choti that was pressing those beautiful breasts to her body.
  
  
  
  Finally, I had to take a deep breath. I broke the kiss and frowned, breathing heavily. 'Why? Why do you need these damn things?
  
  
  
  Her lips met mine again, wet, sultry and groping. “Don't say anything,” she muttered. “Please don't say anything. Don't talk at all and take your time. Slowly, honey, slowly... slowly...
  
  
  
  Sarong is not as simple as you think. There are no buttons, hooks or zippers, but it's still a challenge. She had to help me, and she did it without leaving my mouth or opening her eyes.
  
  
  
  I kept my eyes wide open. I always wanted to see everything. And when she finally guided my fingers in all the right places and I pulled the sarong out from under her, it was worth the watch.
  
  
  
  I buried my face in her chest, in her perfume and her softness, and ran my lips over her nipple. She moaned something in Malay that I didn't understand, but it didn't matter.
  
  
  
  My own sensation was a mixture of feelings and lust. I was about to break down, but, remembering her plea, I continued to do it very slowly.
  
  
  
  I slipped my hand between her thighs. She screamed and almost sat up on the couch. I gently pushed her away, kissed the slight curve of her belly and stroked the smooth softness of her legs. She cried out softly and pulled my head to her chest, guiding my lips to where she needed them most.
  
  
  
  We stayed like that for a long time. I kissed her, reassured her and loved her because she wanted to satisfy both me and herself - first of all herself. And I did everything I knew with her, with all the talent I had. I felt her pass from the first feverish lust into a more relaxed need that could not be satisfied so easily and so quickly.
  
  
  
  Finally, when I realized that she was ready, I pushed her onto the sofa. She was soft, like pliable plastic, and every limb, every line and contour was in the right place. All this time, neither of us said a word. She seemed afraid that I would break the silence, because whenever she did not kiss me, she covered my mouth with the palm of her thin hand. Nothing could be heard in the room except our noises. Her heart, beneath those breasts, now flattened by my weight, beat in sync with mine. As for me, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t say a word. I'm an erotic person, and although I realize that something like this can be dangerous, I didn't care anymore.
  
  
  
  I felt her tenderly and hesitantly. She turned away from me. It was she who broke the silence.
  
  
  
  “Yes,” she muttered. 'Yes.'
  
  
  
  The groping became bolder and a rhythm began. She moved underneath me, helping me find her, and her abs began to move. At that moment I knew that we were ripe for each other.
  
  
  
  I felt Her long legs wrapped around me. Her heels touched the backs of my knees and slowly crept up until, finally, she locked me in that cell from which no sane man wants to escape. A perverse kind of cell because you always end up locked in it for less time than you'd like.
  
  
  
  And then, as always happens, I felt how she was moving away from me, how I was moving away from her, because even in this, at the peak of human fusion, we are finally alone again.
  
  
  
  Now she was moaning, and every movement I made made her moan again. I also heard other sounds that could have come from me, but they had no hidden meaning.
  
  
  
  The gong rarely sounds for both at the same time, and this is especially true for strangers. But this time the magic worked and together we played sounds that people just want to hear in moments like these.
  
  
  
  Gradually the world again became visible, peaceful, beautiful, behind that pink glow that colored the room into dark brown twilight.
  
  
  
  It only took a moment. A moment like this never lasts long. I lay with my head on her chest as she stroked my hair and neck, still hugging me tightly. Finally she turned to me and whispered: “You will crush me, dear Tuan. Let me go now. I should rest... I should also go to the bathroom.
  
  
  
  Progress. Even in Singapore.
  
  
  
  Reluctantly I allowed myself to slip away from her, in one of his insightful moments Hawk said that I was a romantic. Then I objected, but deep down I knew that he was right.
  
  
  
  She left. I noticed that my pants had slipped down around my ankles. I put them on again, my first step back into the everyday world, and lit a cigarette. After taking a sip of wine, I returned to the tiger's head over the fireplace.
  
  
  
  “Number one,” I said. “Itskhiban. Number plus one.
  
  
  
  Her sarong was still where I had left it. I picked it up and slung it over my arm as she came back into the room. Gold bracelets jingled around her perfect ankles, and for some strange reason she was wearing high heels. Like red slippers. It was dissonance. Her feet didn't need high heels to be perfect. I should have thought about this.
  
  
  
  But I had to admit that if she had stopped halfway across the room, with her skin and perfectly jutting breasts still shaking from walking, she could have driven the entire clique of playboys crazy. But I had no need to worry and felt a headache of sadness. This was the first cheap thing in it. But that too passed. If she noticed, at least she didn't say a word about it. She came up to me, we kissed each other quickly, and I handed her a sarong, which again covered her legs and chest and kept them until my next visit. Because I knew I'd be back.
  
  
  
  It was only then that I noticed the small pendant she was wearing around her neck. It was a simple case, something like a cube the size of a dice, some kind of black stone. There was something golden about it, and I recognized Arabic letters. It hung on a thin gold chain with small mesh. I took the pendant between my fingers and kissed both her breasts before letting go.
  
  
  
  "Do you know what this is, Ken?" She smiled and grabbed my hand. Her voice was soft and full, with the satisfaction of a satisfied woman.
  
  
  
  I nodded. - 'I know. Kaaba. Have you been to Mecca?
  
  
  
  “No, but my father was. He brought it to me. In fact, I shouldn't have worn it. I am a bad Muslim."
  
  
  
  I looked at my watch. It was time to leave. But not quite yet. I led her to the sofa and grabbed a bottle of wine on the way. We sat relaxed, looking more like old lovers than people who had just met. She laid her head on my shoulder.
  
  
  
  “Your father,” I told her, “that Dato is not very much a Muslim either.” I picked up the bottle of Balaton Riesling.
  
  
  
  “With this in the house.”
  
  
  
  I took a sip.
  
  
  
  I felt her nod. 'I know, I know. He likes to take a sip of wine from time to time, and he thinks that the prophet will close his eyes."
  
  
  
  “Of course he does,” I said. “From what I've heard about him, he's a pretty decent guy. At least that's what Omar says.
  
  
  
  Maura laughed and nuzzled my neck. "You are the most amazing person I have ever met, Ken."
  
  
  
  “And I’ve never met anyone like you,” I said. I meant it. I know that every person is unique, but she is definitely more unique than others.
  
  
  
  Her mood changed, as if her smile had disappeared. She walked away from me. When I felt her do this and turned to face her, she pressed her hand to my cheek. “No,” she said. 'Do not look at me. Please. I... I want to tell you something, Ken, and I don't want you to look at me while I do it.
  
  
  
  What do we get now?
  
  
  
  She had a little trouble getting started. Finally she said, "I'm not a very nice person, Ken."
  
  
  
  'Why not?'
  
  
  
  “I'm cheating him a little. I - how do Americans say it again? I'm just messing around. I always need a man, almost always. If I can't find him - if I can't find him, I go crazy and then I start crying, making everyone sad. Poor Dato, I made it very difficult for him.”
  
  
  
  This was what I expected and thought. She wasn't a nymphomaniac because she could be satisfied. But she was like that. I knew more than these women. And yet I felt sorry for her when my suspicions were confirmed. I almost fell in love with Maura, but I didn't want to get into that kind of trouble.
  
  
  
  I patted her on the knee. “Good doctors can do a lot these days. Have you ever tried any of these? I mean, looked up?
  
  
  
  'Yes.' She began to cry quietly. “I visited three. One in New York - I came all the way there - and I hadn't been in Singapore for a week when my dad's friend came. The father left, as did the servants. We did it in the garden."
  
  
  
  What do you say then? I tried to appear as carefree as possible. That's why I'm so crazy sometimes.
  
  
  
  “Don’t let it think about you so much all this time,” I said. “This is not a mortal sin, is it?” At least not in your faith."
  
  
  
  'No, I do not think so. Women don't think so. They say we have no soul. Maybe they're right - I don't understand that I can have a tcnm soul and do these things at the same time. You don't know this. Nobody really knows what it's like. But there are times, many moments, when all I want is for a man to touch me, to grab me. I'm living in hell, Ken. I'm always afraid that one day I'll start with the servants."
  
  
  
  - At first you avoided me quite a bit. At first I thought it was because of my job."
  
  
  
  'So you guessed it? 'Yes. I thought about that ".
  
  
  
  “And yet you couldn’t resist? I tried so hard. This... this is so important, and I didn't want to ruin everything, let dad down and... '
  
  
  
  At this point I could have used a triple shot of whiskey and soda. My bedside manners may not be the best, but this girl needed all the help she could get. Maybe I could do something about it, but not right now. I would have to beg her. I had a job to do, and I had already thought pretty well about how I was going to do it. I held her close and kissed her forehead, trying to bring back the same feeling and sincere sympathy for her that I had before. I know I'm a terrible bastard, but sometimes my heart bleeds just as red as anyone else's.
  
  
  
  “Keep doing the best you can,” I said. “Really try it. When this is over, I'll come back and we'll see how best to handle this. Money is not the problem?
  
  
  
  'New doctor.'
  
  
  
  Dr. Sachs from AX is very good. It decides which AX agent is crazy enough for a particular job. Maybe I could make him do something outside of work.
  
  
  
  I wake up. - “I have to go, my love. I want to be in Kuala Lumpur tomorrow as early as possible."
  
  
  
  "Will you come back?"
  
  
  
  She stopped crying and was able to regain her dignity. I knew how much effort it took for her to talk to me like that. She was honest and knew that I was her friend.
  
  
  
  I nodded. - 'I promise. I'll be back as soon as I can, if I can, Maura.
  
  
  
  We both knew what this meant. I kissed her and made sure I got out of this place like hell before it all started again. She didn't stop me at all.
  
  
  
  I walked about thirty yards from the car and waited. I waited five minutes. Everything seemed fine. I checked the car's engine cover, which I had placed a matchbox on so that it would fall as soon as someone lifted the cover, but it was still there.
  
  
  
  Back at the hotel, I called and pulled my Australian friend out of bed. He didn't like it very much, but I didn't really care, and I spoke and he listened to me. On the way back I worked out some details and now handed them over to him. I wanted this, I wanted that, and then some more. I wrested from him the confidence that everything would be done exactly as I told him. Then he went to bed and slept like a groundhog.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don't really believe in the long hand of chance. This hand is basically artificial. So when Toby Dexter sat next to me on a busy Cathay Airlines plane, I was immediately wary. I looked out the window at the bustle at the airport and pretended that I didn’t know him.
  
  
  
  Actually, I didn't know Toby very well either. I definitely didn't know him by profession. When I was in Malacca earlier, after the work was done, I met Toby through mutual friends and we got along well. Toby was a drunk and a womanizer, just like I was when my assassination mission ended. Toby was single - I believe his wife died in a car accident - and about two years older than me. We got along well. He introduced me as his personal guest at the exclusive Fraser's Hill Country Club and showed me the tin mine at Sungei Besi - the largest man-made hole on Earth - and then, using his own words, supplied us with everything we needed to live.
  
  
  
  A week later I had to return to Washington. We shook hands, said hello and that was it. Toby talked about returning to London.
  
  
  
  Now he was strapped into his seat, and the plane, ready to jump, roared and trembled.
  
  
  
  I fastened my belt and flipped through the pages of the Singapore Times. The plane started moving. Toby also owned a copy of The Times. He opened it without looking and said out of the corner of his mouth, “Nick Carter, isn’t it?”
  
  
  
  - Arneson. Kenneth Arneson.
  
  
  
  - Arneson? OK, baby. I'm sorry. But you also remind me so badly of a guy I knew. Good guy. A little crazy. Wandered around the jungle for fun or something like that. Never knew exactly what this guy was doing."
  
  
  
  Toby rustled his newspaper and continued working on stock market reports. The flight attendant came over to check our seat belts and ask if we needed anything.
  
  
  
  Toby wanted a gin and tonic. I said it was too early for me. While he was happily chatting with the girl, I got a good look at him. It was still the same old Toby. Flushed face, red hair and mustache. Still thin, still impeccably dressed. Still laughing at girls.
  
  
  
  I never knew what that Toby did. I never saw him do much other than play golf, drink, and hit on women. Which he also mastered perfectly. I knew that his father came to Malacca in 1936 and managed to revive a declining rubber plantation. Toby was born here.
  
  
  
  I also knew that he had been fighting a long battle with the new Malaysian government over compensation for his rubber plantation. I wondered if he ever got paid for this.
  
  
  
  I looked out the window at the clouds. His drink arrived. Toby took a sip and put down the Times. When he spoke, I had difficulty understanding him.
  
  
  
  "Are you at work, Arneson?"
  
  
  
  It mattered. More by the way than by what he said.
  
  
  
  I read an article about the pirates of Sarawak. They are becoming more and more cruel.
  
  
  
  "I'm working," I said.
  
  
  
  'Fine. I'm not going to screw up for talking to you like that, am I?
  
  
  
  I didn't think so. I don't think anyone was paying attention to me now. But I was at work, and now was not the time to play around with raisins and talk about the good old days. And suddenly I thought of something. Mora drew a circle around the small town of Coheala Lipis with a black pencil. The most likely starting point for my hunt for the Red Cobra. Kuala Lipis? Some kind of insight lit up in my head.
  
  
  
  Everything is safe for now. Safe enough,” Toby said. “The old Chinese man behind us is Lark Tan. I've known him almost as long as I've been around. His wife is with him. People around us don’t know that there are a lot of busy people on this globe.” He laughed discreetly.
  
  
  
  I saw it. The newlyweds from the Goodwood Hotel took the seats in front of us. They were hiding from too curious eyes. But that's their business. The seat across the aisle was filled with approximately two hundred pounds of Chinese merchant.
  
  
  
  Toby noticed my glance. “I know him too, but I can’t remember his name. recruiter. Always recruited Malays and Tamils for my father.”
  
  
  
  I nodded and looked straight at Toby. His blue eyes, less bright than I remembered, looked tired and veiny. I winked at him.
  
  
  
  “What is your name, sir? My name is Kenneth Arneson. From Indianapolis. I make chainsaws."
  
  
  
  Toby's red mustache lifted as he smiled. 'In fact. This has always worried me. My name is Toby Dexter. I had a rubber plantation nearby. I'm going to Kuala Lumpur to talk to these government idiots and clear up a few last minute details.
  
  
  
  He used his own name. I began to wonder if I was wrong. But there are so many different types of nicknames. And then I remembered. Confronted by the former planter, I said, “I think I’ve heard of you, Mr. Dexter. Wasn't your rubber plantation somewhere near Koela Lipis?
  
  
  
  His eyes narrowed at the drink. Then he nodded. - “That's right, buddy, in this area. My father had quite a lot there - from Tapah to Raub and almost to Koela Lipis. Interested in tires, Mr. Arneson?
  
  
  
  I had taken a pencil out of my jacket and was now writing something in the margin of The Times.
  
  
  
  “Maybe,” I said. - “I'm looking for somewhere to invest, but there seems to be nothing here except rubber and tin.”
  
  
  
  I turned the page to Toby so he could read my scribbles. - “Are the surrounding areas mapped? Elephant trails, wells - villages?
  
  
  
  Toby nodded, letting me know he had read it. - Oh, but then you are mistaken, Mr. Arneson. There's a lot more to it than just tin and rubber - these people here are building a lot of industrial plants, plants for their own steel and hydroelectric projects. Of course, they still have problems - such as keeping foreign competitors at bay."
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I muttered. “Foreign competition can be very annoying.” So I was right. Toby worked too. I wondered who his employers were and how long he had been doing this. I'm betting on Ml6.
  
  
  
  “I lived in London for several years,” he said, as if he could read my thoughts. I nodded.
  
  
  
  "I love London. But I don't know him. One day I would like to get to know this city better. I heard he's quite interesting."
  
  
  
  'Certainly. Just like that. Here, Mr. Arneson, I'll give you my address. I'll be back in London in a week or so and if you're ever in the area look for me. Then we'll hit him hard on the drinks. Fine?'
  
  
  
  “Great,” I agreed. “God, that’s great of you, Mr. Dexter. I can support you."
  
  
  
  Toby winked but continued to play. He tore off a piece of his Times, wrote something on it and gave it to me.
  
  
  
  "My house - 307 Batu Road, Lake Gardens - may have what you need - at 5pm."
  
  
  
  He put the glass on the floor and stood up. - Excuse me for a moment, huh. This gin is bad for my kidneys. I'll have to go to the toilet. What am I saying? We are already in Kuala Lumpur. We'll probably remember the old days.
  
  
  
  Toby leaned over me to look out the window. His whisper was gin-laced, but clearly intelligible. “Not before five. I'll make another appointment first.
  
  
  
  He went to the toilet, and I looked out the window. The plane flew over the green hills that surrounded Kuala Lumpur on three sides. The city grew rapidly, expanding and developing suburbs with bungalows where just a few years ago there had been virgin jungle. The plane tilted and the sun shone on the dome of Masjid Jam, which was surrounded on both sides by the muddy Klang River. To the far right was Kampong Bahro, progress along which was held back as much as possible. There was pure Malay life there. We again approached the airfield diagonally, and then I saw the white tower of the Merlin Hotel. Very new and extremely complex. At least two cocktail bars. Just one kilometer from Selangor and golf courses. You see just such a case outside of Philadelphia, and I wondered why anyone would travel fifteen thousand miles to spend even one night at the Merlin Hotel.
  
  
  
  I, of course, had a special reason for this. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be seen as soon as possible by one of the agents of the Red Cobra, or Merdeka, or whoever was providing repair and shoveling services for Lim Jang these days. And he would have to get in touch. Then I could start from there.
  
  
  
  Toby Dexter did not return to his seat. He had cornered a cute little flight attendant from Malaysia and was now praising his manhood. I heard her giggle and say he better go back to his seat and fasten his seat belt. But instead Toby disappeared into the toilet. She giggled again, shook her head, and walked down the aisle to check on us.
  
  
  
  He didn't want to be seen with me when we got off the plane. For me it was normal. I put his note in my wallet. Five o'clock in the afternoon. This gave me enough time to do everything I wanted.
  
  
  
  Loud sounds of kissing could be heard from the front seats. Young love began to play again.
  
  
  
  The plane turned onto its landing path. I also thought about Toby Dexter. It wouldn't be surprising if I was right - that he worked in some branch of British intelligence. I also remembered now that his father had done a magnificent job, both in intelligence and in actual combat. In those days after the war, when the Reds tried to take over Malacca. What struck me now was that Toby never told me how his father died. He was away from home for a while to study in England - at Oxford? - and he interrupted his education to return and manage a rubber plantation. It's amazing to see what you can extract from your memory. If you try really hard.
  
  
  
  As the wheels hit the runway, a terrible thought occurred to me. It is also possible that the Malaysian government included two irons. Perhaps Dato' Ismail bin Rahman visited London briefly before reporting to Washington? I hoped I was wrong, but I got bored thinking about it any longer. Too many thoughts cause fermentation in the head.
  
  
  
  I checked into the Merlin Hotel. Everything was exactly as described in the travel brochure. I took a shower, changed clothes and went down to the bar. Then I walked around Kuala Lumpoer, yawned in shop windows and mostly spent time showing myself off to people in the mysterious east. I looked back several times to make sure I wasn't being followed. Nothing. I didn't really think anyone would be interested in me, but now I was starting to get a little worried. Maybe my cover was too good. My only problem was using myself as bait. It wasn't that bad. I've done this many times before and I'm still breathing.
  
  
  
  There is something else. You have to get the enemy to notice you, but you have to do it in a way that gives you an advantage. Then at least you'll be alive if he dies after helping you with the information you want. Otherwise, of course, everything is meaningless.
  
  
  
  When the time came, I entered the pay phone on Campbell Road. After a few rings, a male voice answered, “Hello?” It was an American voice.
  
  
  
  Hello, I said. "Is this Malayan copra, US Department?"
  
  
  
  “Uh... yes. Yes, indeed. Who are you, if I may ask? Section nine-three. We are talking about the cargo that I ordered. I want to speed up the delivery time."
  
  
  
  This confused him. He cleared his throat, hesitated, laughed briefly, and finally said, “I'm afraid that's impossible, sir. There were some difficulties in fulfilling this order." It was hot in that damn phone booth. I was dripping with sweat. I got a little angry. This was the first real failure. You're always ready for it, but your mood doesn't improve when it finally happens.
  
  
  
  "What's the matter?"
  
  
  
  It's a weapon, sir. I'm afraid we don't have anything of that size and caliber." They didn't have the gun I wanted.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I grumbled, “give me one more thing.” Anything that looks like this is normal. But delivery time is mandatory. I want it delivered at four today.
  
  
  
  - But we agreed on six hours, sir. I'm afraid it will be too soon.
  
  
  
  Delivery is always a problem. For both AX and military. We have people who do good work, but also the usual number of suckers. This one, who I would never have met, looked like one of our favorite suckers.
  
  
  
  “Four o’clock,” I said, “means four o’clock.” Stop chewing your snot and make it happen. Do you know where to deliver it?
  
  
  
  He didn't know me, would never meet me, and he didn't care. But he was not such a fool that he could not hear the seriousness in my voice.
  
  
  
  'Yes, sir. Delivery will be made at four o'clock in the afternoon."
  
  
  
  I thanked him and hung up. I left the cell just in time to face the afternoon rain. It was like crazy. Total Flood I swam across the street and killed time with a Chinese action film. He was very bad. At half past three I left the cinema again and boarded a bus that took me to Petaling Jaya. I left behind the old Moorish buildings and entered the new part of Koela Loempoer, which the young people call "K.L." About halfway to Laie I saw a cable factory and got off the bus.
  
  
  
  The Chevy was parked in a yellow VIP lot near one of the offices. The keys were under the rug. Nobody paid attention to me or tried to follow me. The key to getting away with murder - sometimes literally - is to play your part well and pretend that the world is yours.
  
  
  
  I opened the trunk and looked inside. It was bursting at the seams, and I could only hope that everything I ordered was there. I definitely didn't have time to check everything again. I got on and drove back to Koela Lumpoer.
  
  
  
  Toby Dexter lived on the other side of town.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everything was covered in blood. The sofa was completely wet and the rug was soaked. Toby Dexter lay on the sofa with his head half cut off. He lay face down, his nearly severed neck bent at a high angle. He was wearing white sports shorts.
  
  
  
  What happened was as clear as the blood itself. They literally fucked poor old Toby, stabbed him to death while making love. The girl must have managed to get out from under him and run to the door. But she probably didn't have time to scream. In any case, no one would have heard her because Toby's cottage was off Batu Road and hidden from view by the planted jungle.
  
  
  
  She had almost reached the door when the parang caught her too. He hit her on the right side of her head and knocked her down from behind with a strong blow. The blood underneath had already soaked the mat, leaving a dark red Rorschach stain that could only be interpreted one way.
  
  
  
  He was still in the cottage. He was in the bathroom, waiting with bated breath, wondering who I was and what I was going to do about all this. He made a mistake. He panicked when he heard me coming and hid. Without knowing it, he entered the blood.
  
  
  
  Striped prints led across the rug into the bathroom. They didn't return.
  
  
  
  I played my part. I whistled a bad tune and looked around. I kept a close eye on the bathroom door. It was half open so I could see the bathtub and an old-fashioned shower with a curtain, a toilet with a toilet, a medicine cabinet and a laundry basket. The bath mat was wrinkled and there was a small red stain on the porcelain where his foot had touched the tub when he stepped inside.
  
  
  
  I stood with my back to the bathroom door. I didn't want to scare him into acting too quickly. I didn't think he'd see me without moving the shower curtain. And he wouldn't want to do that.
  
  
  
  I had to calm him down. I walked over to the phone in the corner by the window overlooking the patio and dialed a random number while holding the phone in my other hand.
  
  
  
  "Hi Bob? Too late. They're both dead. Yes. Parang. Everything is covered in blood. My God, what a mess.
  
  
  
  I put a little panic into my voice to try to fool him. I assumed that he understood English, at least well enough to know that I had not called the police, otherwise my whole game would be in vain. This should make him think, this should make him believe that he has little time left, that I will leave and he can slip away unnoticed. .
  
  
  
  “No,” I shouted into the phone. “No, we don't need police here. In no case. No, I'm telling you, everything has gone bad and we need to leave the country as soon as possible. Hm? Where in Singapore?
  
  
  
  While I was pouring out this nonsense, I was trying to think, trying to remember something. Seven, eight minutes ago, as I turned out of the lane onto Batu Road, I saw a blue sedan parked with two men in it. Two men in business suits and straw hats chat quietly. I didn't pay much attention to it, but I internalized it and passed it on to my subconscious to dig it up again.
  
  
  
  While I was selling my shit, I could look out the window onto the patio and see a vague path leading down into the jungle strip. This path led to the alley where I saw the car with two men. Several friends were waiting for my killer.
  
  
  
  I was waiting for this.
  
  
  
  I continued my fake phone call.
  
  
  
  “No, I haven’t found it and I won’t look for it. As soon as I hang up, I'll disappear. Okay - okay - I know it's an open line, but I don't care. What does it change. We lost him...
  
  
  
  I wonder how to deal with this. To make enough noise to alert his comrades, I would have to shoot him. But I also needed some time in this house, and alone. How to do it now, I didn’t know how patient they would be, but I didn’t need a group of assassins here for a spy.
  
  
  
  It was about getting one of them crazy enough to follow me.
  
  
  
  I put the stiletto in my hand. There was only one way out.
  
  
  
  Okay, I was on the phone. “It’s good when I’m over his head. But if you saw this mess, you would crow differently. You're in luck, Bob. I'll hang up now and leave here. See you in Singapore. Maybe.'
  
  
  
  I hung up and turned towards the bathroom door. The shower curtain moved briefly, as if caught in the wind. I walked around the pool of blood, walked to the half-open door, stretched my leg to open it completely, and threw the stiletto. Just above stomach level he disappeared behind the curtain.
  
  
  
  He let out a quiet cry. I quickly went inside the bathroom and caught him as he fell out of the shower, dragging the curtain and the entire stall behind him. The plaster crumbled when the cornice was ripped out of the wall on one side.
  
  
  
  His head formed a bulge in the plastic curtain. I grabbed the Luger by the barrel and hit it four or five times until it stopped. Then I stepped aside and let him land on the mat through the bathroom door, halfway to the threshold.
  
  
  
  Watching the patio - if his friends came, they would come from there - I turned him around. It was a Malaysian. Young, stocky, with gold teeth. Dirty cotton pants, a sports shirt, black shoes and socks, and a head of thick hair of greasy black hair. A cobra that should not be allowed close.
  
  
  
  Next to the sofa where Toby Dexter had loved his last maid, an alarm clock was ticking. But I'll think about it later. It was now a quarter past five, and those guys in the car were probably getting impatient.
  
  
  
  I looked into the bath. There was a parang in it, it was stained with blood and hair. The parang is a more brutal version of the machete. I had one in the trunk of a Chevrolet.
  
  
  
  I pulled the stiletto out, rinsed it, and put it back in its suede sheath. I threw it too low and hit him in the stomach. It wasn't the stiletto that killed him, it was the butt of the Luger.
  
  
  
  I covered his face with the shower curtain - don't ask why - and continued working. Fingerprints didn't bother me. I found the girl's purse on a chair among her clothes. I hastily searched him. She was a whore from Madame Sy's salon - at least that was the address - and Toby Dexter knew that he was mixing pleasure with business. Madam Sai's is something of an international brothel, where you can find everyone from Belarusians to full-blooded Cockneys and much more. Sometimes you can get valuable information there. Toby found something, but he found something different than what he was looking for.
  
  
  
  I found what I needed on the table in his small office. A small sheet of thin paper, looking old and very wrinkled, with something written in red ink. Map Plantation and Koeala L. - Last sketch in fresh blue ink by Toby added for Mr. Kenneth Arneson. I saw him chuckle as he did this.
  
  
  
  It's time to act. I returned to the bedroom and looked around again. Then I aimed the Luger at the window and fired twice into the jungle strip.
  
  
  
  Now let's see.
  
  
  
  I ran out of the cottage and walked along the gravel path to where I had parked the Chevrolet under the palm trees. On the other side of the tar road, the lake was steaming from the afternoon rain. It was quiet, no sound. The nearest house was five hundred yards away. I jumped in the Chevrolet, turned around with a squeal, and took off.
  
  
  
  The Chevy groaned as I turned the corner into the alley. The tires cursed me cruelly. I straightened the car again and rushed down the alley past the parked car. When I arrived, the door opened and one of the men jumped out and ran into the jungle along the path leading to the patio.
  
  
  
  As I passed him, I looked in the rearview mirror and said a silent prayer. The madman in that car had to make a quick decision. If he doesn't do it or chooses something else, I can do it all over again.
  
  
  
  But he made the right choice. At least for me. I saw the sedan turn and follow me. I chuckled. I lured him in. Now I needed to get him out of the car.
  
  
  
  I still had a few hours of daylight left. In order not to lose him, I took it quite lightly. Still, it had to be like something. If it's too easy, he'll become suspicious and come back for his comrades. Because now he already had my car number.
  
  
  
  I followed the perimeter of the road around the Kuala Lumpoer business district and onto the four-lane highway leading to Cameron Highlands and George Town. He stayed behind me the whole way. He was an amateur and it took me a lot of effort to fool him all the time. He got too close to me again, then got too far behind me again, and several times when we were in heavy traffic I was afraid he would lose me. I've been very busy with this.
  
  
  
  But he still managed. I just slowed down a little, waited and hoped I didn't overdo it. Sooner or later a blue sedan appeared. up again. But he made me worry. We began to enter desert country. Ahead, to my left, as the road turned and the hills disappeared, I saw the Strait of Malacca, the setting sun reflected in gold. Between the road and the strait there were mostly rice fields and plantations. To the east, to my right, lay dense jungle, and beyond it, far away, hills. I looked at the gas gauge and saw that my tank was only a quarter full. I was wondering what my friend behind me was doing. I didn't want him to run out of gas.
  
  
  
  Signs with an “elephant crossing” began to appear. This suited me. I was even more pleased when I saw the old abandoned tin mines. Some of them were very old, dating back to the time when the Chinese used an ancient mining method. Some of them were newer, but the surrounding area seemed like a deserted lunar landscape.
  
  
  
  I passed a faint, skewed sign that said Uro-Asiatic Tin, Ltd. It was almost what I wanted. I slowed down a little and looked carefully. After about a half mile I saw a faint overgrown trail that twisted to the right like an angry python. You could handle this if you weren't too worried about your car's suspension.
  
  
  
  I did not care.
  
  
  
  I saw the sun reflecting off his windshield as he reappeared over the slope. I turned off the highway onto a bumpy track and accelerated. Now he had to see for himself. If he had more than just sawdust in his head, he would not have followed me further. Then he would stop and wait to see what I was doing. If he had a phone or transmitter in his car, it would have cost me my head. But I bet that wasn't the case. He was a brave little cobra looking for a career, or a busy bee looking for a few compliments from the boss.
  
  
  
  I passed the first mountains of garbage. Rough mounds of white sand and silt on the side of the hole, deposited there after the tin was removed. The path led down, and I went down to the bottom of the hole. I passed a tool and guard shed that was on the verge of collapse.
  
  
  
  I stopped at the edge of a deep hole. The rotting patong wound through the pit like a roller coaster. The gaping hole itself reminded me of a gravel pit I used to play in as a child, only it was dry. I stood next to the car, holding the Luger at the ready, and listened. The engine does not hum. So he went on foot. I walked behind the piles of rubbish and headed towards the hut I had just seen. On the other side of the well there was a troop of monkeys who noticed me and now began to howl.
  
  
  
  It got dark quickly. He was probably looking for my car, and now that it was getting dark, he was almost running after it. I hoped he would be curious and brave. And a little stupid.
  
  
  
  He had all three of these qualities. Besides, he had good ears and damn good eyes, plus some kind of automatic weapon. He saw me first and his gun went off.
  
  
  
  I let out a grunt of pain and stalked around the mounds of silt, waiting to see if he would show up. I slid the Luger back into its holster, stuck the stiletto between my teeth, and began to climb, inch by inch, past the pile of trash. It really was centimeters; fingers and toes. Centimeter by centimeter, very carefully, to prevent the debris from moving and the dirt from slipping under my feet.
  
  
  
  Silence. Now the monkeys, having recovered from the initial fright, began to really whine. They were furious at this invasion of their privacy. Captivated by their wild babble, I reached the top of the hill and lay down on my stomach. It was almost impossible to shoot in such light. Light weapon, eight rounds in the magazine, but damn good at close range. I was waiting. I didn't think he really wanted to kill me. Not yet.
  
  
  
  He wanted some information, but so did I. I waited and finally he moved. He was at the old tool shed.
  
  
  
  I saw him clearly outlined in the greenish twilight as he lost his composure and convinced himself that he had already killed me with his first shot. He would be crazy to waste any more time now. Maybe I'm not dead, just seriously injured, and then he can get more information by capturing me. Maybe he will even be able to save my life and drag me to the Red Cobra. This will undoubtedly earn him the title of Golden Lotus.
  
  
  
  Maybe he was thinking even more. But he burst from the shelter of the tool shed and came towards me. Approaching very carefully. But below me. And I was at the top. He was nervous and afraid. As he came closer, I heard him wheezing.
  
  
  
  I dug up some of the overlying sand. When he was right underneath me, I took a deep breath and let the shit rain down on him. Startled, he raised his head and realized that I was looking straight into his face.
  
  
  
  Then I slid down, dragging several hundred pounds of this sand behind me.
  
  
  
  He was half-blind and fought like a mad dog. I knocked the gun out of his hands and threw him under me. Screaming and waving his knife, he rose to his feet. I didn't dare use my stiletto for fear of killing him. He scratched my left hand with his knife before I hit him with my right hand and stuck the fingers of my left hand into his eyes. He was already half-blind, but that was the end of the job. He fell to his knees and waved the knife helplessly. But I knocked it out of his hand and delivered a karate chop to his neck. Then he grabbed my leg and tried to bite into it with his teeth. I screamed and raised my knee, which cost him several of his front teeth. Somehow he managed to get up again. He walked towards me, focusing on the sound of my breathing. It was a tough cobra.
  
  
  
  I'm tired of playing with him. I knocked him to the ground, flipped him onto his back, punched him once in the face, and then threw several rocks, coarse gravel, and sand onto his face.
  
  
  
  I leaned over him, legs spread wide, and grabbed him by the throat until he stopped screaming and kicking.
  
  
  
  It was just preparation, otherwise I would have gone too far. He was almost unconscious when I brought him back, shook him, punched him and pulled the debris out of his throat with my fingers. It was a good way to lose a finger, but by now he was ready to be a good conversationalist. I hit him in the back of the head with the handle of the Luger, just enough to knock him out temporarily. When he woke up, a small surprise awaited him.
  
  
  
  Now the light began to disappear completely. I left it in the tool shed, ran to the Chevrolet to get things from the trunk, and ran back. He was still passed out.
  
  
  
  I kicked the barn door open with a shovel and let the beam of a huge six-battery flashlight shine throughout the room. The pile of trash left behind was mixed up and within a minute I had my first prize. Old sledgehammer and rusty nails. I laughed evilly and knew, now I was quite sure that my boyfriend would talk. Loud and clear.
  
  
  
  There was a magnet in the flashlight. I placed it on a rusty oil drum and got to work. I undressed him and threw his clothes into the corner of the hut. I cut my rope into pieces, laid him naked on the dirty floor, and tied the pieces of rope to four rickety corner posts of the warehouse. He lay face up, and his bulging belly was clearly visible.
  
  
  
  When I was done with all this, I let the beam fall on his face and sat down to wait for him to come to his senses. Now I was in no hurry. I'll work all night. I still have a lot of work to do, but I had all night to do it. There wasn't much time for him. However, I had to be careful that he didn't get it. I didn't need a hero.
  
  
  
  After about ten minutes, he opened his eyes and looked around in horror, trying to break the ropes and spewing sand and mud.
  
  
  
  What bothered him most was the light in his eyes. This is my shadow and my voice. He was lying there, not me. He was naked, not me. I could see him, he couldn't see me.
  
  
  
  I gave him a minute to think. He tried not to struggle and lay there, breathing heavily, his eyes furiously rolled back from the bright light.
  
  
  
  He was Malaysian. Middle aged. He had a mean face with some scars that definitely didn't come from playing mainpo.
  
  
  
  I asked. - "Apa nama?" The voice was rough and colorless. 'What is your name?'
  
  
  
  I didn't care, but I just wanted to let him know that I wouldn't kill him right away. Besides, I needed to give him some hope. Enough to take advantage of it.
  
  
  
  Growling, he squinted into the light, trying to see me in the shadows.
  
  
  
  Finally he said, “Noah.”
  
  
  
  Noah. Many Muslims have biblical names.
  
  
  
  I asked. - 'Do you speak English?'
  
  
  
  I watched his eyes to see if he was lying. I didn't want to question him in Malay. This would give him an advantage. Then it will be easier for him to come up with lies.
  
  
  
  He decided not to try. He nodded grimly. - 'A little.'
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. I tried to keep my voice as quiet as possible. I wanted him to think that I was the devil speaking to him from the Well. If he had been a good Muslim, I would have scared him. If he had been a good communist, I would not have been able to do this by only portraying Shaitan. I should have known who he was.
  
  
  
  "Listen to me carefully. You are in mortal danger. I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you don't answer them truthfully right away, I'm going to kill you. Understood?'
  
  
  
  He looked in my direction and nodded. 'I understand. But what questions? I'm just ordinary...'
  
  
  
  "I know who you are. You are a terrorist. A Red guerrilla who was hired by one Lim Jang, a man named Red Cobra. I know that you work in the city. You may not be fighting in the jungle at all, but at least you're serving Red Cobra in the cities. This is true?'
  
  
  
  He gained a little courage and tried to spit at me. All he got in response was some sand in his face.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “Okay, Noah. I'd rather you spit on me than lie. I'll show you something. What happens when you don't talk or when you lie. I just came up with something. I won't kill you, but I will do something much worse to you."
  
  
  
  Malaysians love sex. They seem to be proud of their strength, and many of them don’t even drink coconut milk because they think it’s bad for their sexual power.
  
  
  
  I took a rusty nail and touched it in a very vulnerable place. I had to try this. “I'm sure you'll make the girls scream with pleasure when you're horny,” I said.
  
  
  
  His eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. He didn't understand this. Then his eyes narrowed again and he glanced sideways at me. I saw how he thinks. There was a fag in front of him.
  
  
  
  I took a big sledgehammer. I didn't say a word, but stuck a nail about eight inches long into the ground, next to his scrotum, two inches from the quivering flesh. He opened his eyes again. So I wasn't a fag?
  
  
  
  I slowly lifted the heavy hammer and let it fall onto the nail. He screamed and pulled the ropes. He was sweating profusely and his face was distorted. He then looked at the nail driven deep into the ground, about two inches from his body.
  
  
  
  “Next time,” I said, “next time I will make you a eunuch. Then you'll never have the pleasure of making a cute girl choke again. Now you will speak and answer all my questions. And you won't tell me a single word of lies, will you?
  
  
  
  He raised himself as high as he could and shouted: “Fangan! fangan! Gila Beth.
  
  
  
  I smiled at him. - 'Abnormal?' No, I'm not crazy. You're crazy if you don't speak up and tell the truth."
  
  
  
  I pulled the nail out of the ground and touched his sensitive part with it again. Then I picked up the sledgehammer.
  
  
  
  'Speak? And in English, please.
  
  
  
  His flat Mongoloid face melted in streams of sweat. I raised the sledgehammer a little more. "Speak?"
  
  
  
  He screamed. - 'I'm talking!' 'I'm talking. I speak.'
  
  
  
  I already suspected this.
  
  
  
  "Why did you kill Tuan Dexter?"
  
  
  
  'I didn't kill. I just sat on guard and waited."
  
  
  
  I nodded. “I know you didn’t use the parang yourself. Don't be too smart. Why was Tuan Dexter killed?
  
  
  
  "It was an order from the boss."
  
  
  
  "Lim Jang, who is called the Red Cobra?"
  
  
  
  Nod.
  
  
  
  “Why this order? Why is Tuan Dexter dangerous for you?
  
  
  
  “He was connected to British intelligence. We have known this for many years. When things went wrong here, he was responsible for the deaths of many of our people. He shot them or hanged them."
  
  
  
  This could very well be true. I suspected something similar myself.
  
  
  
  'But why did you kill him now? Tuan Dexter no longer has a rubber plantation. Here in Malacca he no longer has power. Now he is English and comes here only on business. Explain this. And don't try to lie."
  
  
  
  I raised the sledgehammer again so that the light flashed on it. “I know a lot of things. But you don't know what I know. So it’s not that hard for me to catch you in a lie.”
  
  
  
  'No no. I am not lying.'
  
  
  
  "Why was Tuan Dexter killed?"
  
  
  
  “He was involved with the British Secret Service. We've known this for a long time, I just said it. My boss waited a long time for someone to try to kill him. But no one ever came. Our government spies couldn't find anything. We just waited and watched trains, airports and bus stations. No one ever came to give my boss a hard time. My boss was very worried about this and did not understand. Tuan Dexter finally arrived this morning by plane from Singapore. We knew why he came. The government sent him from England to kill my boss. But we were too fast for him. These were my orders."
  
  
  
  So I felt good about it. Dato' Ismail bin Rahman actually visited London for the first time. And the British heard him, said yes, and sent Toby Dexter to him. He had to return to his native country. Who was more suitable than Toby? He grew up two steps from the last bivouac of the Red Cobra. So the Malaysian government is betting on two horses at once. I wondered if Hawk knew, and it was very possible.
  
  
  
  I said nothing, but let No stew in his own fat for a few minutes. By now he would have realized what I was trying to achieve and was trying to work up the courage to lie.
  
  
  
  Therefore, I did not ask him the question he expected, but approached him from a completely different angle. “Why did they kill this girl? Madame Sai's whore? Was she a silent killer in your eyes too?
  
  
  
  I looked at his face. He was waiting in the car. Someone else, the man I killed, had the real work with the parang on his conscience.
  
  
  
  He blinked the sweat out of his eyes. - 'Sorry. The whore was out of luck. Sugar was ordered to do his job and leave no witnesses. All I know from you is that this whore is really dead.
  
  
  
  She was killed. Very bloody and very dirty. Why was this necessary?
  
  
  
  I told you this, Tuan. There are no witnesses.
  
  
  
  I picked up the nail and brought it to his naked body. He screamed and tried to break free again.
  
  
  
  I'm not sure, Tuan, but we think some of Madame Sai's girls are government spies. We also have idiots, like everyone else. And from time to time they drink too much and go to women.”
  
  
  
  "Did this happen recently?"
  
  
  
  'Yes please. A few weeks ago one of ours was in town. He got drunk and he turned to women. Later we discovered that he talked too much. Then we took care of him."
  
  
  
  I wouldn't dare put my hand in the fire for this.
  
  
  
  “Did you track down Tuan Dexter at the airport and follow him? Did you see how he met that girl?
  
  
  
  Yes, he did not go to Madam Sai. First he went to the government building and stayed there for a long time. After that he made a lot of phone calls. Then he met the girl at a tea house in Kampong and, as you know, he took her to his cottage on Batu Road. Among other things, he collected information.
  
  
  
  Really. Toby Dexter must have been looking for something. Maybe he even thought we could work together. I'll never know. I was glad we didn't get off the plane together. This was very reasonable of Toby, although my reasons were purely selfish.
  
  
  
  Noah jerked against the ropes. - “I’m thirsty, Tuan.”
  
  
  
  Me too. I had a flask in the Chevy, but I don't think there's any point in wasting it on it.
  
  
  
  A few more questions,” I said. -Then you'll get something to drink. Where is Red Cobra's headquarters?
  
  
  
  I saw him freeze. He knew this question was coming, but he still didn't know how best to answer it. He tried to read my expression in the shadows, but he couldn't. I slowly swung the sledgehammer back and forth, his eyes following the movement as if he were hypnotized. He tried a child's lie. “I don't know, Tuan. He left. There were several difficulties. two of us were caught by the natives and tortured. Who can withstand eternal torture? »
  
  
  
  “Our man did it,” I said. “One didn’t talk. The other one told everything. Your spies knew about this and warned Cobra within hours. That's why you left, isn't it?
  
  
  
  Now he really began to believe that I was Shaitan. I saw fear growing in his cloudy eyes. Not so much out of fear of me, but out of fear of what he said to me. And if he said that, he would be dead.
  
  
  
  He nodded grimly. "That's right, Tuan."
  
  
  
  -Where is this new camp then? Where is Red Cobra now?
  
  
  
  He told me. I asked him to repeat this several times, but he kept repeating the same thing. He was an urban partisan and had never been to this new camp. That's why he couldn't point it out to me exactly. I assumed he was telling the truth. I could see that it was a huge relief to him that he didn't know the exact location of the camp, so he wouldn't have to lie and risk the punishment I had promised him all along. That's why I believed what he told me. He would bring me close enough to allow me to find the Red Cobra. Since I've never found pleasure in hurting or scaring someone unnecessarily, I began to distract him a little. Anxiety, at least in my opinion, is worse than pain or death. Knowing that you are going to die is worse than death itself. So I left this poor guy some hope. Once it gets this far, he won't know about it.
  
  
  
  "Does Cobra have radio contact with Beijing?"
  
  
  
  He, of course, blinked at the sudden change in course. Then he nodded slowly. - 'Yes please. But it's been gone for a few days now. This is an old radio and it is now broken. To do this, new parts had to be made. I... had to get it and bring it to the jungle. But there was still so much that needed to be done..."
  
  
  
  “How to kill Tuan Dexter and that poor whore?”
  
  
  
  'Yes please. If you want to put it that way. I'm still thirsty."
  
  
  
  'You will. How many men does Cobra have?
  
  
  
  I didn't really care about that. I will still have to face him, whether he has ten people or ten thousand. I was just trying to calm him down.
  
  
  
  “A hundred, perhaps. Maybe a few more. Or less if there were losses. But I haven't heard anything about it."
  
  
  
  This Cobra must have taken a hard look at the fact that the government still refused to acknowledge their existence and didn't say a word about it.
  
  
  
  Does Cobra have any veterans? The partisans who fought when the British were here?
  
  
  
  A few, perhaps. A little. Left a little. They are scared and tired of fighting. "Cobra is looking for young people."
  
  
  
  “Natives? Semangov?
  
  
  
  His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. What else did I know about what was happening in the jungle?
  
  
  
  - It doesn't bother us, Tuan. They just watch and sometimes steal from the camp, but other than that it doesn't bother us."
  
  
  
  -Can Cobra recruit them?
  
  
  
  - What's the point, Tuan? They are too stupid and still cannot understand our teaching.”
  
  
  
  He was probably right about that.
  
  
  
  The natives, the savages, may not become model communists.
  
  
  
  “I’ll get you something to drink,” I told him. I walked to the tool shed door.
  
  
  
  "Thank you, Tuan."
  
  
  
  He thanked me for the quick death. At the doorway I turned and shot him in the head with my Luger. He did not expect this and died with his eyes wide open in surprise. I dragged the body to one of the piles of rubbish and covered it. Standing on top of a mountain of sand, I forced the material to move with my foot and it was completely buried. In a hundred years or so, if the material has eroded, they might find his bones.
  
  
  
  I did the same with his clothes and gun. He didn't have all the information I wanted. That's why I got rid of everything.
  
  
  
  When there were no signs, now and probably forever, I returned to the Chevy and began unpacking the trunk. There was a watery moon and no rain, so I could see well. On the other side of the pit, where the real jungle began, the usual noise of the jungle and the screams of monkeys were turned on.
  
  
  
  I didn't pay any attention to it at all. After some time, it will disappear when these night hunters begin their raids.
  
  
  
  I stripped naked and began to put on clothes from the chest. Everything from khaki shorts to an Aussie combat cap. This supplier performed well no matter what. Everything was there.
  
  
  
  It was a Browning Safari rifle chambered in .458 Win. Magnum bullets. I thought it would be no worse than the hard drive I asked for. This one was a little heavier, that's all. It had a jungle sling and a spot for a Busnell scope. The sight itself was made by Bosch.
  
  
  
  Once I was dressed again, I buried the other clothes and hauled the rest into the tool shed. I sorted out the mess, concentrated and laid out the cards on the floor. There I carefully studied her by the light of a flashlight.
  
  
  
  Toby Dexter has hand-drawn some good maps of the rubber plantation and surrounding area. These were old maps - perhaps he had drawn them as a child - but not much had changed in the jungles and mountains of Malacca. On the coasts and in cities - yes, but in a real desert. I had to smile as I examined the crumpled, crooked copy. Toby drew a whole series of elephants to mark the main trails.
  
  
  
  I won't be able to use his cards until I get closer to Coheala Lipis. I hid them in my backpack.
  
  
  
  By the time I was ready to leave, the jungle was silent except for a single sound. A random squabble of monkeys, a cricket or other insect or animal resembling a wild pheasant. There was thick vegetation around me and it was very tempting to spend the night in a shack. But I exerted my willpower and common sense and forced myself to flee from this place like lightning. Before leaving, I drove the Chevy as deep as possible into the pile of debris and caused a miniature landslide that completely buried it in two minutes.
  
  
  
  I returned to the road, which shimmered desertedly in the moonlight. I thought I better get used to it because most of my travel will be at night. It was really the only chance I had. Nobody in their right mind walks through the jungle at night. Here's what I had to do if I wanted to catch the Cobra without being afraid of him. I return to the first intersection with the elephant path. The elephant trail is the fastest way to get through the jungle, although it is not always the safest. In any case, you give way to the elephant if you meet one.
  
  
  
  I knew that I wouldn't see the elephant for a long time. I was still too close to civilization for that. Elephants avoid roads, and the signs were only there to point out old trails and warn that one foolish elephant was looking for trouble.
  
  
  
  I also came to the land of tigers, but that didn’t bother me too much either. Rarely will a tiger bother people unless it's also crazy or so damn old and toothless that it can't kill anything else.
  
  
  
  I reached the elephant path and turned east. The compass was luminescent and easy to read. One of the advantages of the Malay Peninsula is that the magnetic compass always points to true north. Don't ask me why, it's just the way it is. I got my bearings and walked along the path.
  
  
  
  I knew that the railway was not that far from me. I wanted to get past this and get into the real jungle before dawn. After four hours I reached the Cretapi rail embankment and was just in time to see the Coela Lumpoer-Georgetown night express pass by with the blaring sound of its horn. From the edge of the jungle I watched it rush past, its windows glowing, radiating a comfort and safety that I knew didn't really exist. I would really like to be in the bar car with this guy. He was the only customer, and the waiter was just serving him a glass while the train passed.
  
  
  
  There was a bottle of Scotch whiskey in my emergency backpack.
  
  
  
  When the train was out of sight, I crossed the railway. They reinforced it with teak logs to prevent elephants from damaging it and tearing out the rails. On the other hand I entered the jungle again and from the moment I left the railway embankment I found myself in the desert. I did not care. I was alone, but thank goodness leeches don’t look for food at night.
  
  
  
  If there's one thing that worries me, it's leeches. And cobras.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The leeches didn't bother me too much. At the end of the day I might have to burn about a dozen cigarettes. They are annoying, pushy bloodsuckers. These animals must have some kind of radar because they always know where to find you. You see such a beast stick its sting into you, so small that you can hardly see it, and then it begins to swell to the size of a decent sausage of your blood.
  
  
  
  The first four days weren't that difficult. The weather remained good, at least by Malaysian standards. I was only wet two-thirds of the time. Every morning, just before sunrise, I would walk the jungle trail, one end of the elephant trail, and then move on. I haven't seen a tiger yet, and the only two pythons I've seen didn't interest me at all. I had a tent canopy, a sort of tarpaulin cover that I attached to a tree or low growing vine. This allowed me to at least dry out a little while I slept. I had a lot of canned food, but I stuck to my diet. Of course, I was cold because I didn’t dare make a fire. Sometimes, when I woke up, I heard the durian falling. When I found it, I was as happy as a child. I ate with my nose covered. Durian pulp is one of the world's greatest delicacies, but they stink.
  
  
  
  I ate a lot of canned cheese, which made me constipated, but a little cocoa in cold water helped with that. When my flask was empty, I drank bamboo water. Soon there will be plenty of streams on the higher ground. I took fever pills as a precaution so I had no problems in that regard. I was well prepared for the deep jungle. So half the battle is already won.
  
  
  
  Sometimes I lay and smoked under the awning, listening to the rain rushing towards me like a freight train. You hear him coming long before he gets there. When it finally arrives, the thick overhanging trees act as umbrellas and the water mostly cascades down the branches and trunks to form a million miniature Niagara Falls. You'll still get wet.
  
  
  
  Since I was not on the trails during the day, I did not see any elephants. But I heard them. Two or three times a day a herd passed by. There are elephants in front, females and calves behind. The noise they made was as if they were demolishing an entire jungle.
  
  
  
  For some time I was pursued by small savages whom the Malaysians called orangutans. At first a chill ran down my spine. These people were very skilled with their small bows and poison arrows, but I assumed they were just curious and not looking for trouble. I ignored them and after a while they stopped chasing. At night I passed several kampongs. I had problems with dogs, but no one came out to see what was causing the noise. Once I reached the highlands, I no longer had to worry about the population.
  
  
  
  I reached the abandoned kampong just before sunrise. He was lying in a clearing, with a stream flowing next to him. I was surprised to find such a village here. Few villages were located so high in the mountains. I walked around it and checked everything carefully before falling asleep inside. He really was abandoned. Several houses with thatched roofs, piles of rubbish and a garbage dump. As it became lighter, I heard the rain falling again. I decided to take a chance and spend the day in one of the abandoned houses. Then I can finally take off all my clothes and dry off for once.
  
  
  
  The Luger was ready to fire as I looked into each hut. Just shards. I still didn't understand what the kampong was for so high in the mountains. Malaysians are coastal people. The only rubber plantation was nearly seventy miles to the northwest, and the nearest town of any size, Coheala Lipis, was twenty miles to the northeast. If my calculations and my maps were correct, then I was somewhere between Raub and Koela Lipis, at an altitude of about 2000 meters. If I were to draw a circle with a radius of ten miles and centered in the middle of the kampong, I would have to look for the Red Cobra camp somewhere within its circumference.
  
  
  
  At the edge of the jungle, the hornbills woke up and began to wheeze ooo-oo-ha-ha-ha-woo-woo. I shouted something like, “Shut up, you bastards,” and that didn't do much for me. The wind changed and I smelled durian. I followed my nose and found a group of tall trees with fruit hanging from them like footballs, big enough to be picked.
  
  
  
  Malaysians grow durians for food, and the soil around these trees is carefully maintained. I still didn't understand the point of it. Everything at home is in good condition. The jungle had not yet grown around, which meant that people had been here less than a month ago. Now they were gone. Why? Disease? Fear of something? Evil spirit?
  
  
  
  The rain poured down like a liquid tornado. In the open space it felt like standing under an overturned rain barrel. I ran to the largest house - probably once the house of the pengoulu, the chief - and reached it just before a heavy downpour of rain. I shook my head and looked out the doorway. It was like trying to see through a waterfall. One huge solid fabric of murky silver-gray water. I could barely see the houses on the other side of the open space.
  
  
  
  It could be ten minutes, or it could be ten hours. I lit a cigarette from the waterproof case and took off my wet clothes - I also began to smell nice - and decided to skip breakfast and get some sleep. I felt a little uncomfortable here in the kampong, but I couldn't imagine walking in this jungle in this weather. Besides, I didn't think I was in much danger. The guerrillas knew about the existence of this kampong, but so did the government troops. I was a little doubtful that any of them would come here to act as targets. All I had to do was hide and sneak out as soon as it got dark. In the meantime, I have time to dry. First time in five days.
  
  
  
  As I lit my second cigarette, I heard a hell of a noise in the jungle nearby. Falling trees. In the jungle you have to know very quickly whether a certain sound means danger or not. If you don't know it, you'll do a whole bunch of runs in one day. They were old rotten trees, so rotten that they eventually fell, dragged along by the weight of tangled vines and other rotten trees. Sometimes one such rotten tree can drag down ten other trees.
  
  
  
  It was raining. At least the hornbills are quiet. I thought this was a serious storm that would probably last until the afternoon. I made a kind of canopy out of my tent. Also here. You have to do this in a Malay home if you don't want lizards and snakes in your face. This is because of the nipa palm with which they cover their roofs. Malayan cockroaches love nipa, lizards love cockroaches, and snakes love lizards. That's where it came from. They are so engrossed in their game, sliding and devouring each other, that they sometimes lose their balance. Malaysians don't seem to mind the occasional snake in their soup or lizard in their bed. But I'm afraid.
  
  
  
  As soon as I pulled the tarp up, something flashed through my head. By now I had stubble and it was itching. I decided to shave. I had a stainless steel field mirror and a flask cap. I took off my cap for a few seconds and then started shaving in the soft rainwater. One side of my jaw was ready when I saw the shadow move in the mirror.
  
  
  
  It was not so much a shadow as some kind of movement. I placed the mirror on the beam and stood with my back to the doorway. I saw something move there. I continued to shave, half convinced that my eyes were deceiving me. The mirror was dim, and the pouring rain covered the entrance with a barely transparent veil. I wasn't sure, but five days alone in the jungle won't leave you indifferent. I continued to shave, but kept my eyes open. I was only wearing shorts, but I had a Luger holster and a stiletto in a sleeve sheath. It could have been a beast. Maybe a monkey, maybe a dog, returning to the village for reasons known only to dogs.
  
  
  
  I continued to watch. It began to rain. I was just working on that sensitive part under my nose when I saw him again. This time I saw it very clearly for just over a second. It was a man covered with a mat against the rain running across the clearing from house to house. Then he came in. I went into the house right opposite mine. I put the shaving kit aside and, keeping my eyes on the line of fire from the doorway, tried to make sense of it. I didn't think it was a big danger. I had a buzzer and warning light built into my head, and at that moment they malfunctioned. But while I have a lot of trust in my instincts, I don't trust them a hundred percent. I had company in the village and I had to find out who it was. Maybe a leper who stayed behind when the others left. Or a madman who also stayed here. A traveler like me who got lost and is now just taking shelter from the rain?
  
  
  
  Partisan intelligence officer? One of the representatives of the Red Cobra. The latter was very possible. A shrewd guerrilla leader might send a man or two here to keep an eye on the kampong. Or government forces are crazy enough to take advantage of this. And risk being ambushed.
  
  
  
  I decided to let him come to me. I had the whole day and a lot of patience. Using a lightweight nylon sleeping bag as a mattress, I lay down on it rather than in it and stretched out facing the doorway. I had a Browning on my right, a Luger on my left, and he pretended to be asleep.
  
  
  
  The bad thing was that I almost fell asleep because of it. The eyelids became leaden. As soon as I saw the slightest hint of a red twilight, whether I was asleep or when the roar of the rain came further away and almost made me fall asleep, I forced them to open again. Finally, I had to poke myself with the stiletto in my hand to keep myself awake, and when I felt myself falling asleep afterwards, I hit myself on the thigh. It hurt, but it helped.
  
  
  
  Suddenly she was there, in the doorway. Young woman. Young woman. I kept my eyes open and breathed regularly as if I was sleeping.
  
  
  
  She stood looking at me for about a minute. I saw her trembling, ready to run, like a kangaroo smelling a tiger. It was a wild, cute animal, dripping with rain and wearing only a wet half-sarong made of cheap batik that hid nothing. Her thick black hair fell over her face, soaking wet, allowing thin streams of water to flow down her firm, round, coffee-colored breasts. Malaysian women are growing up quickly. I estimate she was seventeen or eighteen.
  
  
  
  I pretended to snore and muttered some nonsense. This seemed to convince her as she lunged straight for the canned food I had prepared for her to eat later that day. This child was hungry. She bent over, graceful as a gazelle, with bulging breasts. And she began carefully putting the cans into a bag she made from her sarong. Her legs were short, but brown and thin, and her buttocks were strong.
  
  
  
  I stood up silently and aimed the Luger at her. “Put it down again,” I said in Malay. “You don't have to take anything. If you're hungry, I'll give you something to eat."
  
  
  
  She made a startled sound that seemed to come from somewhere in her throat and let the cans clatter to the floor. I laughed at her. I wanted her to know that I was not a jungle ghost or a ghost. She took a few steps back and looked at me with wide amber eyes. She was afraid of me. I felt it. But she wasn't afraid. She waited with anxiety and attention to see what I could do to her.
  
  
  
  I stood up slowly, pointed the Luger at her and continued to smile, showing her that I didn't want to use it.
  
  
  
  "Apa nama?" - I said this with the usual greeting nonsense.
  
  
  
  "City, nama." - There was still no smile. She wrinkled her brow and looked at me carefully.
  
  
  
  I nodded. - “City. Beautiful name. What are you doing here in this village, alone?
  
  
  
  "Banyak susa." - There were quite a lot of difficulties. Then I realized that I had found a real goldmine of information. But a moment later I almost lost her again.
  
  
  
  Suddenly she opened her eyes wide in fear. She pointed at me from behind and screamed excitedly. - "Ada oelar besar!"
  
  
  
  The oldest trick in the world that I almost fell for. Indeed, there could be a large snake behind me. She was almost as fast as a snake as she dove towards the doorway. I was a little faster and caught her just as she was caught in the rain again. She fought like a cat, and the rain made her velvety skin smooth like a small python. I had difficulty keeping her gleaming white teeth from my flesh, and in the fight I somehow managed to rip that half-sarong from her body.
  
  
  
  It was like that. When she realized she was naked, she stopped struggling. She groaned and stood up, half bent over, placing her hands in front of that black triangle on her stomach. I put my hand on her slender arm and pushed her back into the house. - “Okay, Tondelaya. Come in and watch your manners.”
  
  
  
  I also looked for a snake, but there was no snake. I tossed her a half sarong and she slid into it as fast as I could blink.
  
  
  
  He was still wet, but that made her feel a little better.
  
  
  
  There was a dry shirt in my luggage, and when I took it out and handed it to her, I felt like Sir Walter Raleigh.
  
  
  
  I was really looking forward to the t-shirt myself, but was hoping it was a good investment and that this kid knew what was going on in this part of the world.
  
  
  
  I decided to play it smart and not push things too hard. Maybe then we can get along again. I was even more convinced of this when she put on my shirt and buttoned it over her beautiful full breasts. Then, finally, she showed me her white teeth in a hesitant smile. And she spoke English!
  
  
  
  "Are you Orang Poetech?"
  
  
  
  I shook my head. 'No. Not English. Orang Amerikaniki."
  
  
  
  Her smile grew wider. She had beautiful teeth and extended her hand. “American oranguts are good. Do you give City cigarettes and food, Tuan?
  
  
  
  I lit her a cigarette and handed it to her. She laughed again. She squatted down Malay style, took a deep breath and let the smoke come out of her cute little nose again. Find her the right clothes and she will decorate the reception hall of any Eastern embassy. Or any bar in Singapore and Hong Kong. I rated her one hundred percent Malayan. No Chinese, Tamil or any other blood. And if a Malay girl is beautiful, then she is also incredibly beautiful.
  
  
  
  The important part of this beauty was that she was completely oblivious to it.
  
  
  
  I tossed her a can opener. - Do something, Tondelaya. Make us something to eat." I did not sleep.
  
  
  
  She knew how to use a can opener. She looked at the door and pouted. “It’s raining too much. There is no coal for the fire. I guess we'll have to eat it cold. I chuckled. - "Do not complain. You were supposed to catch a cold, weren't you?
  
  
  
  She looked sideways at me as she opened the jars. “I only took them with me because I’m dying of hunger. Siti is not a bad girl.
  
  
  
  I agreed with her. Not bad at all!
  
  
  
  While we ate cold porridge and cheese, she told me how it happened that she was left alone in the village. She had only been there since last night, and before that she was hiding in the jungle.
  
  
  
  It took me a while to understand something. I had to ask her a lot of questions, make her start all over again and repeat. I speak broken Malay myself and her English wasn't much better. But we got through it together.
  
  
  
  It all came down to this: Siti's uncle, Isa, was once a guerrilla against the Japanese, and later, during those difficult times, against the British. At the right moment, he got tired of all this fighting and stopped. He retired to this kampong because he was quite aloof, and hoped to spend his days in peace. He taught Siti the broken English she now used, and told her made-up stories about the British way of life. And among superstitious Malaysians, he became famous for his nightmares.
  
  
  
  They didn't come often, but when they did they were truly super colorful productions that made everyone stand on end (my words, not City's).
  
  
  
  During these terrible dreams, Isa screamed about gold. Lots of gold. A huge amount of gold and dead Japs on a submarine. When he woke up, he could not remember anything he had dreamed or said. At least that's what he claimed.
  
  
  
  With infinite patience, I made her repeat this part of the story several times. I had to be patient because I wanted to get to the heart of the story as quickly as possible, and City told it in her own way. Slowly. So I cursed under my breath and started to get a little tired. But despite my impatience, I continued to listen to her.
  
  
  
  Over time, Isa began to have fewer bad dreams, and he continued to wake up the village with his screams less often. People started to forget about this. Most did not believe that Isa knew anything about the hidden gold.
  
  
  
  Then, perhaps just a few months ago, Red Cobra came with the intention of recruiting. There was quite a bit of unrest when the bad times returned.
  
  
  
  There will be fights and killings again, and Uncle City will have nightmares again.
  
  
  
  I squatted and smoked, looking at the City with growing impatience and skepticism. But I didn't interrupt her. It was still raining heavily and we were confined to the hut so I could listen. Dejected, I yawned, but she didn't seem to notice.
  
  
  
  “Tuan, then I made a big mistake. One day I told my lover about my uncle's dreams. The most terrible mistake. Now everyone is dead because I told about my uncle's dreams. But how could I know that my lover works for Red Cobra and tells him what I tell him.” My tired ears perked up. I raised my hand. - “Wait, Tondelaya. There are too many unknowns. Who said what to whom?
  
  
  
  She had a lot of patience with this great Orang Americana. She raised her fist and described it in detail with her fingers.
  
  
  
  I have a lover, Red Cobra's assistant, Toin. Understand?'
  
  
  
  I nodded yes.
  
  
  
  But Siti didn't know that her lover was Red Cobra (when I told him about my uncle's bad dreams. Those dreams are about a lot of gold, right?
  
  
  
  I nodded again. So far I could understand it.
  
  
  
  One night, after Siti and her lover have made love in the jungle, I tell him about my uncle's dreams. He smiles. I'm smiling. I don’t think about it for two or three weeks.”
  
  
  
  I began to understand.
  
  
  
  “And two or three weeks later you found out that your boyfriend was a Red Cobra guerrilla?”
  
  
  
  She stared at the floor. Her face distorted. And when she finally looked at me, there were tears in her eyes. 'Yes please. I found out."
  
  
  
  I understand. - “And this guy of yours came to the village with the Red Cobra. He brings Lim Jang, the leader of the Chinese guerrillas, straight to the village. Isn't that right, City? She nodded. Tears were now streaming down her face. Outside the window the rain has subsided.
  
  
  
  “They came to force my poor uncle to tell the truth about the nightmares,” Siti said. “About gold. He says he doesn't remember. They say he lies, and he remembers, and he must remember. The partisans are very poor and desperately need gold. They say that my poor uncle, who used to be a guerrilla himself, fought against the Japanese and the British, was wounded and tired of fighting, they say that he should remember and draw a map where this gold is hidden. But my uncle still says he can't remember. He is one of the former partisans and does not want to work with new ones. He says there's already enough fighting and killing. My uncle says. So they finally torture him. They keep the City watching."
  
  
  
  I could barely breathe. I wanted her to continue, but she stopped and asked for another cigarette. I gave it to her and encouraged her to continue. “If she stops now,” I thought in rage, “I will torture her myself.” 'Fine. They torture your uncle and force you to watch. Did he speak? Did he draw a map to help them find the gold?
  
  
  
  I myself didn’t really believe in this gold, but I didn’t completely rule out this possibility either. If this girl was telling the truth, I had the opportunity to deal with Red Cobra. He would believe these nightmares and stories about this gold, which meant that I could find him and kill him. Siti blew out a small puff of smoke and opened her eyes wide. She didn't cry anymore. 'Yes please. After much torment, my uncle spoke and drew up a map for them. He drew a place where there is gold."
  
  
  
  "What did your uncle tell them?"
  
  
  
  “On a submarine. An old Japanese submarine, long ago sunk. I heard my uncle tell them that."
  
  
  
  Oh my God. Old Japanese submarine. I shook my head to get all the clutter inside back into place. I wondered if I had caught jungle fever. If she lied or deceived me, she was the best little actress in Malacca. But why really? Why?
  
  
  
  I kept trying to separate reality from fantasy.
  
  
  
  Where was this Japanese boat? I more or less expected her to tell me that she was hanging from the top of a durian tree somewhere in the middle of the jungle.
  
  
  
  But she shook her head. City doesn't know. They didn't show me the cards, is that what you think?
  
  
  
  'Are you sure that was it, City?'
  
  
  
  'I'm sure. I'm sure, Tuan. I am not crazy ".
  
  
  
  It made some sense. But I knew something that allowed me to judge her story truthfully. If she was just a little Malay scammer, I would soon find out.
  
  
  
  "What happened to your uncle after that, Siti?"
  
  
  
  She shrugged her slender brown shoulders under my shirt. 'He died. Too much torture."
  
  
  
  I wanted her to prove it. “Where,” I asked slyly, “is his body?”
  
  
  
  I thought she wouldn't answer that. Malaysians don't like hanging around dead bodies. But if she lied, I forced her to deceive me. I forced her to show me the corpse, whether she wanted it or not.
  
  
  
  Siti stood up, licked the ashes from her slender fingers and nodded towards the doorway. Suddenly the rain stopped and the sun shone brightly over the deserted clearing.
  
  
  
  Come on, man. I'll show you my poor uncle's body
  
  
  
  I'll show you. Other bodies too. Everyone is there.'
  
  
  
  I looked at her. "What other bodies?"
  
  
  
  She made an impatient gesture. 'All of them. Everyone is from this village. Red Cobra killed everyone in the village after he tortured my poor uncle and took the map. He knows that government troops come here from time to time, and he doesn't want them to know about it. Why don't you understand this, Tuan?
  
  
  
  She made me a little angry. I might have been good at giving her a shirt and some food, but I was still a pretty dumb Orang-American.
  
  
  
  She wanted to go to the door, but I stopped her with the barrel of my Browning. - Not so fast, Tonde-laya. How do I find out what's there? Possibly Red Cobra's people. I ...
  
  
  
  She put her hands on her slender hips and looked at me with infinite understanding. - “No partisans, Tuan. That's what I said. They are all searching for gold on a Japanese submarine. I know because I was looking for food in their camp. I didn't find anything, so I'll come back here again. Think maybe government troops will come and take me to the coast and feed me. But they don't come either. Siti is very hungry. That's why I'm trying to steal your food. Are we going now?
  
  
  
  I followed her out the door. Now I believed her, but at the same time I remained vigilant as she led me across the clearing, out of the kampong, and across the stream along the slippery log. I didn't think she was a partisan decoy. It didn't make any sense. If they knew I was in the kampong and wanted me, all they had to do was come in and kill me. I didn't know what to believe anymore. As we got closer, I suddenly knew what to believe. The stench was terrible. Siti held her nose with her fingers and I tied a scarf around my face. I used to smell death, but this conquered everything. It looked like a battlefield a week ago, where corpses were left in the sun.
  
  
  
  We came to the edge of a narrow and deep ravine. The stench rose like gas in a swamp. Siti pointed down.
  
  
  
  "Here you are. As I say. Everyone in the village is dead and thrown here. I am afraid and hide in the jungle, otherwise I will die too.”
  
  
  
  I looked at the mess of scattered bodies. Some of them were already covered by the jungle, but others were visible. About six wild boars were feeding peacefully, grunting and rummaging through the rotting remains, paying no attention to us. No matter how tough I was, and despite everything I could now see in this area, I still felt my stomach churning. I turned away.
  
  
  
  Siti pointed to the corpses again and touched my arm. 'Are you going down? Maybe I'll show you my poor uncle, Tuan. It may be hard to find, but I can try. Then you believe City, right?
  
  
  
  I pulled her away from the ravine. “Now I trust the City,” I said. “Hurry up, Tondelaya, let’s get the hell out of here.”
  
  
  
  “Who is this Tondelaya you call me, Tuan?”
  
  
  
  "The very beautiful girl from the book."
  
  
  
  She walked ahead of me along the tree trunk. - “Like in the movies, Tuan?”
  
  
  
  “Yeah, just like in the movies.”
  
  
  
  We returned to the kampong. I was still close to throwing up and the blood was pounding in my temples. My eyes were burning. I knew the symptoms and fought them. Now is not the time to go into one of my rare fits of blind rage. Sometimes this happens to me, but it always turns out to be a flaw in my work. An angry man makes mistakes, and I couldn't afford any mistakes.
  
  
  
  She continued to chatter like a jungle bird. - This Tondelaya, Tuan, was pretty. Very good?'
  
  
  
  I hardly heard her. “Yes,” I said absently. 'She was very beautiful. And terribly bad."
  
  
  
  She fell silent as we crossed the open space and reached the hut again where I had left my things. Now I'm back under control. One thing I knew for sure: I really wanted to kill this Lim Jang. Usually it was nothing more than a task, but this time I would get the most out of it.
  
  
  
  This guy was pretty straightforward. When we returned to the hut, she asked, “Am I beautiful, Tuan?”
  
  
  
  I grinned at her. “You are beautiful, Siti. Help me get my act together now because I need to move on."
  
  
  
  She got to work. “But I’m not bad, Tuan,” she said. “Siti is a good girl. I guess that's why you shouldn't call me Tondelaya.
  
  
  
  Absentmindedly, I agreed with her. I lit a cigarette and watched her fold her things. Then I checked the Luger and Stiletto, took the Browning off my shoulder, sat on the ladder and waited.
  
  
  
  The kampong was smoking. I'm sweating. While I smoked, I let my thoughts spin again.
  
  
  
  I was right on my way to that Red Cobra. The massacre of the villagers proved this. This was his style. I remembered what Ben Thomson told me about the massacre in Indonesia. He said it rather melodramatically. Lim Giang retaliated and killed all the Bengalis before crossing the Strait of Malacca.
  
  
  
  Now he destroyed the entire kampong so that no one could tell the government troops. He carried away every last frying pan, making it look as if the villagers had packed their bags and left of their own accord. For a moment I wondered why he didn't burn the village, but then I realized. Smoke. In the jungle, you can sometimes find yourself less than twenty meters from the enemy without even realizing it. Or he must expose himself completely. But Red Cobra was too smart for that. However, he made one mistake. He allowed Siti to slip into the jungle to hide.
  
  
  
  She left the cabin with my luggage. She said. - You're ahead, Tuan. City is following you.
  
  
  
  I looked at her. - "Where the hell are you going?"
  
  
  
  Her deep brown eyes widened in surprise.
  
  
  
  - I'll go with you, Tuan. What do you think. You are following the Red Cobra. Me too, right? He goes ashore after a Japanese submarine. You follow him to the shore, right? I'm going to walk along the shore to find a friend and find a home again, right?
  
  
  
  Why not?'
  
  
  
  So it sounded reasonable. I hadn't really thought about it, but of course she couldn't be left alone in a deserted kampong, waiting for government troops to bring her back to civilization. This may take them weeks, even months. But for now I'm stuck with her. I shrugged. - "Okay, City. But remember this - I have to go quickly, and if you don't follow me, I'll leave you behind. Besides, I have a lot to think about, and I don't like your chatter. Do what I tell you." , and don't ask questions. Is that clear?
  
  
  
  She blinked and wrinkled her nose. - “You are Tuan.”
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. "Remember this. I'm the boss. If you forget this and create problems - no matter what problems I pose, I will leave you to the tigers." It was like that. Certainly. All Malaysians are afraid of tigers, but especially women are afraid of even their name.
  
  
  
  Blinking her wet eyes, Siti looked around the jungle. - Don't talk about rimau, Tuan! It brings bad luck. Very. When they hear their name, a rimau may occur - I'm a good girl, Tuan. I'm not causing any trouble. I promise.'
  
  
  
  I had to turn around so she wouldn't notice me giggling. There was probably no Rimau fifty kilometers away. When I finally straightened my face, I said, “You went to the cobra camp to look for food. That's what you said.
  
  
  
  "That's what I said, Tuan."
  
  
  
  'Where is it?'
  
  
  
  She pointed to the east. 'There. A one-day walk through the jungle."
  
  
  
  “Then let’s go there,” I said. - “You have to show me.”
  
  
  
  A day hike in the jungle can mean far or close, depending on the jungle. But Lim Lang's old camp can give me a starting point. If he had a hundred people and they all traveled together, then finding the trail would not be difficult. “Maybe I’m not a great white hunter then,” I thought, “but if I can’t even keep up with a gang of a hundred people, I’d better quit AX and live on a small farm.”
  
  
  
  I just hoped Red Cobra didn't have any sentries watching his back.
  
  
  
  I wanted to take her luggage from her. - "Let's go, lady."
  
  
  
  Siti took a step back. - “I’m carrying it, Tuan. It's not hard. This is a woman's job."
  
  
  
  I shrugged and patted her right hand. If only she had wanted it then.
  
  
  
  I soon learned that she was smarter than me. From the kampong we walked straight into a fairly dense jungle. To move forward, I had to cut a passage with a parang. Sweat poured into my eyes and I was completely submerged in the salty bath as those godforsaken leeches began to gather.
  
  
  
  Behind me, Siti sang a song to make the tigers cute. A very polite song. It turned out that all the tigers were good old men, some of them even had titles like “your nobleman.” And no respectable and righteous tiger would waste his time on a poor little Malay girl.
  
  
  
  I didn't go into it. I assumed that the song was not against tigers eating American oranguts.
  
  
  
  I continued to giggle. From time to time we stopped, and I burned off the leeches.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  City was right. It took us all day to get to Red Cobra's camp. After a few hours I found faint remnants of the trail and this made the hike a little easier. But also more dangerous. I had to pick up speed and watch out for sentries, traps, tripwires, etc. Guerillas are very capable of this.
  
  
  
  With the exception of some leeches, nothing bothered us then. We caught a glimpse of a panther growling at us, which then ran away. And one day we came across a web that turned out to be as strong as nylon. I had to cut him off with a parang to continue.
  
  
  
  The sun set below the horizon as we reached higher ground. The jungle thinned out and our cover diminished. This suited me less. We reached a thin ridge leading to a green mountain and moved along it. From time to time we had to deal with layers of granite. The stone was so old and crumbly that it could easily have been worked with a shovel. As soon as this rubbish crumbled under my feet, I slipped and almost fell headfirst. Then we walked even more slowly.
  
  
  
  It began to rain for the third time that day as the sun reached its peak in the western sky. Siti, who had been silent all day, called me softly.
  
  
  
  'Then there is a stone wall and you need to go down the stairs. We will see the Red Cobra camp.
  
  
  
  She was right. What little cover we had left was completely gone, and there were fifty pieces of bare rock between me and the edge of the cliff. I stopped and listened. It was getting dark and somewhere I heard the babbling of a stream. I motioned for the girl to stay put and crawled to the edge of the cliff.
  
  
  
  I used binoculars to study the situation below. And I felt relief. Nothing moved. The camp was abandoned.
  
  
  
  Now I systematically examined the camp with binoculars. Nothing moved. There were caves, rough shelters, and burnt circles of ancient hearths. A narrow stream rushed through the camp at great speed, spraying white foam around the shiny dark boulders.
  
  
  
  There was a restroom off to the side, still with the pole you squat on. There was a pile of garbage nearby. As far as I could see, there was only one restroom, which meant that there were no women with Lim Jang. Right. Ben told me that the Chinese have nothing to do with women and keep them as far away from their camps as possible. Some ascetic killer, the man I had to kill. These are the most dangerous individuals.
  
  
  
  I studied the camp for fifteen minutes before signaling the City to move forward. I would take the risk. Here we spent the night, and at dawn we walked along the path.
  
  
  
  She walked with me through the soft rain. She didn't say a word about it all day, but I knew the luggage was getting heavy. I took it off her back and pointed towards the camp.
  
  
  
  “We'll stay here tonight. How do we get down? ' She pointed sideways at the sheer cliff. - “Staircase, tuan.”
  
  
  
  "What stairs?" - I didn't see the stairs.
  
  
  
  She led me to the edge of the cliff and showed me the first thick wooden peg driven into the weathered granite wall. Ladder!
  
  
  
  She saw my face and laughed. - “Okay, Tuan. I was downstairs. Quite strong."
  
  
  
  She was strong, but hardly for my weight. Some of these steps creaked and moved horribly as I walked down. She followed me like a monkey on a string.
  
  
  
  I told her to make dinner while I snuck around the camp. Now I was sure that we were alone and in no danger, but I wanted to be absolutely sure. - Fire, Tuan? I cook good food over the fire."
  
  
  
  I nodded towards one of the caves. - “Okay, fire. There, in that cave. Very small fire, okay?
  
  
  
  “Understood, Tuan.”
  
  
  
  There was nothing left in the camp. Even empty cartridges. The partisans do not have enough ammunition to spend on exercises. I quickly walked through the camp and noticed that lime had been thrown into the latrine to get rid of the stench. This told me something more about this Lim Jang. He was quite the meticulous little killer. Adding lime here was a useless and expensive burden.
  
  
  
  By the time I returned to the cave, the rain had stopped. The evening was warm, humid and filled with the scent of the jungle. The wind blew from the west, carrying a faint, rotting stench from the mud puddles and mangrove swamps, drowning out all other smells in the area even at this distance.
  
  
  
  A small fire was burning at the entrance to the cave. No sign of the City. My backpack was open. I am a decent person and keep my affairs as orderly as possible, but there is damn little left of this orderliness.
  
  
  
  I looked around and softly called out, “City?”
  
  
  
  No answer. I smelled food and saw that she had opened several cans and dumped their contents into my camp tray, which was now heating up on a flat stone in the fire. It was canned food, but it smelled like the Waldorf Astoria kitchen. But at that time I was not very hungry. Where did that bitch go? I walked away from the fire, took the Browning off my shoulder and walked towards the circle of stones ahead. If this little slut is somehow cheating on me...
  
  
  
  She came out of the darkness singing something I recognized in the distance as a Malay love song. It was smooth and shiny. The fire turned her shiny skin into brown velvet. She pinned up her beautiful dark hair and pinned it up somehow, probably with wooden sticks that she had carved. Somewhere she found almond branches and tied them behind her left ear. She washed both her sarong and herself. In one hand she carried my spare shirt, carefully folded dry, and in the other a single bar of soap.
  
  
  
  She saw the expression on my face, misunderstood it, and picked up the bar of soap. -Aren't you angry with me, Toin? City loves a nice bath in the evenings.
  
  
  
  “I’m not angry,” I said. I took the soap. - “Prepare food. I'll take a bath myself. Sometimes you have good ideas, City.
  
  
  
  I found the small pool where she washed herself and had the bath of my life. I left my clothes and weapons on the beach, staying as close as possible, letting the bar of soap scrub away the stench of the jungle. I thought I knew what was going to happen, but I didn't really care. It didn't matter. I was in another world. Washington and New York, London and Paris, Singapore and even Kuala Lumpur were nothing more than fuzzy points in time and space. What was written was meant to happen. Nature will take its course. This is what happens to you now when you are in the jungle.
  
  
  
  When I returned to the cave, the food was ready. We ate it, and for dessert I broke several chocolate bars into pieces. Then we smoked and talked for about an hour, and I got a lot of information from her, and she didn't even know she had it. I carefully put everything away and waited.
  
  
  
  I found myself in a unique situation where it didn't really matter to me. It wasn't lust that sent me. I was ready for some fun as soon as it happened, but I definitely wasn't going to force it in any way. After a while I found myself yawning. I stood up and entered the cave. Siti came for me.
  
  
  
  "Tuan?"
  
  
  
  "What is this, City?"
  
  
  
  She pointed to a sleeping bag open on the sandy ground. - 'We sleep together in a bag, Yes? I'm afraid to sleep alone."
  
  
  
  I smiled. "Tigers again?"
  
  
  
  "Tuan." She raised a finger to her lips. “Don't talk about Rimaus. Please don't tell.'
  
  
  
  'Sorry, City. I won't do it again.' I was really sorry. Does anyone know anything about feeling other people's fears?
  
  
  
  She wore my shirt to dinner. Now she took it off and stood in front of me half naked. The last light of the fire fell into the cave and touched her chest with horny red fingers. She made a quick movement and the half-sarong fell at her feet. Now she didn't try to cover herself. She took a step towards me and extended her hands.
  
  
  
  “I think of you with great love all day, Tuan. I'm in a lot of pain here."
  
  
  
  She ran a finger over her stomach and her skin glowed in the firelight.
  
  
  
  More than anything, this told me that she was honest and that I could trust her. It was as simple and clear as the jungle itself. Survive as best you can, but die when your time comes and free yourself when you need to.
  
  
  
  I smiled and she snuggled closer to me. The almond sprig smelled delicious, but not as delicious as her lithe body. She didn't know how to kiss, and I didn't try to teach her. We rubbed our faces together using the Malay method. Nose to nose, cheek to cheek and sometimes mouth to mouth. Her tiny nipples tightened on my chest as she began to undress me.
  
  
  
  “I like it, Tuan. Very good.'
  
  
  
  Tuan liked it too.
  
  
  
  When we somehow managed to squeeze into the sleeping bag, she began to take command. She told me what to do. Of course, with love and excitement, but she still said what needed to be done.
  
  
  
  To begin with, she insisted on lying with her back to me. When I resisted, she stood her ground. “I know very well, Tuan. Let City do it. Better in Malay. She giggled quietly. “Why can’t all these American oranguts know how to make love? Here, I think. Siti is outgoing and knows how to get everything, Toin. All.' She pulled her knees up as far as she could in the sleeping bag and started moving towards me. Then she felt between my legs and took me exactly where I needed to be. She found my hands and put them on her chest. Then she sighed and began to press herself against me. I pushed her hard. She moaned and whispered, “No, Tuan. Not yet. Calm down. Do not move. Let City do it." I asked City to do it. And City knew how to do it. I had forgotten that she was barely seventeen. It was pure animal fun, and I had never experienced anything like it myself. That's saying something because I did a few things. Sometimes I think it's too much.
  
  
  
  She had muscles with which she knew how to grab a man, squeeze and squeeze all his pleasure out of him. As she became more excited, she began to sob and moan. I pressed myself against her chest and buried my face in her neck, and thick hair, the sweet smell of almonds and not entirely unpleasant girlish sweat penetrated my nostrils. It went on and on and on...
  
  
  
  And finally her desperate whisper sounded. “Now, Tuan! Do it now! Now do... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
  
  
  
  The cave was shrouded in a soft red light, and the dawn was like a clap of thunder, filled with thunder and cymbals. I let out a scream that was probably still heard in Singapore, and if there were guerrillas hiding in the area, I would already be dead.
  
  
  
  Of course I didn't die. But I kind of felt it. When I could finally breathe and speak again, I said, "City?"
  
  
  
  She didn't answer. She was fast asleep.
  
  
  
  Child of nature.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finding Lim Jang's trail was not difficult. He was walking east along an old elephant path - at least according to Toby's old map - and it led to a stretch of coastline between Pattani and Kota Baro, a fairly deserted stretch of coastline. There are no rubber plantations in the immediate area, and the tin mines have been abandoned for many years. I studied a British topographical map and saw that the jungle reached out to the sea and down to a real sandy beach.
  
  
  
  Again, I was grateful that this was the east coast and not the west coast. It would be a terrible environment. Mangroves, crocodiles and about ninety species of venomous sea snakes, making it very difficult to move around there.
  
  
  
  Red Cobra traveled during the day. I now have to do the same to keep up with him and perhaps catch up with him. I became more and more convinced that perhaps there was something true in this story about gold and a Japanese submarine. After all, why else would Cobra give up cover and leave the jungle - the jungle in which she was safe - and head for the open coast where she would be vulnerable every second of the day. This bastard must have a very good reason for this.
  
  
  
  Siti was a great travel companion. She kept her word and didn't talk too much. She made herself a sort of sunhat out of palm leaves, carried luggage half the time, and kept up with me. And it took some effort on her part.
  
  
  
  She was a rather cold-blooded woman. The second night, when we set up camp, she grabbed the parang and cut the mamba in half, which I did not see. She was less than a meter from my leg. Mamba is a type of cobra whose bite does not allow you to live for five minutes. I felt a chill as she killed the mamba, but Siti picked her up with her parang and threw her into the underbrush. She looked at me with a mischievous smile.
  
  
  
  “Better watch your steps, Tuan. City needs your protection.
  
  
  
  The child was afraid of little except tigers, but this was more out of prejudice.
  
  
  
  She was very superstitious, and when we approached the snake temple, she did not want to go further. She didn't like me doing it either.
  
  
  
  We stopped in good cover and I examined the snake temple with binoculars. He stood about a hundred yards from the path in a clearing in the forest, so overgrown with vines that the stone structure was barely visible. A new passage was built from the elephant path to the temple. This was probably done by the Red Cobra people. But why? He was obviously in such a hurry to get to the east coast that I couldn’t understand why he needed to hang around the abandoned temple for at least another hour.
  
  
  
  As often happens, City delivered the result. I developed some kind of technique. By taking about half of what she said as truth and pushing the other half into the realm of myth and superstition, I was able to get a pretty good assessment of what was going on.
  
  
  
  Now she squatted down next to me and chatted about the terrible death that awaited anyone who desecrated the temple. I listened to this with half an ear and tried to make sense of it. I saw that Lim Jang was using the open space in front of the temple for his bivouac. I saw no corpses, so the curse did not affect him or his people. But why be located in a temple? There were many better places to camp. And the temple, a famous place, also quite open, was very dangerous for traveling partisans. Why?
  
  
  
  “The snake temple is prohibited for Malaysians,” Siti said. “There are a lot of snakes there. Toin, I kill the more dangerous mamba. We're not going to the temple, are we? Are we going and forgetting the temple?
  
  
  
  “I must go to that temple,” I said. - “You don’t have to come if you’re scared.”
  
  
  
  She grabbed my hand and shuddered. “Sit there scared. I am not going to. But deep down I am very afraid for you, Tuan.
  
  
  
  She had several thousand reasons why I should not enter this temple. He has been there for about a thousand years. Not one of those who entered ever came out alive. The Semang, the original inhabitants of the area, would come at night to bring food and medicine to the snakes, and the snakes would talk to them to teach them all the secret nonsense of the jungle. Once upon a time, huge golden snakes and idols lived in the temple. Then the ape people came and stole and took away the snake gods. And everyone knew what happened to these monkeys. They all died.
  
  
  
  Monkey people! Malaysians and Chinese sometimes call the Japanese monkeys. Can you imagine if these Japs were here? Imagine there were golden idols and the Japs stole them. Gold for their military affairs.
  
  
  
  I let her continue talking, but now I was listening to every word she said. Everything started to make sense. Siti, my dearest simple jungle girl, did not see the connection between the golden idols, the Japanese inland, and the possible sunken Japanese boat. But I find it. Just like Lim Jang did when he heard the story from the poor uncle under torture.
  
  
  
  My uncle was a partisan himself. He fought the Japs. And he must have seen them plunder this temple and carry the golden snakes ashore. Whatever he saw, he kept it to himself - except for nightmares when his mind went out of control - and spoke about it only when Red Cobra squeezed it out with several knives and red-hot tongs. This ridiculous puzzle was finally starting to take shape. I left the City in tears and went to the temple. I made a new path for myself - some clever person might have left a grenade under the sand - and it took me about half an hour to reach this open space.
  
  
  
  The partisans spent the night here and left without leaving. Another fact is that they were in a hurry. There was a fire, empty cans and a latrine lying around. I crawled into the underbrush, studied the area, and waited for the birds and monkeys to shut up so I could hear potential danger approaching. It started to make me really sick because it took me another fifteen minutes before I could hear anything.
  
  
  
  I was just about to try it when a python fell from a tree less than ten feet away from me. He crossed the clearing and disappeared into the temple. It was a monster, about six meters long and thirty centimeters thick. And all this time he was watching me.
  
  
  
  The Browning was slung over my shoulder, but the Luger was ready to fire as I crossed the clearing. The sun beat down on me through the latticework of wild vines above me, and somewhere in the west I heard rain approaching.
  
  
  
  I walked over to the restroom and looked at the poop. I tried one with a stick, and then calculated that Cobra was at least three days ahead of me. I checked the empty cans and saw that he was getting food from mainland China. So in any case he had some connection with Beijing. Probably through Hong Kong or through Canton.
  
  
  
  I took the lantern from my belt and entered the temple. There I let a bright beam of light fall on the interior. The snake smell was unbearable. They were everywhere. My friend, the python, curled up in the corner. He had just eaten, right after he slid into the temple, and the bulge in the middle was the size of a small pig. Besides him, the temple was full of snakes.
  
  
  
  None of them paid any attention to me. They hung from the old rafters, curled up in a corner, or moved slowly along the stone floor. Mambas, at least twenty other species that I couldn't identify, and a few king cobras that didn't even bother to hiss as I walked past them. Then I realized that I had nothing to fear from snakes. They were all drugged with green seeds, strongly and completely absent. My main concern was the snake guardians who were probably watching the temple at this time.
  
  
  
  I felt a very urgent need to escape from this place like thunder. But I still hesitated. I had a strange feeling that there was something here that I should know. It was as if this old snake altar was trying to tell me something.
  
  
  
  I closed my nostrils as best I could against the snake air - a mixture of centuries of excrement and shed skin can create completely fresh air - and let a beam of light slide along the wall. Even after more than twenty years, you could still see where the decorations were. The lighter areas of the huge snakes remained as clearly visible as the well-preserved fossils on this wall, which had become dirty over the centuries. Sort of like the little painting you take off your grandmother's wall when she finally decides to pass on her inheritance to the rightful claimants. There were four of them. One coiled snake about fifty feet on each wall, a decoration six feet from the roof.
  
  
  
  There were four of them. Fifteen meters long. Pure gold. It was a lot of pure gold. Those Japs must have been very happy back then.
  
  
  
  Then I saw a hole. I hoped our God wouldn't give me such good eyes because I knew I was going to investigate. He asked for it.
  
  
  
  Directly opposite me it was a square, dark hole in the wall. Slightly lower and narrower than a regular door. I walked over and shone the lamp into the hole. It was very quiet there. All around me was the soft gliding of drugged snakes.
  
  
  
  The light showed a shaft that went down like a mine. That's where they probably got the gold from these snakes. I dove into the shaft, Luger in hand, and slid down the steep slope to follow the light of my lamp. Somewhere there was a sharp turn to the right. I made this turn and here it is.
  
  
  
  There is nothing to worry about because he died a long time ago. I let the light play on the brown crumbled bones and saw something dimly silver flickering. A pendant, a bracelet, thick and durable on one of the bones of the forearm.
  
  
  
  I picked it up and the bone scattered into dust particles. He bent in my hand. This gave me a very strange feeling. Now I was beginning to find it all very strange. I held the lamp between my knees and examined the pendant very carefully. I scraped the piece with a knife.
  
  
  
  Platinum!
  
  
  
  I put the thing in my pocket and left. I didn't show it to City or say anything about it. She was so happy that I came out of the snake temple alive that she didn't ask any questions. She shouldered the luggage, put on a hat made of palm leaves and hurried away.
  
  
  
  She said over her shoulder, “The little people are watching. See you at the temple. We are in a hurry and maybe there will be no problem.”
  
  
  
  I didn't want any trouble. Not this kind of trouble. In the eastern part of Malacca the natives use blowguns and darts. They catch a mamba, milk it and mix the poison with some kind of chewing gum. Pffffftttt. A quiet and very fast way to die. I believed City. They watched us, but left us alone. My breathing calmed down a bit when we were a few miles away. Siti overcame her fear and began to sulk. She ignored me most of the time and stopped speaking English.
  
  
  
  When we stopped and I gave her a cigarette, she took it.
  
  
  without looking at me, and said too politely: “Trima kasi.”
  
  
  
  I tuned in and teased her back. "Bike meme."
  
  
  
  Frowning and rolling her eyes, she looked at me. “Tida! Tida meme! '
  
  
  
  "Oh." - I grinned, but now I also began to get into the mood a little. - So your partisan is not married to you? Even according to the laws of the jungle?
  
  
  
  She looked at me and put her hand to her heart. Her eyes filled with tears. “Sakit,” she said. “Sakit, Tuan. Sakit blue.
  
  
  
  She had a lot of heartache.
  
  
  
  Then I was wrong. I hugged her, stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She misunderstood, dropped the luggage and pulled me aside to make love to me.
  
  
  
  I wondered what these little natives were thinking if they were still watching. No doubt they were extremely embarrassed.
  
  
  
  She was like a child, sudden and changeable, like rain in the jungle. The moment she finished, she patted my cheek and muttered, “Senang-senang.”
  
  
  
  So she was happy again. She took her luggage and set off again. Now she smiled at me again and spoke in English again. Or at least something similar to this. -
  
  
  
  - You are putting yourself in danger, Tuan. And City is very sad. You will die, and I will die even sadder. Don't die, please. I told her I would do my best.
  
  
  
  That night she crawled into my sleeping bag as usual, but immediately fell asleep with her cheek pressed against mine. It took me a very long time to finish.
  
  
  
  Platinum. But how did these rumors about gold get into the world? The story, myth, legend or whatever, was that the Japanese stole golden snakes from an ancient temple. I didn't understand. After a while I gave up and thought about other things.
  
  
  
  The small people, the indigenous Semang, never built this temple or made these idols. They must have inherited it, adopted it when the people who originally built the building disappeared.
  
  
  
  All this interested me deeply, but not enough to see through the centuries. So this temple was part of a lost civilization, perhaps thousands of years ago. She owned a platinum mine and knew how to work it. So? I was not an anthropologist. I was an AX agent, a senior killmaster, a professional assassin with a job to do. I fell asleep thinking I was close to finishing my work.
  
  
  
  As darkness fell the next day we passed the foot of Mount Goeneng and at last I smelled the sea.
  
  
  
  Siti snorted and said, “Lout.”
  
  
  
  I said that she was right and that now we should be even more careful than before. The Red Cobra couldn't be too far ahead of us.
  
  
  
  An hour later I found another bivouac, very close to the elephant path. This time it was a large camp with three fires. There were also tracks from a jeep.
  
  
  
  Now I have made my way into the jungle and left the City to prepare food for us. I returned to the Cobra bivouac and approached it very carefully. The jeep didn't fall from the sky.
  
  
  
  A mile away I found a faint trail leading southeast. Just a track of wheels going through a thinning jungle. I found more traces of the jeep. I looked at the British military map. This jeep must have come from Kota Baroe. It was a fairly large city, one of the few on the arid east coast. Someone, perhaps more than anyone, paid Red Cobra a visit. He reached the elephant trail and followed it to the bivouac. What was it: Stocks? Information? New recruits?
  
  
  
  I returned to the camp and searched it again. I was damn careless the first time, but I was so used to Cobra that I didn't try to hide anything that I missed her when she did it.
  
  
  
  Outside the regular toilet - and I saw that the droppings were still quite fresh - I saw that the grass had been somewhat trampled. It wasn't hard to miss. I followed a path quite deep into the jungle using my parang and found a covered, freshly dug well. It was shallow and I quickly opened it with a parang.
  
  
  
  Inside was a pile of brown cardboard boxes. Big and small. The smaller boxes contained radio components. Surplus equipment is sold in San Francisco and shipped via Hong Kong and Singapore. Lim Jang used an old US Army transmitter, the SXC 12, a device with which I was very familiar. No, the man I killed in the tin mine told me the truth. Lim Jang's old radio broke and he could not communicate with Beijing, Canton, or anyone who made him dance. Now he has new spare parts, and he is finally back on the red network.
  
  
  
  I was more interested in the big boxes. A lot more. Diving equipment.
  
  
  
  Four complete diving equipment. Cylinders, fins, goggles and all that.
  
  
  
  The black stencil letters revealed that they belonged to AQUA-ART COMPANY, INC. Cleveland, Ohio.
  
  
  
  I threw the boxes back into the hole and covered them with dirt. As for this sunken Japanese submarine, I had no doubts anymore. Gold? I shook my head. The bracelet I had in my pocket was pure platinum. I bet those stolen snake gods were platinum too. But how did this gold end up in the game?
  
  
  
  I gave up and went to our camp to get the food that Siti had prepared for me this time. It couldn't be much as our supplies were running out. We didn't have time to set traps, and shooting with a pistol would have been tantamount to complete suicide.
  
  
  
  It seemed to me that the jeep that Lim Jang visited could bring him more than just radio components and diving equipment. Maybe there was a message there. I tried to put myself in his place. In his mind.
  
  
  
  He had plenty of time - even if he had sent a courier through the jungle on foot - to check the submarine's history.
  
  
  
  Of course it was! But even before this check, he believed the story. He left his hiding place and ventured out of the jungle towards the open shore.
  
  
  
  However, he must have checked. I knew that the Chinese secret service, especially Ching Pao, were damn good. Almost no worse than the Russians or ours. They will certainly be able to determine whether a Japanese submarine sank on the east coast of Malacca during the final years of World War II. They may well have complete information on this matter, hidden in some dusty archive - the name of the boat, when, why, by whom, and so on -.
  
  
  
  If my instincts had been correct, Red Cobra would have checked, and a jeep courier would have come to confirm the report of that sunken Japanese barge. The jeep brought diving equipment with it. All this has been carefully checked. This submarine was actually there. It was full of platinum or gold - I don't want to say that again, but Red Cobra wanted it. If he could get it, he would become a good friend of Beijing again. Every service likes people who make money. With a submarine full of gold or platinum, you can buy quite a lot of weapons, ammunition and explosives and pay many recruits.
  
  
  
  Ergo. I'm quite happy with the current state of affairs. That damn boat was there, Lim Jang got the map from the poor uncle and was going to find it. The submarine was somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Thailand, no doubt close to the shore, and to get there Lim Jang had to go out into an open field.
  
  
  
  Up the flat beach to sunbathe your yellow bottom. Of course, he could not sit idly in the mountains or the surrounding jungle to find and empty such a boat. He had to come out of hiding to find her.
  
  
  
  Siti spotted the durian fruit and we ate the stinking delicious pulp along with the last jar of porridge as a meal. From now on we will have to live on cheese and chocolate, cigarettes and whatever we can catch.
  
  
  
  I didn't care much about that. I didn't think it would last long.
  
  
  
  I felt good. When she slipped into my sleeping bag that night, Siti noticed that I was doing too much for her.
  
  
  
  At least she told me something she had never told me before.
  
  
  
  "Here! Sudan! Tuan, please come here!
  
  
  
  Fine. Enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  City and I had a poor breakfast, sat under the canopy in the morning rain and went to watch. The elephant path led straight to the beach. About a mile from the shore, the jeep's tracks spun, then turned toward Kota Baroe. After walking another kilometer, I found the place where the guerrillas had left a trail and were cutting their way through the last remnants of the jungle. Here I stopped abruptly. I walked five hundred meters away and dived into the jungle myself. Here on the coast there was a jungle that they called “good.” Close enough to avoid being noticed, but not close enough to slow you down.
  
  
  
  It took me three hours to find the Red Cobra.
  
  
  
  The harbor, actually a huge bay, ended in a shell on a strip of white sand. A strip of land stuck out like a finger in the water, and the jungle was like dark green hair above. It was the perfect location for what Lim Jang had in mind. Too perfect. It was so noticeable that it could be noticed very easily. From the end of this finger the rotten pier extended into the water a hundred yards. I immediately noticed how it was put together. The bay was deep enough for Japanese cargo ships to enter directly into the pier and moor at the pier to await their ore cargo. These Japanese were probably in such dire need of tin that they took the risk and transported ore during the day. And this submarine "Yappen" guarded ships with tin.
  
  
  
  City and I were lying in a low bush on a point about half a mile south of the bay. I told her what to do and she agreed. Otherwise, Tuan would have hit her hard on the head. We spoke in whispers and walked on all fours. The shelter was decent, but not good enough for us to stand upright.
  
  
  
  Siti was very patient. From time to time she took out her binoculars, examined the low cape, wrinkled her nose and muttered something under her breath. I caught a few words. It’s always the same: “Cenang - senang.”
  
  
  
  Good good. She was happy with the way things were going. I paid little attention to it. I was not at all happy with the way things were going. I've tracked down the Red Cobra and now my mission has come to an end, but now I'm faced with one last problem: how do I get to him? He was in the jungle on the cape and didn't show up. I lay there all day looking at it, and only once did I catch the light reflected from something in the undergrowth. Lim behaved with restraint and ease. I knew he would have posted a guard, and it was stupid to try to kill him during the day. Then I could kill myself.
  
  
  
  On this open shore he had to work at night. This was the only way to do it. Five hundred yards from the rotting pier I noticed a rectangle of small white rafts floating out to sea. beacons. He has already found the submarine. What would he do now?
  
  
  
  Finally Siti fell asleep. I kept my eyes open but didn't see anything and spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what was going on.
  
  
  
  There was little coastal shipping there. There were several fishing junks in the distance, and one day I saw the smoke of a rusty barge heading towards Krong Thep.
  
  
  
  Lim Jang was able to find gold or platinum with the help of his divers. But he'll need heavy equipment to lift him into the sloop, some cranes, and at least an engine to keep it all running. Plus some kind of auxiliary ship. And he had nothing like that at all. All he could do at the moment was locate the submarine to determine if that treasure was indeed there, then mark the location, and then wait and see.
  
  
  
  Meanwhile, he was playing hide and seek in his little patch of jungle - how the hell was I supposed to get to him? Having nothing better to do, I attached a Bosch telescopic sight to the Browning rifle - its lenses, like binoculars, were colored so that they did not reflect the light of the sun - and gave it a try. The sight was fine and displayed a strip of land in front of the gun barrel. It was deceptive. I only had one shot, just one, and I didn’t want to risk shooting from half a kilometer away. Because if I wanted to shoot him from long range, it had to be a shot at his esteemed precious head. Shooting the body was easier, but that didn't mean he would be dead. If I hit him with a .458 magnum to the head, I wouldn't need any more guarantees. Then he died.
  
  
  
  I lay down a little more comfortably and, leaning on the rifle strap, supported by my hands, pressed my eye to the telescope and moved the scope back and forth along the cape. I saw faint traces of boats. I saw a few earlier through binoculars. They walked from the water to the underbrush and trees. It seemed to me that he was using those Malay style canoes, and whoever was supposed to sweep up the tracks wasn't doing a very good job.
  
  
  
  Using a telescope, I followed the kayaks' tracks to the edge of the jungle. They were hidden there somewhere, but I couldn't find them anywhere. Where the tracks ended, I fixed an imaginary target, taking into account the wind and downward deviation. Just in case. On the beach, about four meters from the edge of the forest, there was a single palm tree. I aimed at where the boat tracks were below.
  
  
  
  Then I saw him. For a thousandth of a second my telescope was completely full. Red cobra. Lim Jang. A man I had to travel thousands of miles to kill.
  
  
  
  He was small. A small man in a green jumpsuit under what looked like a flattened police cap. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, he looked as harmless as a mouse. He didn't even have a weapon; he had no belt and no revolver. I heard Ben Thomson say it: “That Lim is fucking crazy. About fifty, wears glasses, looks academic. No women. No boys."
  
  
  
  Neat little killer. Extremely skilled at mass murder. I remembered the stench coming from the ravine near the kampong.
  
  
  
  I damn near did it. I took a deep breath, released half of it, and slowly let my finger press down on the trigger. The rifle pressed tightly against my shoulder, and as I applied pressure, the strap tightened.
  
  
  
  I exhaled and lowered the rifle again. No, too far. Too risky. Besides, it's too late. He was no longer there. We hid until dark. By this time Siti was getting bored and kept asking me, “Poekool berapa?” What time is it now? I told tid'apa and that she should keep her pretty face. It didn't matter. I was offended. Maybe I should have taken one shot.
  
  
  
  As soon as it got dark, the cape at the old pier came to life. I cursed because I didn't have night vision binoculars. The moon was shining, but there were still a few dark rain clouds that got in my way. Finally, I decided to take the risk. I told City to stay put and then let myself slide down the small boulders until I finally reached the cove beach. From here, lying on my stomach in the sand like some angry crab, I could see flashing patterns glowing in the sweltering night. Soft cries echoed across the water as the lights moved away from the pier towards the lighthouses I had spotted earlier. And I heard the splash of the oars as the canoes went by.
  
  
  
  I saw little more than a woven pattern of lights. But it was easy enough for me to imagine the rest. Lim Jang put his fighters to work. He will have problems. A submarine sitting in salt water for about twenty-five years presents some of these problems. Lim Jang did not have any heavy equipment.
  
  
  
  I assumed that the Japanese submarine was surprised on the surface and then sank with the main hatch open. Because otherwise Lim Jang wouldn't have wasted his time.
  
  
  
  I also guessed something else: he had not yet found the treasure. He wasn't even sure it was there, even if he had tracked the submarine.
  
  
  
  I thought about this for some time. It was right. He hasn't found gold or platinum or anything else yet. That's why he was still hanging out there, taking such terrible risks. Night lighting, for example, was already a problem. And also to hang around on this cape, even if it was under cover. In that place he was supposed to be sitting almost naked, because I knew that there was a main road about ten miles from the coast. One squeak, one hint to the government forces, and all they had to do was blockade the peninsula and the Red Cobra would be caught.
  
  
  
  I could do that or send City a message. I didn't even think about it. My orders were to kill Lim Jang.
  
  
  
  As I walked up to where I had left the girl, I wondered what had gone wrong. Why couldn't Lim Jang find the treasure? Damn, the submarine isn't that big.
  
  
  
  We waited for the moon to appear again and then retreated into the jungle, away from the cape. City had little to say. And I had a plan. I decided how to kill Lim Jang.
  
  
  
  The best time will be closer to sunrise, when the guerrillas stop their nighttime activities. Back then they were tired, sleepy, hungry and perhaps a little less alert. I could then return to the section of beach I had just come from and hide behind some of the boulders I had seen lying there. This will cut my distance in half, and from two hundred and fifty meters I will not be able to miss. Even with a head shot. The early sunrise may not be ideal, but I just had to deal with it. Waiting until the light is strong enough, just before the sun rises over the South China Sea. The sun will then be to my left, and my goal will be to the south. Even if I had to wait for the sun, it didn't matter much.
  
  
  
  It's all about being well prepared. In the right light, when Lim Jang relaxes a bit, and the conditions were perfect for just one minute. That's all I needed. Everything I had to wait for. That minute when everything was absolutely perfect. Then I pull the trigger and I can go home. I wasn't afraid of being chased. If I had seen his head explode through a telescope, I wouldn't be there anymore. Deep in the jungle and too far away for them to understand what would kill their leader.
  
  
  
  Siti didn't want to make love that night. I liked it. After she fell asleep, I lay there for a long time, thinking and looking for that one possible mistake that could mean my death.
  
  
  
  I saw some risks, but I was willing to take them. No plan is ever perfect. Setting a mental alarm an hour before sunrise, I fell asleep.
  
  
  
  The tiger woke me up. I straightened up abruptly and caught myself on the mosquito net. This scared him. His stomach was full, so he did not hunt. He was just walking and got scared when I made a sound. I caught a spark of green fire. Then it disappeared, leaving a rancid smell. But there was something else - there was no City either. I was alone in a sleeping bag.
  
  
  
  At first I thought she might have woken up to relieve herself in the jungle. I was waiting. She wasn't there. Fifteen minutes later I realized that this could not happen. I got out of bed and explored the area with the Luger at the ready. Nothing. Except the parang has disappeared. I cursed everything. What's this little bitch doing in the jungle?
  
  
  
  Walk through the jungle in the middle of the night? It didn't make sense.
  
  
  
  In the west, the moon was low in the sky, but the clouds cleared and I saw something. I started to get nervous. What I can't understand quickly worries me.
  
  
  
  I quickly looked around with a flashlight, which I covered with my fingers. Nothing. I went back to the bed and shook it. I adjusted the netting and then squatted on the edge of the jungle, waiting with the Browning on my lap and. By the light of the moon I could clearly see the small niche that I had carved out for camp.
  
  
  
  She was Malayan and naturally had a good understanding of the jungle. I didn't hear her coming. She came out from the other side of the jungle and walked over to the sleeping bag. She carried a parang in one hand and something else in the other. Something she held close to her chest. She was wearing my mosquito and tick shirt, and when she stopped by our bed and the moon suddenly shone brightly, I saw a damp spot on my shirt. Then I knew. I knew, but I didn't understand it yet. For some things you just need a little more time.
  
  
  
  I came out and calmly said: “Where have you been, City?”
  
  
  
  She turned quickly, hissing in surprise and fear. She looked at me for a moment, clutching the creature to her chest.
  
  
  
  “Tuan is scaring the City,” she stammered.
  
  
  
  She tried to reach the edge of the jungle, but I cocked the gun so she could hear. "Berenti!" - I said.
  
  
  
  I wouldn't have shot, but she was too easy to understand. Her brain just didn't work that fast. She stopped.
  
  
  
  I pointed to the bed. "Balek sini!"
  
  
  
  She came up and stopped. “Drop the parang,” I said.
  
  
  
  She dropped it. I picked it up and looked at the cut, the blood.
  
  
  
  I pointed to what she was still clutching to her chest. It was wrapped in palm leaves and dripping.
  
  
  
  “Get down,” I told her.
  
  
  
  At first she refused. She hugged him close and muttered something I couldn't understand. She then sighed and placed the item on the floor at her feet.
  
  
  
  Bike, Tuan. Tid'apa.
  
  
  
  It mattered to me. I was angry and a little nauseous. I told her to step aside and then removed the palm leaves from the object.
  
  
  
  He was a handsome boy until she cut off his head. His eyes were closed and his mouth was twisted into a crazed grin of surprise. I let the light of the lamp shine on my head for ten seconds. That was enough.
  
  
  
  Siti looked at me calmly. I wasn't happy. For example, she could be waiting for a bus in Koela Loempoer.
  
  
  
  "Why, City?"
  
  
  
  She touched her left breast, which was visible under the stain on my shirt. “Sakit, Tuan. I feel great pain for him. I love him very much. He betrays me, kills all my people. You saw it, Tuan.
  
  
  
  Yes, I saw it.
  
  
  
  Siti touched her chest again. She smiled at me. “At first I was very, very in love. Now I'm happy. Happy. I'm offended ".
  
  
  
  You could live with it.
  
  
  
  I thought faster than ever. I turned off the light, the moon set, and we stood in the dark. I didn't think she would run away. It was a shock reaction. I still didn't care if she killed him. The damage had already been done. The question arose: how much damage?
  
  
  
  It was a bloody mess. I am stuck. I dare not use the lamp without the moon, if only the moon was very weak, I would be helpless in the jungle. All I could do was wait and hope she finished properly.
  
  
  
  - How did you do it, City? Have you entered their camp?
  
  
  
  It seemed unlikely, but I knew she moved like a ghost.
  
  
  
  'I think no. I did not enter the camp. Was there, but not necessarily. I discover that Keda is on duty. You got it, Tuan. he is a sentry. I heard him talking to other men. I wait silently in the jungle until he is alone. Then I talked to him."
  
  
  
  “This must have taken Kedah by surprise,” I thought. But why didn’t this man have the sense to sound the alarm?
  
  
  
  She read my thoughts. “I spoke to him with love, Tuan. He was surprised, but believed that I followed him all the way out of love.”
  
  
  
  Vanity can be damn dangerous. That's all. I didn't say a word. What was there to say? She also made me look like a big fool. She used me. I almost laughed at the thought that I was using her for fun and she was using me for revenge. She made me bring her here to cut off the head of her unfaithful lover.
  
  
  
  “What should we do now, Tuan. What will you do with the City? Are you going to punish her? Are you handing me over to the government to be hanged?
  
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” I said roughly. "Are you sure you weren't seen or heard?"
  
  
  
  - Tida, Tuan. I don't believe so. I was too fast - I hit, tore off my head and away. Very soon, Tuan.
  
  
  
  I cursed the moon now that it has set. It was completely dark and I found myself in a dark hole in the jungle. I was so chained to this place, as if I was tied up. I was angry and becoming more tense by the minute. My warning light was now quite bright.
  
  
  
  “Body,” I said. “They will find him at first light, maybe earlier, and this will warn them. You set me up well, honey.
  
  
  
  How the hell did I get close to this Lim Jang? So how was I supposed to kill this Red Cobra? I called myself a stupid bastard because I didn't understand what she was doing and didn't keep a close eye on her. Now it was too late. This required a complete change in my plans. I heard her whisper. 'Yes please. There is a body. I did not think about that. Please forgive me for causing you trouble. I don't know.'
  
  
  
  I owed this to my silence. I immediately realized that the City never knew what I really did. Part of this mess was my own stupid, rotten mistake. If I trusted her...
  
  
  
  My instincts are good and reliable. I knew we had to get out of here. Now and soon! Even if it meant using a lamp.
  
  
  
  I started to move.
  
  
  
  My instincts were correct. Too late.
  
  
  
  Four powerful beams of light pierced the clearing, rotated around and finally found us. Then they continued to target us.
  
  
  
  There was a voice in perfect English.
  
  
  
  "Raise your hands and don't move."
  
  
  
  I didn't have to tell anything else. I knew whose voice it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They made me watch.
  
  
  
  At first they had a big fight over this. One of Lim Jang's sub-lieutenants, a bony, muscular Malaysian Chinese, Sok Tan, who appeared to be the second-in-command, tried to convince Lim to spare the girl.
  
  
  
  They argued quite a bit about this.
  
  
  
  Sok Tan respected the boss, but was not afraid of him. They chatted together in Cantonese and ignored me. Either they didn't know I understood the language or they didn't care. Probably the latter. Who cared? I was next.
  
  
  
  Sok Tan complained that men had not had women for several months, and Siti was a beauty. They could pass it from hand to hand to make everyone happy.
  
  
  
  Lim sat down at his field table, folded his manicured hands, frowned and shook his head.
  
  
  
  'Listen. I don't want women in my camp. And not a single one. I haven't had sex for many years - men can live like this for a few more months. They have to. I give orders. Women are nothing but pests, full of diseases and troubles, boy. Do as I asked you. As soon as the sun comes up."
  
  
  
  I was thrown into the corner of a green pyramid tent, Cobra's headquarters. It was marked with large black arrows. An old British thing. I had a gag in my mouth. My hands were tied behind my back and my ankles were tied with vines. All I could do was watch and listen. They completely ignored me.
  
  
  
  Sok Tan was very bored with his moralistic boss. He showed scant respect when he pointed out that if it wasn't passed from man to man, it might still be useful. She knew how to cook and do most of the dirty work. It sounded logical. I already noticed that most of the guerrillas were Malaysians, and Malaysians are lazy. Also the Malaysian guerrillas.
  
  
  
  Lim Jang shook his head again. He had hair with deep curls at the temples. And he turned gray. His gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a professor. By the way, he looked like that too.
  
  
  
  The girl will die. She killed one of ours and must be punished for it. But even if she were not guilty of this crime, I would not allow her into my camp. You surprise me, Sok Tan. You know my feelings towards women, but you persist.”
  
  
  
  "It's about men, sir!" Sok Tan's face contorted with anger and disgust. He knew his back was to the wall.
  
  
  
  “They asked me to talk to you. They will be very angry if you execute this girl so soon. Maybe later when she and I have some fun."
  
  
  
  Then I realized why they called him Red Cobra. The “red” qualification was not needed. From that moment on I thought of him as Cobra and nothing else.
  
  
  
  He stood up from the table like a snake, turning around. His eyes sparkled behind their horn-rimmed frames and he actually hissed.
  
  
  
  That's it, that's enough, Sok Tan! Enough! If you bring this up again, I'll shoot you on sight. This is my last word."
  
  
  
  My Luger was lying on the table. Cobra put his hand on him. He did not raise it, but simply turned it so that the muzzle was pointed at his lieutenant.
  
  
  
  Sok Tan swallowed, opened his mouth, lost his courage, and walked out of the tent.
  
  
  
  The tent was well darkened. A single lamp wick flickered on a stand by the table. Cobra picked up the Luger, played with it and put it back. He then examined the stiletto and suede scabbard. I didn't know what happened to my Browning.
  
  
  
  He turned on his axis to look at me. His appearance was more faded than yellow, and his face was affected by smallpox. He was a cunning, nasty, experienced old bastard. He knew. I knew it. And he knew that I knew.
  
  
  
  He didn't say a word for a long time. He simply looked at me through his glasses, as if I were some kind of specimen under a microscope.
  
  
  
  He tapped his narrow hands nervously.
  
  
  
  “So, Mr. Carter, we finally meet. Obviously I'm surprised and more than happy. I've heard so much about you.
  
  
  
  I had a packet of palm leaves in my mouth, held by a dirty handkerchief. I looked at him. His eyes, behind thick lenses, swam like devilish black fish.
  
  
  
  He picked up a piece of paper from the table, looked at it for a moment, then looked at me again.
  
  
  
  “The description is perfect. You are Carter. You don't deny this, do you?
  
  
  
  I didn't flinch.
  
  
  
  He threw the paper back. - 'Doesn't matter. You are Carter. According to my latest information, the red tiger tongue in Hong Kong has been interested in you for a long time. They asked Beijing for a photo. Beijing had such a photograph and sent it on the condition that we be kept informed of your movements. It seemed to work. The Red Tigers kept their end of the bargain, although they couldn't kill you. Weren't you in Hong Kong on September 30th, Mr. Carter?
  
  
  
  It was exactly as I imagined. I should have stayed away from Hong Kong. For the first time in a long time I thought about Freddie. Then I forgot about her again.
  
  
  
  The Cobra grabbed my Luger, clicked the safety and headed towards me. As he pulled out the gag, he kept the gun pointed at me. He looked at me with a smile. He had good teeth for a middle-aged Chinese man.
  
  
  
  “We need to chat, Mr. Carter. You know, maybe I don't need to kill you. This, of course, depends on the extent to which you want to cooperate."
  
  
  
  I spat out the remaining palm leaves and grinned. I didn't really want to giggle, but I forced myself to do it. “Maybe I’ll cooperate,” I said. “I know I'm not in the best shape and I don't want to die any more than anyone else. What do you want?'
  
  
  
  He returned to his desk, sat down and continued playing with Luger. “It's not so much what I want, Mr. Carter, but what Beijing wants. As you may know, I am not currently on very good terms with Beijing, but your capture may well be a major incentive to take a step forward in restoring my image, as you Americans call it.”
  
  
  
  He was making fun of me, as we Americans call it. He was not going to let me live and send me to Beijing. He was a sadistic bastard and wanted to prank me.
  
  
  
  I glanced at the radio station in the corner of the tent. As I suspected, it was an old SXC 12.
  
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  
  “Then why don’t you call Beijing and tell them you caught me?” They will congratulate you. You might even get a medal. They may even forgive you for that mess in Indonesia eight years ago and forgive you for staying alive when all your friends were killed. Then call them now."
  
  
  
  His slender fingers drummed on the table the Radetzky march. The eyes continued to look at me from behind the thick lenses. He was unhappy with me. This was a man who could not even bear the memory of failure.
  
  
  
  Finally he said, “You are cheeky, Mr. Carter. They told me. I have read your file many times. It's quite an extensive dossier."
  
  
  
  I shrugged. 'And what? . I've killed many of your stinking yellows. Where did you learn English, Jim? You speak it very well for cross-eyed people.”
  
  
  
  I tried to anger him and bet that he wouldn't shoot me on the spot. He was too relaxed. I wanted to piss him off a little, make him angry and see if he would make a mistake. I had nothing to lose. As things stood now, I was doomed, and it could happen at any moment.
  
  
  
  He raised the Luger and aimed it at me. I cursed the weapon for my lack of loyalty. It was a traitor. A piece of iron that will kill me as quickly as it kills everyone else.
  
  
  
  Cobra laughed. “I will add to your record that you act childish at times. Do you really think you can provoke me into something I'm not yet ready for?
  
  
  
  I just looked at him. He put down the Luger again.
  
  
  
  “Not that I mind answering that question, Mr. Carter. I grew up on a mission in Xinjiang Province. The monastic fathers approached this very thoroughly. So when I grew up, it was a great pleasure for me to go back there and kill some of them."
  
  
  
  "Everything is fine."
  
  
  
  He ignored it. He pulled out a small object from the drawer of his field desk. It reflected light and glowed with darkness. I felt a little nauseous. He came within six feet of me and stopped, swinging a small black pendant from side to side. A black block suspended on a gold chain is the Kaaba. The last time I saw it, it was hanging comfortably between Maura's breasts. He was waiting for me to rush, but I did not give him such pleasure. I nodded. -
  
  
  
  'I know it. What did you do to her?
  
  
  
  He took the small cube in his palm and looked at it. 'I? I didn't hurt her, Mr. Carter. But, unfortunately, some of my people had to sort things out with her. She died from torture. She didn't betray you, Mr. Carter. That's why she had to die. If she had betrayed you, I would have caught you much sooner.
  
  
  
  He waved his hand towards the radio. “Until yesterday, I didn’t even know you were following me into the jungle. Even then it was still vague, purely hypothetical. But, as you noticed, I still heeded this warning and installed double duty posts. One waits to guard the other - and that's how I arrived today at your little camp. A very random coincidence, isn't it?
  
  
  
  He played with me. He was enjoying himself. I couldn't help but swallow it. Swallow it, hate it, and rack my brain to think of a way to kill it. It was cool. He was going to kill me. When he's finished.
  
  
  
  He was a little disappointed that I didn't agree to talk. He twirled the kaaba several times in his palm, then put it back on the table.
  
  
  
  “Her death was a little ironic, Mr. Carter. You know, she was attached to us for some time. You'll just have to take my word for it. This is true. The daughter of the outstanding Dato' Ismail bin Rahman worked for us. For me. You can imagine how happy I was about this." I could imagine. I also saw how true this could be. Generation gap. Father and daughter thought differently. Mora may have been naive and idealistic enough to get along with the Reds.
  
  
  
  I had nothing to say.
  
  
  
  “You see, she broke away from us,” Cobra continued. “We were going to look after her. She was too valuable a source of information for us to lose her. I'm afraid we had to apply some pressure."
  
  
  
  "Something like blackmail?"
  
  
  
  He nodded, glad that I had finally joined the conversation.
  
  
  
  'Certainly. Did you know about her illness?
  
  
  
  I nodded. The look on his face disgusted me. 'She was ill. She was a very sick girl."
  
  
  
  He clasped his hands together. "This is very bad. An illness that has been very valuable to me and my organization.
  
  
  
  You know, we made a list of her lovers. The scope and variety of this list will surprise you, Mr. Carter.
  
  
  
  I didn't want to hear anything more. Maura was dead and there was nothing more I could do. I looked at the flame of the wick and did not pay attention to it.
  
  
  
  But Cobra saw that the blade of his words was in me, and now he continued to twist it. There were still a few hours left before sunrise, and he had nothing to do. Besides, he liked it.
  
  
  
  “I repeat, Mr. Carter, she did not betray you. The Englishman, Toby Dexter, finally named you under torture, and she deceived us. She gave us Dexter to protect you. That's why you almost got me, and not the other way around.
  
  
  
  He pointed to the radio again. “I was lucky. My radio was repaired in time to contact Beijing and I was told that two of you were following me. You have been identified, and I have already taken care of the Englishman. I admit you're out of luck, Mr. Carter.
  
  
  
  I was exhausted. My stomach clenched. I knew he was telling the truth. It was only natural that Dato would use Mora to contact Toby Dexter and give him further instructions. How she treated me. Dato trusted his daughter because he could not trust the Malaysian secret service. But she betrayed him, just like Toby Dexter. Not me. Carter is gone. I was surprised. Not for long. I'll never know why. In the meantime, I had to try to stay alive. I could not avenge her with my death.
  
  
  
  I got tired of Cobra's prim, lustful face and changed the subject.
  
  
  
  I asked him. - "Why don't you spare the girl?" “She is only guilty of killing the man who betrayed her. How can it harm you? She's just a simple jungle girl. Then why would you kill her?
  
  
  
  He took out a pencil cutter and was working on his nails. He looked at me for a moment, and I saw that the long night had tired him as much as it had tired me.
  
  
  
  “You have a good heart, Mr. Carter. Don't you think this is an obstacle to your profession?
  
  
  
  I spat to make sure he understood.
  
  
  
  “I'm not a sadist. I only kill when necessary. You do it for fun. You like to kill, Lim Jang.
  
  
  
  “Perhaps, Mr. Carter. Maybe. But this City girl must die. Otherwise she would be a burden to us. She will definitely cause problems among men, and besides, I must set an example for them. I'll cut off her head and make sure it spreads. There has been little cooperation from Malaysians in recent months.”
  
  
  
  I closed my eyes. Despite everything, I wanted to sleep. I knew I could sleep, and that says something about me that I'm not sure I'll be able to enjoy it.
  
  
  
  Without opening my eyes, I said, “You're the son of a whore, Jim. You're a turtle-shit. I am convinced that your mother was the greatest whore in all of China. And you are her pimp.
  
  
  
  I heard him approach me. Just in time, I opened my eyes again and saw his combat boot coming towards me.
  
  
  
  
  
  They made me look at it.
  
  
  
  They pulled me out of the rough shelter where I had passed out and into a small clearing in the jungle. I had a severe headache and my nose and mouth were filled with blood. Even the small cut on my chin throbbed when I hadn't felt it for days. I was in very bad shape to go see what I needed to see.
  
  
  
  One thing - they did it quickly! Cobra was already there, neat and clean, in pressed overalls and a flat cap with a red star. Everyone was present except the sentries. I counted ninety-six people. Some of them grumbled and whispered, but most watched indifferently as City was dragged towards a large teak log.
  
  
  
  They tore off her shirt, my shirt, and her breasts shook and danced as she struggled against them. Her half sarong was torn. When she saw me, she let out a piercing scream. “Tuan-tuan, don’t let them do this. Don't let them harm the City! TOEAN - please, please - TOEAN!
  
  
  
  I felt a cold and sad feeling in my gut. I looked at the Cobra. He laughed and looked away. This vile, vile, stinking scumbag. I was helpless. I was still handcuffed hand and foot, and two guerrillas held me at gunpoint with their rifles. Then Siti realized that I could not help her. She saw that this would actually happen and calmed down. She stopped struggling and knelt down in front of them. One of the men grabbed her by the thick hair and shook her head onto the block. I had never noticed before how thin her neck was.
  
  
  
  She managed to turn her head a quarter turn and look at me. There were tears in her eyes.
  
  
  
  The parang flashed in the greenish sunlight and fell again. The sound was like a butcher hitting a carcass.
  
  
  
  The head fell off the block, and a spray of blood soaked her shiny hair. The body slid to the side and convulsed several times.
  
  
  
  Cobra broke the silence. “Bury it,” he ordered. He turned and walked away. Someone poked me and I was taken back to the shelter.
  
  
  
  All day I lay and looked at the roof of leaves. The hut was nothing more than several young trees tied together, which were then covered with palm leaves. The rain soaked me, the only water I had. And I didn't eat anything. No one came to me and no one spoke to me.
  
  
  
  The two guards continuously walked around the shelter and did not even speak, not even to each other.
  
  
  
  I could guess what the orders were. If I escape, my two guards will be shot immediately. When I'm really in a pinch, I can use my head pretty cool. I've done it now.
  
  
  
  I put everything, everything out of my mind and focused on how to get out of this.
  
  
  
  It didn't make sense. No point at all. As the sun slowly set again, I had to admit that I was truly stuck. Looks like that was the end of Carter. Unless Cobra helped me. Unless he does something for me that I can't do for myself.
  
  
  
  I told myself that this was a completely crazy idea. It was all over with me. But I still needed to hold on to that little bit of hope. Cobra was a sadist. He was also Chinese, which meant he was lazy. I had a feeling that he had something special in store for me.
  
  
  
  This was my only chance. That he wanted to be too smart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just before sunset they came for me. They dragged me diagonally across the clearing where they beheaded the City. Her body and head were gone, but I could see the dark spots on the teak log as they pushed me towards it. I started to sweat profusely and my knees started to buckle, but I kept my face down. I wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing how scared I was. And I was scared. Very.
  
  
  
  I misjudged Cobra. After all, he wasn't going to play it subtle. He was going to cut my head off and I wondered why he waited so long.
  
  
  
  The partisans gathered here again. They smiled mockingly at me, expecting the death of Orang Amerikanaki. I looked back at them and spat on the deck, holding my face and legs, hoping that, thank God, my sphincters wouldn’t give me away.
  
  
  
  My hands were still tied behind my back. My ankles were tied together with vines and a long rope of vines was braided around my waist.
  
  
  
  A dozen rifles held me at gunpoint. I had a feeling that this is it. I'd killed more people than I could remember - although I believe Hawke has a full list of them - but now that it was my turn, I was anything but prepared.
  
  
  
  They made me kneel, and one of them put my head on the block. I waited, fighting to hold on to my body, which so desperately wanted to live. I succeeded, and then I felt impotent anger rising inside me. I hated losing almost as much as I hated dying.
  
  
  
  They waited for Cobra, chatting and whispering in Malay, Chinese and Tamil. Someone chuckled nervously.
  
  
  
  Then there was silence, and I realized that Cobra had arrived. He spoke Malay.
  
  
  
  "Teroes!" Straightaway?
  
  
  
  The man behind me grabbed my head and turned it so that I was looking directly at the setting sun. I had to narrow my eyes to see Cobra walking back and forth right between me and the sun. He had a camera in his hands. Photo. Evidence for Beijing. And damn good propaganda for the Reds.
  
  
  
  He took a photo and stopped. Then I realized it was a Polaroid camera, a sixty-second miracle. But it took more than one miracle to pull me out of it, and I had a sickening feeling inside that my last miracle was already over.
  
  
  
  He took a few more pictures from different angles and came up to me. When I tried to look up, they hit my head against a tree. All I could see was overalls and a pair of tall, shiny combat boots.
  
  
  
  “Sorry, Mr. Carter, I don’t have a movie camera. Then I could document the entire execution. This would be a great movie for a certain select group. The great Nick Carter, AX's top assassin is on death's door - and I'm not making any puns here - about to lose his head. This would boost the morale of the communist world. But, to my regret, photos are enough for me. Before and after the event. Of course, when that's done, I'll take some pictures of your head."
  
  
  
  He stepped back and I saw his signal. The man behind me walked around me and showed me the parang. It was the same one they used for City, but they didn't even remove it. I have a strange feeling. They went on a psychological tour, but why? The man with the parang stood behind me again. They tied nooses of wicker around my neck, with men on either side, and held my head on a block. The man behind me growled, and I heard an air whoosh as he raised his parang.
  
  
  
  “You have ten seconds to live,” said Cobra. - I'll count them out for you, Mr. Carter. If you have something to say, I suggest you do it now. You don't have to worry about the bosses at AX - I'll let them know you're dead. I'll send them some photos."
  
  
  
  What fun he had. He collected the funniest of the funniest.
  
  
  
  I've never hated anyone, no matter how strange it may sound. For me it has always been a matter of business.
  
  
  
  But now I really hated someone.
  
  
  
  Cobra began counting down: “Satoe - dua - tiga - empath lima -.”
  
  
  
  - Anything to say, Mr. Carter? Nothing? Not a word for your loved ones?
  
  
  
  Trying to drown out his voice, I stared at the ground, cursing the sweat that dripped into my eyes and struggling with my guts. My nerves joined the shrill chorus - enough is enough!
  
  
  
  "Anam - toejo - D'lapan - Smbilan."
  
  
  
  Parang fell.
  
  
  
  Cold and sharp, it stopped right on my neck. The sharp knife wounded me very easily. The partisans burst into laughter. I kept my eyes closed and prayed, really prayed for the first time in years, that I would still have a chance against Cobra.
  
  
  
  They took me back to the tent and threw me inside. Still smiling, they disappeared. I lay still, still shaking a little, but I had won the battle. I didn't get dirty and didn't give them any satisfaction.
  
  
  
  An hour has passed. It was dark. The Cobra arrived with four of his men. Two of them carried covered lanterns. They took me to the beach. A faint moon shone, occasionally disappearing behind purple clouds, and the sea was calm and smooth. They removed the vine and ropes from me and stripped me down to my underpants. I was still in shock, but nothing could surprise me anymore. I followed their orders as slowly as possible. This is more a matter of general principles and customs than anything else, because I did not see how buying time could help me.
  
  
  
  "Cobra" held one of the lights and watched as they strapped me to my fins, oxygen tank, mask and underwater light.
  
  
  
  When they were ready, God knows what Cobra spoke about in English. I doubted that his people understood English well.
  
  
  
  “You stayed well under the parang,” he said. He seemed unhappy. “Very commendable. Although I would prefer it if you terribly beg me for mercy.
  
  
  
  “You'll have to wait a long time for this,” I grumbled.
  
  
  
  "Your insults are useless." - He became formal. “My people still don’t understand you.”
  
  
  
  - They understand you, Lim. You insult everything that exists."
  
  
  
  He let it pass. He said, “I take it the girl told you about this Japanese submarine and the golden snake gods? Not that it matters because there is no gold.”
  
  
  
  - Yes, she told me what you extracted from her uncle. She knew. But that's not why you killed her. This nonsense is about the morale of your men and this nonsense is about women causing trouble. You killed Siti because she was the only witness to your massacre. You killed everyone in the kampong except Siti. She laughed at you and ran away. That's a whole different reason why you killed her, isn't it? City more or less beat you and you can't stand it!
  
  
  
  "You have some interesting theories, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  
  I was taken to the water, in a canoe. They again wrapped the vines around my neck and waist, but left my arms free. I was forced to sit right in the middle of the canoe. The Cobra was sitting in the back and my Luger was pointed at me while two of his men held me at gunpoint. One person rowed. He knelt in front of me in the boat, slightly to the side so as not to get into the path of the bullets, and pushed the canoe away from the beach. There was enough light to see the rotten old pier to my left.
  
  
  
  Pointing the Luger at me, he began to speak. He loved his voice as much as he loved everything else. I knew who he was, but I couldn't help but think that this man didn't belong here. He belonged to the bureaucrats sitting at the table.
  
  
  
  “I don’t understand it myself,” he said. “The gold had to be there. I was counting on it. I need this urgently. The girl's uncle only spoke under torture, I would say, very effective torture, and I'm sure he wasn't lying. He was a former guerrilla, long before the Emergency, as the British call it, and had seen the Japanese plunder the temple and take the golden snakes with them. He followed them to this place and continued to watch them. He then saw an Australian plane approach and sink the submarine before it could escape.
  
  
  
  So far so good. We found the boat and my men examined it. The conning tower hatch was still open, just as when she was sunk. None of the crew escaped. The plane returned and sank several more ships carrying tin. In the confusion that arose, the man had no problem locating the exact, albeit rough, scene of the place and returning to the jungle.
  
  
  
  It baffles me, Mr. Carter, and I am not often surprised or deeply disappointed. This man swore to me that he had never told anyone about this matter. At some point he destroyed this map. He lost the will to fight - deep down he must have been a coward - returned to the kampong and forgot about it. Except for the nightmares that betrayed him."
  
  
  
  I laughed at him. My mouth and nose were broken and I was in terrible pain, but I still laughed.
  
  
  
  “You screwed up. Either he told someone, or someone saw all this and returned later for the gold. This boat has been empty for many years. You left the shelter of the jungle to come all this way for no reason.”
  
  
  
  The moon came out again and I saw him shake his head. 'I don't believe it. I did this very carefully. I checked and found out that a submarine is also officially listed at this location. I don't believe this man, any man, could lie under the torture I use."
  
  
  
  “Then it’s different,” I chuckled. “An unknown person who also saw it and then looted it.”
  
  
  
  I heard him sigh. “Yeah, I think that's it. But it does not matter. There is no gold, and that was the only thing that mattered to me.”
  
  
  
  We were a long way from shore and had passed the end of the pier. Another canoe was waiting for us near the white rafts that marked the berth of the sunken submarine. There were six men in the canoe with guns and two with the same diving equipment as I had. Only they had pistols with carbon dioxide and harpoons, but I didn’t have them. Then I began to understand. In the end, Cobra will still become more sophisticated and sadistic. Apparently he lived on it. This man must have been a bane to dogs and other pets when he was a child.
  
  
  
  Our canoe slid slowly alongside the others. There were now nine guns pointed at me, including my own Luger. This dirty fagot wasn't taking any chances, and I was beginning to believe that Cobra wasn't making a single mistake.
  
  
  
  “I could have made a mistake with this gold,” he said now. Malice, cunning and hatred mixed in perfect English.
  
  
  
  My people may not have noticed this. So, Mr. Carter, after some thought, I decided to give you a chance. Maybe you'll find the treasure, maybe you won't. In any case, it will be very interesting there. I've been there myself and seen what fish and crabs can do with bones in twenty years. I assume you are a diving specialist?
  
  
  
  I was wondering how much air was in that cylinder and how it wanted to block the main hatch.
  
  
  
  “You are an expert,” he continued. “It's in your file in Beijing. Now you will have a chance to prove yourself. Without success, I'm afraid, because you won't find any more."
  
  
  
  "Why is that so?" This really interested me. In a way, his twisted brain was a masterpiece. Even beautiful, like a rattlesnake is beautiful.
  
  
  
  He tapped the edge of the canoe with his narrow hands for a moment. “I've been thinking about this for a very long time. As you know, we Chinese are experts in torture. Of course, not everyone is Chinese, you need a little talent for that. I will give you a lamp and a watch. The air supply will last for half an hour, exactly half an hour. I'll level my watch with yours, go back to shore, and then sit and wait while I watch the hands turn. And I will enjoy it immensely. I will know down to the second when your agony begins.
  
  
  
  He gave the order, and I was thrown over the edge of the boat into the warm sea. Two guerrillas with diving equipment came up on either side of me, and the vines were stretched. If I tried anything, they could easily strangle me or kill me with their guns and harpoons.
  
  
  
  Cobra leaned down to talk to me. “It's not that important. About fifteen meters. She's on a coral ledge, but the main hatch is open and you'll have no trouble getting in."
  
  
  
  I get it. They just pushed me. Rather, I was worried about the weather. Quite a lot to worry about. But at least now I had hope to cling to. I've been on a submarine before. Probably even more than I could remember. He rose and fell again. I went through quite a few safety drills. Perhaps Cobra made a mistake here.
  
  
  
  "There is another, more practical reason why I chose this death for you," Cobra said. “You are a legend, Mr. Carter. Myth. Your name frightens some of my compatriots. I want to put an end to this legend forever. The flesh rotted underground, but the bones are preserved for a very long time. Corpses have an annoying habit of attracting attention to themselves, even in the jungle. Especially here on the coast, with all this government control. I don't want to drag your rotting corpse through the jungle with me for days. Besides, I don't think my Malaysians will want it.
  
  
  
  So you'll just disappear, Mr. Carter. You become zero, nothing. At the right moment they will forget about you. Only I will know where your bones lie - and I will keep this knowledge for myself. At least until I feel the need to make it public."
  
  
  
  “You should start writing scripts, Lim,” I said. And I hope you live happily ever after. Then you will suffer at least a little in old age. Hopefully then you'll be buried in a dung heap so the dogs can feast on you.
  
  
  
  The full moon came out and I saw him grinning. "Goodbye, Carter. It is you who will suffer. You will see the time of your death approaching the minute. See how it amazes you. And the moment you take your last breath, you will know that it is definitely your last. Goodbye Mr Carter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were on the submarine in less than two minutes. A weighted rope hung from the surface of the water into an open hatch. All three used their own lamps. There was no point in running, so I didn't try. If I could escape, it would be from a submarine. Meek as a tame porpoise on a leash, I swam with them using my eyes and brain. They led me by the vines around my neck and waist.
  
  
  
  She was lying on her side on a coral ledge. I looked for the rudder and dive rudders because I needed to know what was at the bow and stern and I had no time to waste. They drove us into the open hatch of the conning tower. One of them once poked a harpoon into my calf as a farewell, and I was left alone. I got my bearings, saw that the stern was to my left, and looked at the watch they gave me.
  
  
  
  9.02.
  
  
  
  Two minutes to get down here. Then I had 28 minutes left. I wondered if Cobra had planned this precisely so that it would be easier for me to know the time and approaching moment of my death. I concentrated. I struggled to control my mind because my life depended on not panicking. I had to think first and then act. Not too fast and not too slow.
  
  
  
  I brought the lamp to the open hatch, but the lock was closed. Cork in an iron bottle. They tied him to the spot with a tightly tangled network of vines and rope. I didn't have a knife and my teeth aren't that good. Besides, they were waiting outside. I saw one of the floating partisans in the light of my lamp. He hung on a leash and swam lazily back and forth. They will guard the hatch until I die.
  
  
  
  It was a small submarine and I think it was comparable to our World War II Z-class. I was swimming, so to speak, in an indescribable confusion of machine parts, levers, bolts, wheels, switches, tanks and pressure gauges. I was watched by small fish with bulging eyes, which deftly made their way through this mess. My gaze fell on a giant crab, which quickly began to scratch someone's bones. But something else struck me, and I stretched along the bar until I was above these bones. I pointed my lamp at him and saw a knife in a sheath on his belt. I took it out and tucked it into my belt. So now, if I had to, I could try to cut the mesh over the hatch and push it out. But I didn't stand a chance.
  
  
  
  I went to look for a hole. It had to be somewhere in the fuselage. But Cobra knew. There was a huge tear in the hull's plating, but the hole was now down below, and the coral was sticking out of it. So there was no way out.
  
  
  
  9.12.
  
  
  
  I examined her completely. The bones danced back and forth slightly as I passed. I was looking for tools. Now I knew what to do, what my only chance was, and to do it I needed tools.
  
  
  
  9.15.
  
  
  
  I found a toolbox with a can of lube that had never been opened. I also found a crowbar and a large English key. They were easy to carry at this depth and I moved them to the bow. The bomb, which tore the hull sheets, carefully bent them, giving them razor-sharp shapes, strewn with coral here and there. I got a little skinned as I walked through the sleeping quarters and hallway and came to the front where the floor of the boat was littered with bones.
  
  
  
  She lay on her side, with the launch tubes protruding from the reef at a forty-five-degree angle. I prayed that the torpedo tubes would be empty, but it was a bitter disappointment. They were loaded, and the torpedo propellers grinned at me mockingly in the glassy darkness. They're stuck in their tubes. Tight, as if welded. As a result of twenty years of degradation in salt water.
  
  
  
  9.20.
  
  
  
  It was hopeless. A lifting rig or lifting block was required to empty the pipe. This iron cigar had swelled in the tube and was now stuck to the wall of the tube. And the launch tube, one way or another, was the only way out.
  
  
  
  9.23.
  
  
  
  I tried. Now I worked faster. I wasted a lot of time thinking this was my only chance and now I'm stuck with it. There was no other choice. I had to clear one of the two tubes and squeeze through it. Or die.
  
  
  
  The torpedo in the first tube simply did not move. I grabbed the propeller and threw myself back with all my weight. I tensed my legs and used every ounce of muscle I had. I'm a strong and big person, and when I really try something, I usually try it. But this time it didn’t work out. I couldn't handle this tube.
  
  
  
  9.25.
  
  
  
  There was water in my mask. I rolled over onto my back, cleaned it, and then moved on to the other tube. The propeller looked at me, offering to pull it out. I grabbed it and tried it, knowing deep in my heart that it was pointless. The screw broke. I let it slide slowly to the floor and bitterly tasted death on my tongue.
  
  
  
  I pierced the torpedo with a knife in the place where it pressed against the pipe.
  
  
  
  But she wasn't too pliable. The knife blade slipped between the torpedo and the inner wall of the pipe. There wasn't much space there.
  
  
  
  But how the hell do I get him out? If at least I can get it to move. The propeller broke so I had no chance to grab it or put any leverage on it.
  
  
  
  9.26.
  
  
  
  Four minutes left to live. Maybe five if it took me a minute to die from lack of air. I knew what would happen. I've seen people drown. At the last decisive second, I tore off the mask and tried to breathe water. I plunged the blade into the torpedo casing. More out of despair and anger than hope.
  
  
  
  The tip of the blade pierced the torpedo. Half an inch. It wasn't steel.
  
  
  
  9.27.
  
  
  
  I hit the back of the torpedo with a knife. The metal was cut, and the fresh cut sparkled at me with a dull silver color. Platinum! Platinum torpedo. Dummy. Submarine commander's secret vault.
  
  
  
  I was already heading towards the tool cabinet. I remembered a short chain. Pipes, levers and wheels grabbed me, everything that stopped me. I began to hold my breath to savor the last precious minutes of air.
  
  
  
  With the chain, I swam back to the launch tube. Clumsily and slowly, I used a wrench to drive the blade into the torpedo. It was so slow, so endlessly slow.
  
  
  
  9.28.
  
  
  
  Two more minutes of oxygen. Maybe a little more because I was breathing carefully. Almost immediately I realized there was no point in holding your breath when you took a long gulp on your first breath.
  
  
  
  I drove the knife into the soft platinum until the handle was just a few inches from the rounded surface. Then I wrapped the chain around him and ran back with all my might. If the blade breaks, or the chain, or if the blade slips from the oily metal, I will die. Then I died.
  
  
  
  The torpedo moved.
  
  
  
  9.29.
  
  
  
  I pulled. I braced myself against the hull of the ship, my feet on either side of the launch hole, and I pulled. My muscles were jumping, I was tired, but I continued to pull. Slowly the torpedo began to fly out. I lost my balance on my body, my legs wanted to float, but somehow I managed to keep pulling. All my strength was now concentrated in my arms and shoulders and a tendon had torn somewhere.
  
  
  
  The platinum torpedo slipped out of the tube and, spinning, flew to the bottom of the submarine. I dove for the tube and cursed my broad shoulders and muscular arms. It's really ironic to die because you have such a beautifully developed body.
  
  
  
  It didn't work. With my arms outstretched, my arms pointed like an arrow, I could just put my shoulders into the tube.. I'll never get through this in time.
  
  
  
  Cylinder! I still wore that top hat. Idiot! But if I take it off, I'm sacrificing my last precious seconds of oxygen.
  
  
  
  There was no more time to look at the clock. There's no time at all. I made a mistake and panicked. I forgot this jar of fat. I could curse myself. I found it and broke the lid with the tip of a crowbar.
  
  
  
  I smeared myself with black mud. We must hurry! I was still breathing. Fat, fat and more fat. I stuck my hands full of this slippery debris into the torpedo tube.
  
  
  
  Now I was living in someone else's time. The one who filled the tank made a small mistake.
  
  
  
  9.31.
  
  
  
  They gave me an extra minute. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs to bursting, preparing for what was to come.
  
  
  
  The air supply has stopped.
  
  
  
  I shook off the cylinder, tore off the hose, but did not remove the mask. Now I was on my own. I just needed to keep breathing the air that was in my lungs. Moving forward, I squeezed through the launch tube and began to writhe and claw. I progressed inch by inch. I couldn't rest. I didn't have time or air to rest.
  
  
  
  Halfway through the tube my lungs started to burn and hurt. I had to let some air out. It bubbled out of the pipe, and I felt like my life was boiling behind them. I climbed a forty-five degree slope. I started to slide. I had to use my muscles like a snake, contracting and pushing, contracting and pushing. Then the pain came. Relentless and terrible pain in my lungs. Gradually the agony of death began, and I knew that in a very short time I would have to open my mouth and nose to breathe, swallow water, scream and die.
  
  
  
  Now I was outside the pipe and I jumped out. If they were waiting for me up there, then so be it. I had no other options. Death would be a welcome end to the pain that ran through me. Breathe! The voice echoed through my skull. Breathe. Give up. Let yourself go. Breath!
  
  
  
  I got to the surface and was left floating more dead than alive. The moist air entered my lungs, and I knew, as I always knew without even thinking about it, that this was the most beautiful thing in the world.
  
  
  
  Breathe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the canoes danced on the waves about fifty feet away, showing a faint glow. She was waiting for my guards to arrive. It occurred to me for the first time that they might enter the submarine to look at my corpse. I did not think about that. This was a serious mistake, and now I had very little time left. I disappeared again and swam to the pier.
  
  
  
  I crawled under the pier and further stretched myself along the rotten pillars, trying to rest and gather my strength. I was far from finishing my vacation because I had to do something first. I walked to the beach and got rid of the membranes and mask. Apart from my wet panties, I was otherwise naked. I needed weapons and shoes.
  
  
  
  I allowed myself a moment to catch my breath and crawled along the beach towards the jungle. Still no disturbance from the canoe and the two divers.
  
  
  
  I heard it before I saw it. He hummed a Malay tune and was not very active. I writhed in the bushes at the edge of the beach and waited. The moon played hide and seek behind the clouds. So it's a matter of time and luck. And absolute silence. One wrong sound and all is lost.
  
  
  
  The moon was on my side. I saw his shadow as he passed a few feet from the bush. I stood behind him and drowned out his song in the middle of the chorus. I crushed his Adam's apple with my forearm, put him in a double Nelson and tilted his head forward until I heard his neck snap. I calmly put him down and clumsily began to search until I found his revolver belt, on which hung a short bayonet in a sheath. The moon is gone again.
  
  
  
  I couldn't risk it. One weak moan and I'll be caught.
  
  
  
  I grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back and cut his throat. In the dark and by touch. Then he cleaned the bayonet and put it back in its sheath. I took the woven belt from him and fastened it myself around my bare waist. I don't need his gun. After dragging him under the underbrush, I threw some sand on him and left him behind.
  
  
  
  I crawled into the jungle. It became quiet. Night was approaching and this was a change for the worse. But soon there will be other sounds, and they will help me.
  
  
  
  Both the revolver and the holster were old British-made ones. It was an antiquated naval Webley revolver, about the size of a cannon, and at night in the jungle it also made the sound of a cannon.
  
  
  
  There were also two hand grenades. I thought they were frag grenades and they are also quite noisy. They could have been useful, but I chose not to use them. So the only thing of immediate value to me was the bayonet. Then I had to do it.
  
  
  
  I walked around the camp in a semicircle, based on memory and guesswork. If the moon was shining, I walked as quietly as possible, but when it disappeared, I walked faster. I kept thinking about divers. If they searched the sub and didn't find Carter dead, all hell would break loose. I had to see how to get to Cobra before that happened.
  
  
  
  I was almost there. A sentry stood a few feet away from me, smoking a cigarette, covering the light with his hand, and talking to himself. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and put it out with his foot. His shoe touched my fingertips. Finally he left and I could breathe again.
  
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later I spotted the pyramid-shaped tent of Cobra headquarters. It was well darkened, but I could still see a faint glow through the green canvas. The shadow jerked back and forth. I wondered what he was doing and grinned. My wounded face hurt. I hoped he was already selling the bear skin.
  
  
  
  Now that I had found the tent, I no longer needed the moon. Of course he came and stayed there. I buried my face in the grass and cursed the moon. Sleepy monkeys moved above me, chatting. They knew I was there, but they weren't scared yet.
  
  
  
  Finally the moon disappeared behind a dark cloud. I crawled to the back of the tent. Carefully removed the bayonet from its sheath. Now for the rough work. I needed a little luck.
  
  
  
  I touched the canvas with my fingertips and stopped. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the interior of the tent with everything that was in it. His desk, radio, chair and desk are British. All.
  
  
  
  When he sat at his desk, his back was to me. If he had been lying on his bunk, he would have turned to face me because I still remembered where his pillow was. Actually not a real pillow, but a backpack covered with a blanket. The oil burner stood next to his bunk. Maybe he read it. He had to stay awake, otherwise he would have extinguished his lamp. I had to take a risk. Quietly and slowly, I brought the tip of the bayonet to the canvas and pressed. So slow. Slowly.
  
  
  
  I ended up with a two-centimeter incision. I opened it with the point of my bayonet and looked inside. He was working at his field table, his back turned to me. There he made an entry in a rather large book. It was a little like the cash books you could buy in those cheap stores. For a second the jungle was so quiet that I could hear his pen scratching the paper.
  
  
  
  My things were on the table in front of him. The Luger lay in his right hand. There I also saw my stiletto in a suede sheath, a compass and a bunch of rubbish from my luggage. To his left by the table stood a parang. My Browning was nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  
  He stirred, sighed, looked forward and scratched the back of his head. I had seen enough and crawled back into the undergrowth.
  
  
  
  There I rummaged around until I found a vine that I could use. Strong enough, thin enough, flexible enough and durable enough. I cut it to the required length with a bayonet and tried it. I put all my strength into it and she stuck it out. Now I'm done. I just needed the sound. I had to act quickly, so I was forced to make some noise myself. I found a piece of a tree branch somewhere and hoped the monkeys would cooperate. I stood up, aimed as hard as I could into the darkness and threw the stick into the trees.
  
  
  
  It must have hit the leader himself. Besides, they were howler monkeys, a whole tribe, and the stick made them good choleric monkeys. There was a commotion. They made the sound of a million tin soldiers roaring. liiiiii - yea-aaa - iiiiiii - yeaaaaaa.
  
  
  
  Now I'm focused on this. I told the moon to come out again, and for some reason it did. I quickly ran to the tent, found my gap, stuck a bayonet into it and looked at him.
  
  
  
  He sat tensely and attentively, his head slightly bowed, listening to the cry of the monkeys. It was a natural reaction. There are millions of things that make monkeys scream. He wasn't afraid or worried, he was just scared.
  
  
  
  Then he took out his bayonet and cut the canvas into shreds. Then I grabbed it with my teeth and entered the tent. He returned to his work and ignored the screeching monkeys. When I approached him, I made a decision. I wanted to let him know that he was going to die, to let him know that he had lost and I was the winner. I wanted to see the fear, disappointment and horror on his face, but I decided not to. It was petty, unprofessional and too dangerous. He would never know, he didn't have time. I threw a loop of vine over his head, crossed it behind his neck, pulled it into his flesh and applied all my strength.
  
  
  
  He half rose from his chair, his fingers scratching at the choking vine that had now disappeared into the soft flesh of his neck.
  
  
  
  He died. I threw him face down on the table. Then I heard a noise and looked up. Lieutenant Sok Tan entered through the canopy hanging over the tent. A second later I took aim and threw the bayonet.
  
  
  
  Due to poor lighting I threw too high. The bayonet hit him in the throat, just below the chin. It destroyed his vocal cords, but it didn't kill him fast enough. He fell to his knees, swaying, picking at his throat with one hand. The other one was fiddling with the pistol in its holster.
  
  
  
  I crouched down towards him, kicked him in the face with my bare foot and grabbed him by the head. I found the handle of a bayonet and cut off almost his entire head. The gushing blood covered me, the floor and him. I wouldn't have wanted it, but it was already too late. The monkeys were still having fun. I pushed the tent flap back into place and got to work. I only had two minutes before I was interrupted again.
  
  
  
  I took my things from the table, everything I needed. Luger, stiletto, compass and the book in which Lim Jang wrote. Hawk would have loved it.
  
  
  
  I put on Sok Tan's shoes. They were too small for me, but I cut them with a bayonet. After that everything went well. I wasn't about to walk barefoot through the jungle.
  
  
  
  I would carry Cobra. I had a plan and I was completely serious. This child whore will be shown publicly in the main square of Coela Loempoer. Of course, I was daydreaming and letting my imagination run wild, but at that moment I was already pretty crazy with fatigue and was no longer thinking so logically. It seemed like a good idea to me at the time.
  
  
  
  The monkeys fell silent again. Time to come. I threw Cobra's body over my shoulder and stepped through the crack into the darkness. The moon was hiding again, and that suited me. I managed to get out of the camp. Then it got really difficult. Really difficult. I now have a flashlight, but it will be a long time before I can use it safely. I had to walk through the jungle at night. For with the first rays of the sun they will follow me. With a little guesswork, God, and a little luck, I made it through the outer ring of sentries. The cape expanded, and the area turned into a real jungle, not at all like this thin fabric. An hour later, when I had walked about five hundred yards, I stopped to get my bearings and make a plan. I knew there was a highway somewhere to the west. And the closer I got to this main road, the safer I became. Government troops were patrolling there, and the partisans were unlikely to like it.
  
  
  
  But I didn’t want to face these army troops either. I didn't think very well when I imagined Lim Jang ending up in a public place in Koela Lumpoer. I just became a killer. It all had to be quiet for a while. The last thing the Malaysian government wanted was publicity about this.
  
  
  
  I laughed. I could imagine the tourists staring at the corpse and then packing their bags as quickly as they could. No, it didn't work. However, I needed proof that I had completed my mission. After some thought, I came up with another idea. A bit barbaric, but a good idea nonetheless, and I just felt angry enough to go through with it.
  
  
  
  When I had rested, I cut a few more vines and tied the corpse in a noose at the back, leaving both hands free. With a lamp in one hand and a parang in the other, I set off, having previously found my way with the help of a compass. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about being chased until morning. There were Malaysians there and they were too smart to walk through the jungle at night. I was an ordinary Orang-American who knew nothing.
  
  
  
  To my surprise, I achieved good results. I found a long stretch of savannah leading up from the shore and took advantage of it. One day a panther growled nearby, but it didn’t bother me. Nothing really bothered me except fatigue. I'm exhausted. I sweated and stumbled, falling every now and then, cursing myself for not being superhuman.
  
  
  
  The open section ended when I reached the ridge. From above, the ground sloped back down into the jungle. I let the loop of the vine containing Cobra's body slide off my shoulders and fall to the ground. Then I looked out from behind the trees to the west. Of course, I had to go down into this jungle to hide and find out what to do. I needed to have money and somehow get out of this country.
  
  
  
  The moon disappeared again, and further west I saw the headlights come on. A pair of single headlights rise and fall, piercing the night like yellow beacons. The main road. Some planter is returning from his club and heading home, or a truck full of workers, or maybe a government patrol. I continued to watch until the lights went out. This road was at least three miles to the west. Not a very happy ending due to the jungle and the circumstances I found myself in, but I had fun nonetheless.
  
  
  
  I picked up the body, hung it on my back and went downstairs. The jungle was very thick and I had the feeling that I was finally safe from the guerrillas. They would never have caught me in this confusion even if they had ventured closer to the road. I assumed they would be confused, demoralized, and unable to work effectively. It was a body without a head.
  
  
  
  Now this head hung on my shoulders.
  
  
  
  I looked at the watch Cobra gave me to determine the exact moment of my death. It was already after three. In an hour it will be day again, I won’t be able to continue like this. The first suitable place I found along the way I used as a resting place. . I dropped my body and collapsed. I used my body as a pillow and fell asleep.
  
  
  
  Even before I opened my eyes, I knew he was there. I felt him looking at me. He was about four feet away from me and staring at me. The pipe he held right in front of me was six feet long, and he held it inches from his mouth. The first rays of the sun fell on his small, twisted body. His eyes flashed a reddish light at me. I didn't move. I wasn't even scared and accepted it. Do what I did, come here and die from a poisoned arrow. It was damn funny.
  
  
  
  He looked at me. I kept an eye on him. I've never seen a jungle dwarf before. Usually you don't see them either. Only tame ones, but they are rare. This one looked anything but tame. And yet he stood there, he watched, but he had not yet killed me. I thought quickly. Maybe he wasn't tame, but maybe he wasn't completely wild either. Maybe he had been around whites and Malaysians before and that’s why he wasn’t afraid of me.
  
  
  
  I was very careful. I smiled without moving my hands. When I spoke, I must have sounded like a head waiter offering a seat to Aristotle Onassis.
  
  
  
  Tabi,” I said. Hello. If he doesn't speak Malay, I will have problems because I don't speak Semang. He didn't answer, but I thought he shook his head for a moment. The tube also moved, moving a little closer to the mouth.
  
  
  
  I was scratching my head. So we didn't get much further. At this point, I felt my stomach growl and very slowly moved my hand and pointed to my stomach.
  
  
  
  - Makan?
  
  
  
  Now he shook his head. He didn't want to eat, or didn't want me to eat, or didn't want to eat me. He continued to watch, and this did not calm me down at all. I remained calm and stared back, almost thinking my head was going to explode. He was jet black and naked except for a small patch of square bark covering his genitals. He was barely five feet tall, with muscular arms and legs and a bullet-shaped belly. His hair was like black steel wool. He had a flat face, a wide flat nose and thick lips. On a vine holding a piece of bark, he carried a makeshift knife and a pouch for his poisoned arrows.
  
  
  
  Our diplomatic relations have stalled again. I tried to get them moving again.
  
  
  
  I was very careful and pointed at myself. - 'Nick. Nick.
  
  
  
  He looked. I pointed at him. - "Apa nama?"
  
  
  
  “See you later,” he said. .
  
  
  
  He lowered his blowgun and pointed at himself, repeating, “Bye.”
  
  
  
  Then he said, "Damn it."
  
  
  
  Sweat poured into my eyes, but I didn’t dare wipe it away. I gave him my heartiest smile, never taking my eyes off his blowgun.
  
  
  
  - Do you speak English, Thoth? American?
  
  
  
  He smiled at me. - “Damn it, speak well.”
  
  
  
  “Until,” I said, “you make me damn happy.”
  
  
  
  He took a step towards me and pointed at Cobra's body. "Kill you?"
  
  
  
  I nodded. "Crap."
  
  
  
  He put his hands to his throat, pressed, and tilted his head to the side. 'Kill you? The government is killing you for murder. Damn bad though.
  
  
  
  I shook my head. There was no point in explaining this to him.
  
  
  
  “Don't kill the government. Don't catch it. You helped me. Understand? You helped me.'
  
  
  
  He extended his hand. He understood.
  
  
  
  'Give?'
  
  
  
  I wake up. He looked at me cautiously. I took off my pistol belt and dropped it. I did everything in slow motion. I pointed to the things on the floor.
  
  
  
  'I am giving. You took. '
  
  
  
  He stepped forward a few feet from me. He didn't look impressed. Then he saw the watch on my wrist, smiled and pointed at it.
  
  
  
  "I understand that damn well."
  
  
  
  I took off my watch and gave it to him. Without laughing and looked very seriously. Then I listened. He opened his purse and handed me something. Give a little, take a little. One good turn deserves another. I also needed to receive a gift.
  
  
  
  It was a rebound. Rebound of worn glass. God knew where he got it from.
  
  
  
  Till smiled at me. I smiled at Thoth. We were friends.
  
  
  
  He pointed to the body. - 'Do?'
  
  
  
  It took me almost half an hour to explain to him what I wanted. During the hassle that caused him to get into his furry head, I learned that he was once used as labor on a plantation. Then he left again and began to wander, but somewhere in the depths of the jungle he had a wife and a few friends who supported him in difficult times. Black pygmies like him.
  
  
  
  We finally made a deal. He and I. He will help me. He will trust me for the money I promised him. As a former rubber worker, he knew the value of money.
  
  
  
  I don't think he fully agreed with my plans for the corpse, but eventually he nodded and said, “Damn it, you can handle it. The man knows damn well he can. You pay?'
  
  
  
  'I'm crying.' - I wondered what they would say at AX if they saw this on the list of recipients of money.
  
  
  
  Then he slung the blowgun over his shoulder and raised a crooked finger. “Will you come to me, Nick? Crap.'
  
  
  
  “Damn it,” I said.
  
  
  
  -
  
  
  
  The hawk started to annoy me. I gave him a full verbal report and now I was explaining to him my theory about the gold snakes that turned out to be platinum.
  
  
  
  “It can never be proven,” I said, “but I think that when the other people took over that old snake temple, they painted those snakes gold because they didn't understand what platinum was, you see. They didn't know its value. They understood gold and that's why they painted these snakes. The Japs were also deceived in this way, until those who stole the kites on the submarine found out what they really were. Then they decided to keep it to themselves. They knew that the war was lost, and they wanted a new life to begin in Japan. Everyone from the commander down to the lowest rank must have participated. They melted the material and turned it into a dummy torpedo. Not a bad trick. But the plane came and sank them."
  
  
  
  Hawk chewed his cigar and looked at me. He was not in a very good mood. He brought the cigar to the corner of his mouth and said, “I will ensure that the Malaysian government is informed of their treasure in due course.”
  
  
  
  Hawk was really not very interested in the platinum torpedo and my theories about it.
  
  
  
  I lit a cigarette with a gold holder and waited. The small office was quiet. The only sounds were the ticking of the Western Union clock on the wall and the muffled clatter of Della Stock's typewriter in the other room.
  
  
  
  'Where is it?' .
  
  
  
  I shrugged. My hand hurt. My tendon was tormenting me. They put a cast on me and bandaged me in ten places. My face became almost normal. Tomorrow I will go to the dentist to have my teeth put back in place.
  
  
  
  Hawk grimaced and pointed at me with a new cigar. 'Are you sure that you...'
  
  
  
  This old man knows I'm not a liar. However, he found it a little hard to believe. This surprised me. Why? He knows I'm not lying. I nodded. “I'm sure, Tuan. As I said, I sent it by airmail from Kuala Lumpur.
  
  
  
  - Why the hell isn't he there yet? Enough time has passed.
  
  
  
  I shrugged. 'May be delayed in shipment.
  
  
  e
  
  
  You know how poorly this post works these days.” Hawk pushed back his chair and put his feet on the table. There was a hole in one shoe.
  
  
  
  He rubbed his wiry neck and said, “I’m still not sure I believe you, Nick. On the other hand, maybe. It's crazy, but I know you're capable of it."
  
  
  
  "And I did it."
  
  
  
  He looked at me. 'Why?'
  
  
  
  “Very convenient,” I said. “Small, direct, to the point and absolutely irrefutable evidence.”
  
  
  
  The old boss sighed and looked at the ceiling. He shook his head. “Sometimes, my boy, I admire you.”
  
  
  
  “Sometimes,” I said, “I admire myself too.”
  
  
  
  Then Della Stoke entered. She was carrying a small package. She handed it to Hawk and stood waiting. The old man looked at her furiously and gestured towards the door. There you go, Della. This is not for your tender eyes."
  
  
  
  She sniffed and left. She left the door open. I closed it and when I returned to the station, Hawk had already opened the package and was now looking at the small head. I looked over his shoulder. Lim Jang's face was completely shrunk. He still looked like a professor, but now he was just a little professor.
  
  
  
  I tapped my head. - "Good job, isn't it?"
  
  
  
  Hawk winced and turned the thing over. “I will expand it and send it to Dato’ Ismail bin Rahman. This will give his soul rest."
  
  
  
  I nodded. “Yes, and in due course we will receive a very informal thank you from the Malaysian government. At least the tourism industry is now safe again. New loans will appear. You can also tell Dato... "I made my voice rough because that's how I felt..." You can also tell him not to put two people on the same thing next time. This joke of his cost the life of a good man.”
  
  
  
  “I certainly won’t say that,” Hawk said. He looked at me for a moment. There was a hint of pleasure and slight anger in his old dark eyes. “These Malaysians now owe me something, and you never know when it might come in handy.”
  
  
  
  “No,” I said, “you never know.”
  
  
  
  Hawk rested his head on the stack of paper like a paperweight.
  
  
  
  “Wear your horn-rimmed glasses when you take this picture,” I said. “It makes the likeness even better, more realistic.” Hawk looked menacing. He usually doesn't like inappropriate fun, unless, of course, he pours it out himself.
  
  
  
  I went to the door. “Okay, I have an appointment. Goodbye, boss. I will report as usual and...
  
  
  
  “Just a minute,” he said.
  
  
  
  I turned around. He took a book from the table and was now leafing through it. “I did a little research on Malacca,” he said, “but it doesn’t say anything about cutting off heads. There used to be headhunters in Sarawak, but now there are none. Moreover, they did not make the heads smaller. So on which...'
  
  
  
  I smiled at him slowly.
  
  
  
  “You need to do some digging,” I said. “It’s amazing what you find when you do a little digging. Goodbye, Mr. Hawk.
  
  
  
  'Hello. And stay away from Hong Kong for a while."
  
  
  
  I nodded as I walked out the door. -'I will do it.' There was no point in telling him that I had just returned from Hong Kong. I explained the time difference by saying that I gave up two days in the hospital when I only spent one. I managed to settle a few scores in Hong Kong.
  
  
  
  I didn't mention this in my report. The Hawk does not approve of your killing outside of missions.
  
  
  
  Yes, Freddie was there when I arrived. And she was ready. Anyway, it's crazy. I didn't like it as much as I thought I would. I kept thinking about the City and the Sea. Mostly in the City. Sometimes, even when I was kissing Freddie, I could still hear Siti saying, "Goodbye, Tuan."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lim Jang, the political agitator nicknamed "Red Cobra", is active again. Following his recent defeat, he now operates from the jungles of Malacca. This information costs Nick Carter $10,000. But this problem can be solved.
  
  
  
  And he needs to make a lot of sexual efforts to force the minister's nymphomaniac daughter to tell what she knows. But Carter is still capable of it.
  
  
  
  However, when he is subsequently forced to watch one of the most gruesome executions he has ever witnessed, all he knows is cold, single-minded vengeance.
  
  
  
  And that's exactly what the elusive Red Cobra did.
  
  
  
  His victim's name is Nick Carter...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Shklovsky Lev
  Living Death
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Living Death
  
  
  Dedicated to the people of the secret services of the United States of America.
  
  
  1.
  
  
  Buckingham Palace and the "birds", miniskirts and grandeur, tradition and Twiggy, Carnaby Street and King's Row. This is what I saw, the strange mixture that is London today. I walked the streets of the Colossus on the Thames and came to one conclusion. It is no accident that the miniskirt originates from London, it is not an accident, it is not a wandering wind of fashion. English girls have legs and hips for this, and most importantly, a gait. I know; I've been watching them all day, ever since I arrived at the airport that morning and discovered that Denny wasn't home. It's not time to kill yet, so I killed time.
  
  
  English girls have a walk, a way of striking. They talk with their feet. They say; “These beautiful legs, they are mine, and they can be yours if I want them to be.” In a way, I couldn't help but think, those legs and thighs were the physical confirmation of the Magna Carta of the twentieth century. “I am an Englishman, I am a free soul and I am my own master,” they seemed to say. “I have the right to wear a short skirt, go wherever I want, sleep with whomever I want, king, crown and commoners be damned.” I exchanged glances with one free-swinging, leggy beauty, her mini just covering the bottom of her swinging little ass.
  
  
  “It would be nice,” I told myself, “if I could just spend a week in London without being on assignment for AX.” It's just that old me, Nick Carter, not Agent N3, is working. And this trip should have made me look longingly at all the open, direct young people. On this trip I felt like a duck in a shooting gallery. That's why I took an extra day to see Denny, only to find that she wasn't home. Of course, according to Hawk, I shouldn't feel this way, and frankly, the old fox's sixth sense can't be ignored. I have damn good antennas, but compared to the Hawk they are strictly crystal clear. Behind those steely blue eyes and calm, imperturbable exterior lies a collection of antennas, sound boards and sensitized reactors that would make an interstellar listening post jealous. Let's face it, this is what makes Hawk the best leader at AX. He is insightful, smart, resourceful and supernatural. Walking through Trafalgar Square, I saw this scene again in Hawke's office at AX headquarters in Washington. It was just a day ago, but I'm unlikely to forget it.
  
  
  Hawk remembered me with his soft, casual expression, his gentle approach. We had worked together for so many years that it was difficult for him to come up with tactics that I couldn't recognize.
  
  
  “The message is mixed, I admit, Nick,” he said. “The woman called our source and said she had something extremely important to do and would only speak to the top AX agent. She organized the complex procedure for the meeting that I described to you.”
  
  
  “Obviously she feels like she's being watched,” I continued. “But you have no idea what it could be. It could even be a hoax."
  
  
  Hawk smiled indulgently, his smile telling me that I was childish in thinking that he hadn't thought of it. I smiled back. I was not a child and he knew it.
  
  
  "She could be an advance agent for someone who wants to escape, perhaps her husband, a famous person," he continued. “Or perhaps herself. Maybe she has valuable information that can be sold. She might even be someone who wants to work for us, someone in a delicate position. Or, frankly, it could be about any number of things.”
  
  
  That’s when I abandoned my point of view, I admit, with some doubt.
  
  
  "What if this is a clever setup to kill AX's best agents, specifically me?" I asked. Hawk was silent for a long time. Finally, he parted his lips and commented. Give him credit for his uncompromising integrity in New England, even when it hurt.
  
  
  “It's possible. I have to admit it,” he said. “But I don't think it's likely. Our source has always been the most reliable. We have to start with the assumption that the woman has something very valuable to give us and has asked to meet.”
  
  
  I was waiting for him to throw me the ball. He did.
  
  
  “But if what you thought is true, Nick,” he said, “then it is even more important that you put an end to this immediately.”
  
  
  He smiled, so damn pleased with himself that I had to break into a smile with him. So I found myself in the gay town of London for what could have been a hoax, a very important meeting for America, or a death trap. I was still leaning towards the latter and expected to be wrong in this case. However, luck did not stop me. Missing Denny for the entire day after I had managed to arrive a full day early was more than disappointing. Denny Robertson was more than a memory. She was a special page from the past. We met a few years ago when she was much younger than I thought. It immediately became obvious that she was not one of those who
  
  
  
  
  
  will meet and turn into a memory. I'm not someone who's easy for women to get to. I have always been a firm believer that girls, girls who love true love, waiting by the fence, have no place in the life of an international agent. The girls, other than that, took up a hell of a lot of space. They were the best damn way to erase all the ugliness, the taste of death, the glimpses of hell that this thing consisted of. But Denny Robertson was different from everyone else. Not that she could make me change my mind about the place of girls in my life or that she tried, but she reached me in a way that no other girl ever could. Like I said, she was a lot younger than I thought. I discovered this the night we made love. I also learned how naturally talented she is. A day later I was recalled, and after a short break we were both left like two music lovers who had heard only half of the symphony. They are both desperate to hear the other half.
  
  
  The list of girls I liked and left for one reason or another was a mile long. Short breaks were an integral part of my life. And some, of course, remained in the memory longer than others, each for their own reasons. But it was only with Denny Robertson that I felt the unfinished symphony syndrome, the feeling of needing to return. It's not that we had an idyllic relationship. A couple of times she called me all sorts of names, and her temper and jealousy coincided. In the letters she wrote to me from then on, two or three times a year, she was never sentimental, never anything but a friend. But she put into words an echo of what I felt. She could never forget that night or me. She wrote everything that was of secondary importance to her from then on in one letter. In my mind I saw her delicate, delicate handwriting.
  
  
  When are you going to come see me again, Nick? Why such unforgettable absolute rotters as you? Please try it. I know this will only be in passing and I'll no doubt be incredibly angry with you about something else, but try it. Who knows, maybe you reformed and became a very nice guy.
  
  
  I tried several times and we always lost contact. Denny is not one to sit and stare into space. She was a typical Englishwoman, grew up with a lot of money and everything that could be bought. Boarding schools, ballet courses, riding academies and the best British gentlemen as escorts. But she also had things that money can't buy - education, honesty, intelligence. Denny felt at home in a miniskirt, jodhpurs or an evening gown - a feat that few girls can pull off. The outspoken, open-minded British girls who unabashedly showed interest in me as I drove past could not have known that their chances were even slimmer because of these memories. I saw a phone booth and called Denny again. I had until two o'clock in the morning to wait for a phone call, the first step in the communication procedure. It would have been much nicer if I had waited with Denny. This time the phone was answered by a voice that opened the floodgates of memory.
  
  
  "I do not believe in that!" she gasped over the phone.
  
  
  “Believe me,” I said. “I’m at the Gore Hotel, although I’m just passing through there. I thought we could meet in a few hours.”
  
  
  "Go all to hell!" she swore. Denny could curse like a Grenadier Guard and make it sound terribly right. "I have a dinner dance to attend - at the school where I teach."
  
  
  "Are you a school teacher now?"
  
  
  “This is riding school,” she said quickly, “but I’ll sneak out early—as close to ten as possible.”
  
  
  “Wonderful,” I said. "I'll wait in my room."
  
  
  "Nick!" she asked, hastily adding, “How are you?”
  
  
  “I’ve changed,” I laughed. “I'm older, more mature. I'm that nice guy you wrote about. Isn’t that what you want?”
  
  
  “I'm not sure,” she said with a thoughtfulness in her voice. “Besides, I don’t believe you. Oh Nick, it will be so great to see you again. Tonight at ten."
  
  
  I walked out of the phone booth and saw only a tall, regal girl with dark red hair, brown as she always called it, with a creamy peach complexion. I went straight to dinner at a nice restaurant and although I don't really like eating alone, I thoroughly enjoyed the meal. Perhaps because I was not alone. Denny and the memories of her were almost a physical presence. The dinner was damn good too: cockerel leek, roast ribs of beef with Yorkshire pudding and good brandy. I returned to my room, stretched out on the bed, and briefly went over the contact procedures to be followed later in the night.
  
  
  The woman was supposed to call me at two in the morning and use an identification code that she herself came up with. Once this is clarified, she will give me further instructions on where to meet her. Brandy was still with me and I closed my eyes. I think I walked around more during the day than I thought I would because I fell asleep almost instantly. I was woken up by the phone ringing. Instantly glancing at my watch, I saw that it was exactly ten o’clock.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I answered, waiting for Danny's voice. It was a girl, but definitely not Denny. In fact, for someone expecting Denny's precise, flawless English, the voice was a rude shock to the ear - a flat, somewhat nasal, distinctive dialect that I recognized as a Liverpudlian accent. It is often said that an Englishman's accent reveals much more than the part of the country from which he comes; it is a fairly accurate guide to his education, social and economic education. In half a dozen words, my caller introduced herself as what the English call a working-class girl, or perhaps something else.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter?" - the voice said hesitantly. “Can you go to the lobby? Plans changed".
  
  
  "What are your plans?" I asked, my naturally suspicious nature coming to the fore.
  
  
  “Plans for your meeting,” she said. “I'm here in the lobby. Can you come down? Time is important."
  
  
  "Who are you?" - I asked.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," she said. “My name is Vicky. I have been sent to take you to a new meeting place. Please come down."
  
  
  I agreed to go downstairs and found her still standing near the phone, a small figure with round breasts, fake blonde, sexy shape under a too-tight red dress. She had a round, youthful face, and I guessed she was no more than twenty-one years old. Her round breasts were made even higher and rounder by a platform bra that pulled the dress almost to its breaking point. Under the makeup and paint there was a hidden scrupulosity that could not be hidden. Her hands nervously fiddled with a small shiny leather handbag. I didn't think it was vulgar. She just looked good, which is not uncommon for many girls. I saw her blue eyes looking at me, involuntary approval in her gaze.
  
  
  "What does this all mean, Vicky?" I smiled at her.
  
  
  "I don't know anything," she said. “All I know is that I will take you somewhere, and I was told to tell you that plans have changed. They told me you would understand.”
  
  
  I turned it over in my mind and came to one conclusion. It was all strange from the very beginning, shrouded in mystery and uncertainty. Nobody knew what, why or who. The change of plans fit into the picture. To test her again, I tossed her another one.
  
  
  "A woman sent you?" - I asked sharply.
  
  
  “A man,” she answered hesitantly. I pierced her with a thoughtful look, to which she responded indifferently.
  
  
  "That's all I know, dear," she said with a hint of defiance. I believed her. She was a messenger. Whoever was behind this told her nothing other than direct instructions.
  
  
  “Okay, doll,” I said, taking her hand. "I will go with you. I just want to stop at the table for a second.”
  
  
  I was going to leave a note for Denny, but before we got to the front desk, I saw Denny walk in, radiantly beautiful in a white satin evening gown and a rich red velvet cape. She saw me the moment I saw her, and I saw her brown eyes looking at Vicki, who was standing next to me. Her thin-edged lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. I saw her anger skyrocket. It always happened instantly, and I had to admit that it looked like I was going on a date with Vicky.
  
  
  “I can explain,” I said, trying to prevent an explosion. "I'll call you tomorrow and explain everything to you."
  
  
  She stopped right in front of us and her eyes lit up as she looked at me. I saw that behind the anger there was pain.
  
  
  “I'm sure by then you'll have come up with something absolutely brilliant,” she said, her words coated in ice. She always looked so gorgeous when she was angry. “But don't call, because I won't listen. I see you haven't changed at all. You're still that cat on two legs."
  
  
  "Denny, wait!" I called after her, but she was already walking out the door after giving me one of those looks that I could know. I looked at Vicky and mentally cursed. There were no questions about what I wanted to do, and there were no questions about what I should do. I pushed the little blonde into the door, noticing the fleeting expression of sly, bitchy pleasure that crossed her face. Although she didn't really have anything to do with it, she enjoyed the role of being superior to the other woman. It was a reflex action built into the female body.
  
  
  "Is she your bird?" - she commented with deliberate gentleness. “I think explaining this to her is a little problematic.”
  
  
  “She’s not my bird,” I said rudely. “She's an old friend. Where is your car?"
  
  
  She pointed to a small car parked on the side of the road and I slid next to it, feeling like I might crush it.
  
  
  “Oh my God,” Vicky exclaimed, looking at me. "You take up so much space." There was again a hint of interest in her gaze, a look that said that under different conditions, at another time, in another place, she would have been more than friendly. I sat quietly, watching London go by. She drove along Victoria Embankment, through the city center, past Billingsgate Market and the old tower.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat gloomy and unapproachable. She didn't pay attention to her dress, which sat on her lap. Her legs, slightly shorter than her calves and thick thighs, will become short and stocky in five years or more. Right now they had enough youth and hardness to exude raw sexuality. As we drove, I asked her a few more questions, just to see what they might spark.
  
  
  "Am I going to a meeting now?" - I asked casually.
  
  
  “Lord, you are persistent,” she exclaimed passionately. “I told you that I don’t know anything at all, and that’s the whole point.”
  
  
  "You're a little nervous, aren't you, Vicky?" I chuckled.
  
  
  "What if yes?" - she objected. “I'm just doing my job, that's all. Asking me a hell of a lot of questions won't help anything."
  
  
  She turned the Sunbeam as we approached a large sign that said "Royal Albert Docks." She pointed the small car into the narrow streets of the first section of the dock, streets that led past warehouses, rows of boxes, bales and ships, lit with lights illuminating the night unloading. The London docks, unlike others in the world, did not extend out from the Thames, but consisted of five huge artificial areas, set back from the river and accessible through narrow passages. In these huge complexes, London could simultaneously accommodate more than a hundred ocean liners and cargo ships. Vicky drove the car through areas filled with light and activity, ending up in a dark, deserted and quiet area. The ships moored there were uniformly quiet and dark, apparently out of commission. I felt a warning chill come over me, and the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. This was a sure sign of trouble and danger. There was no explanation for this. Call it extrasensory perception, sixth sense, experience, whatever you want, but it was an inner part of me that defied rational explanation. I was damn happy about it, don't get me wrong, but from time to time even I wondered why it worked so well. Right now, for example, there was no reason for it to start ticking. It was logical that the planned meeting would take place in some dark, remote place. The whole business, by its very nature, was dark and secret. This was to be expected, and yet I felt this feeling of impending danger, a premonition that it was twelve o'clock and everything was not so good. I found Wilhelmina, my Luger, securely tucked into my shoulder holster. It was encouraging. Along my right forearm, in a leather sheath, a thin Hugo stiletto added confidence.
  
  
  Vicki stopped the car, looked out the window, and in the darkness I saw her nervously chewing her lips.
  
  
  “This is the place,” she said. "Pier 77". The dark hull of a cargo ship loomed on one side, rising gigantically into the night. On the opposite side of the dock was a low, flat warehouse. Half a dozen crates and boxes stood on the edge of the ship's hull.
  
  
  “You first,” I said. "I'll come out for you."
  
  
  "I?" - she said in a simultaneously frightening and defiant voice. “No, dear. I've done my job. I won’t get out of here later, from this terrible place.”
  
  
  “You’re going out,” I said, putting my hand behind her back. She looked at me and I saw that her eyes were round and wide with fear. What she saw in mine scared her more. She opened the door and got out of the car. I was right behind her, and I was just standing up next to her when shots rang out, two, maybe three. They whistled past my ear and hit the car with a dull thud. Vicky screamed and I threw her to the ground with me. Despite her horror, I saw her squeeze under the car. I lay quietly face down. It happened too quickly for me to see where the shots were coming from, except to note that they were coming from different directions. Only the fact that I got out of the car next to Vicky and merged with the dark silhouette of the car prevented them from hitting their target directly. They were already far from her. If I try to get up and run, I'll be shot in seconds. I continued to lie motionless, like a dead man.
  
  
  A minute later I heard footsteps approaching, just one pair of footsteps. They were careful and competent. I mentally recreated what little I could catch from the blur. The dark hull of the merchant ship was closest to me, just beyond a row of packing crates. The footsteps stopped and a hand reached down to turn me over. Of course, there would be a gun in the other hand, I let him limply turn me half over, and then, pressing my heels to the cobblestones of the pier, I threw myself into the roll, grabbing his ankles with the full weight of my body. His legs gave way and he fell on top of me. I heard the shot of a pistol and the shrill whine of a bullet flying off the sidewalk at close range. Before he could kneel, I had reached a row of packing crates and
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  dived for them. I heard two more bullets hit the boxes, and now I saw that there were two more people standing at opposite ends of the dock, for a total of three. I crouched low behind the crates and ran along the dock until I was next to the gangway leading down towards the merchant ship.
  
  
  I jumped on it and rushed up, a dark spot against the background of the black mass of the body. It took them half a minute to deal with me, and then I became a lousy target. Their shots were crazy and I jumped onto the deck. They would haunt me, I knew that too. I was on a darkened ship. I could go down into the hold and hide from them. They might not find me there, but it could also be a sure death trap. I preferred to stay out in the open where I could maneuver. I ran to the bridge and lay down on my stomach. I didn't have to wait long before three dark figures walked up the gangplank and onto the deck. They immediately dispersed, and my thoughts of shooting them put an end to their firing. I watched one head at the stern, the other at the bow. The third began to climb the ladder to the bridge. I let Hugo fall into my palm and lie down. As soon as his head appeared above the top step, he saw me and began to raise his hand with a gun. But I was waiting for him, and Hugo flew at deadly speed. I heard him stumble as the stiletto dug deep into his neck. He started to fall back, but I was on my feet, caught him and dragged him onto the bridge. I took Hugo and walked down the steps to the main deck. I sat down and walked forward. The second searched every boom, every deck winch and fan. I managed to get close enough to him that when he saw me there was no more than six feet between us. I dove, trapping him, but my goal of silence failed. He fired one shot, which, although it missed, exploded deafeningly on the silent ship. The impact threw him back against the deck spike and I heard him grunt in pain. It was larger than the other, heavier. I grabbed the gun, and when it slipped off the spike, we collided.
  
  
  He pressed himself against me, his hand pressed to my face. I turned and threw a short punch to the right, only missing his jaw. He tried to roll away, but I stayed with him. I heard footsteps approaching. I grabbed my hand and turned to find that he was as strong as an ox. He managed to break away from me, and I felt his hands on my throat. I kneed him in the groin, and he let me go, gasping. Another approached, but, as I hoped, would not be able to shoot at the two dark figures struggling on the deck. I felt his hands grab my jacket to tear me away from his friend. I let him, and as he lifted me up, I caught the other one with a punch that caught him square in the jaw. I felt my jaw tighten, and he lay still. Turning back and reaching to the side, I hit him with my hip and sent him sprawling. He approached with a pistol in his hand, but Wilhelmina was ready. She barked once, and he fell sideways over the chock.
  
  
  I didn't bother looking for them. I knew they wouldn't reveal anything. They were professionals. Their silent and efficient demeanor suggested this. It was over and that's all I knew. Who sent them, who they were, whether they were involved in the original AX message remained unanswered questions. Enough shots are fired to attract London or Thames bobbies from Scotland Yard who patrol the quays and docks. I began to walk down the ramp when I saw a small figure emerging from a ray of sunlight. I forgot about little Vicky in the confusion of events. As I approached her, her engine caught fire and the car shifted into gear when I intervened and turned off the ignition. I felt her teeth bite into my wrist. It hurt, but instead of pulling away, I pressed myself against her mouth, tilting her head back. She let go with a cry of pain and I grabbed her dyed blonde hair and pushed her over the seat. I held her throat with one hand, and her eyes began to bulge with more than fear.
  
  
  “Don't kill me,” she begged. “Oh, God, please! I didn’t know about it, I didn’t know!”
  
  
  "Who are they?"
  
  
  “Damn it, I don’t know,” she gasped. "This is true."
  
  
  I increased the pressure. She would have screamed if she could. All she could do was half whisper the words.
  
  
  “I only did what I was paid to do,” she said. "I'm telling you the truth, Yank." I remembered her cry of horror and surprise when the first shots almost killed me. I relaxed so she could speak, and the words came out of her.
  
  
  "They never said anything like this would happen. God, I swear to you, honey. They just gave me money and told me what to tell you and where to take you. It was a lot more than I could make in a year. That's it." "Look, I'll show you."
  
  
  She reached for her purse, but froze when my hand squeezed hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  .
  
  
  “I’ll understand,” I growled. I didn't take any more risks. The small wallet did not contain a weapon, but did contain a wad of bills. I handed her my purse. She was almost crying.
  
  
  "I couldn't give it up," she said. "I could not. But I would have done it if I knew they were planning something like this.”
  
  
  I wasn't sure about that last one, but it didn't matter. She was sincerely afraid, and not only of me. She was shaking from all this. I've seen a lot of good actresses, but you can say the real thing. She was essentially what I had concluded earlier, a trickster, a pawn, a cunning little bird who could strike quickly without asking any questions. But somehow she was contacted and she hasn't told me about it yet. I put my big hand on her neck again and her eyes immediately widened in fear.
  
  
  "How did you meet these people?" - I growled. “No talking, doll. You're on very thin ice."
  
  
  “My boyfriend introduced me,” she said quickly. “I work at the Jolly Good Pub and he hangs out there a lot. He told me I could make a lot of money by doing favors for some men he knew."
  
  
  "What's his name? Your boyfriend".
  
  
  "Teddy. Teddy Renwell."
  
  
  “Then we’re going to visit your boyfriend Teddy,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was only one o'clock. I had time to return to the hotel. “But first I need to do something. I'll drive the car."
  
  
  I wanted to be in my room and wait for two o'clock to come. If the phone call didn't go through, it could mean that I was right all along that it was all a trap. Or it could mean that whoever they were, they got to the woman who called in the first place. But if it came, it was damn important that I got it.
  
  
  II
  
  
  Vicky sat quietly next to me as I drove my small car through the streets of London. I noticed that her glances at me were a mixture of apprehension and a kind of muted admiration. After a while it began to open up.
  
  
  "You're a little out of sorts in a pinch, aren't you?" - she commented. I left a comment without responding.
  
  
  She was silent again for another long moment.
  
  
  "What are you going to do with me?" - she asked a little later.
  
  
  “It’s okay if you’re telling the truth,” I replied. “And we'll find out when we visit your boyfriend. But until I’m sure of that, I’ll keep you out of trouble.”
  
  
  Silence followed. I could feel her trying to decide whether to go calmly or try to break down. She kept glancing at me and had more than enough street wisdom to read the score correctly. Besides, there was enough mucus in it to use whatever it could to defend itself.
  
  
  “I bet you’re not bad in other ways,” she said, casting a sly sideways glance at me.
  
  
  “Maybe,” I said. "Do you want to know?" Two could play her little game, what the hell.
  
  
  “I could,” she said, immediately confident that I had fallen for the bait. Her mind was so base that I felt almost ashamed.
  
  
  “It might be good to look into this,” I said. “But first I need to wait for the phone to ring.”
  
  
  She leaned back and I felt the tension drain from her, confident that she had acquired a certain degree of security with the help of an ancient woman's weapon.
  
  
  When we arrived at my hotel room, my watch showed five minutes to two. Vicky obediently sat down in a soft chair, allowing me to get a good look at her legs. At exactly two o'clock in the morning the phone rang. It was a woman's voice again, but this time the accent Hawk described was strong, Russian or Slavic. I completely memorized the ID code she had set and waited.
  
  
  "You came to me?" - asked a female voice.
  
  
  “I came to see you,” I repeated.
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "Because you wanted me to come."
  
  
  "Why did I want you to come?"
  
  
  "Because the world needs help."
  
  
  There was an almost inaudible sigh of relief, and then the heavily accented voice continued.
  
  
  “You will go to Alton. Walk along the western bank of the Wey River. A quarter of a mile above Alton you will find a rowing boat. Take it and row towards Selborne. Stop at the second stone bridge. At dawn at six o'clock in the morning, I will meet you there. Do you understand clearly?
  
  
  “Great,” I replied. The phone went offline and went offline. But the call proved three very important things. First, the original message to AX was indeed legitimate. Secondly, the woman was still alive, and thirdly, she was closely watched. Whoever was watching her knew about her AX call and decided to replay it, wait for me to arrive and pin me down. Now the question was whether they would get there before me. It all depended on how soon they found out that their trap for me had backfired. I turned to Vicky.
  
  
  “Take off your stockings, honey,” I said. She looked at me with hesitation in her eyes, and then as I watched, she stood up and lifted her dress to unfasten her garter belt. She had a round belly under her white skimpy panties.
  
  
  “I’ll take them,” I said, reaching for the stockings. There was a sudden uncertainty in her eyes, tinged with apprehension. "For what?" She said. "What are you going to do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought we were going to get friendlier, honey."
  
  
  She was still there shaking her head. I mentally chuckled.
  
  
  "The answer to that question is still 'maybe'," I said. “I have somewhere to go right now, and I want to make sure you’re here when I get back.”
  
  
  I tied her to a straight back chair, using stockings to tie her ankles and wrists securely. Women's stockings will hold it together perfectly for a short time. They are thin but strong. I put the handkerchief gag in her mouth, trying to make sure it was tight enough to keep her quiet and relaxed enough so she wouldn't choke.
  
  
  “Don’t open the door,” I told her as I left. Her eyes looked at me over the gag. To add insurance, I hung a "DO NOT DISTURB" sign on the outside of the door and hurried downstairs. It was a quarter to three and I had no time to waste. Vicky's little Sunbeam Imp was no Aston-Martin either.
  
  
  The streets of London were now deserted, except for a few girls who were still wandering around. Alton was south and a little west of London and I was driving along the Old Brompton Road through Kensington and Chelsea. As I left London there was little to no traffic. I pressed on the little car and winced as the engine began to rev. The ubiquitous twists and turns of English country roads kept me on high alert as I passed road signs with the very English names Brookwood, Farnborough, Aldershot.
  
  
  When I approached him, Alton was sleeping and silent. I found the wandering River Wey, really nothing more than a large calm stream, and moved the car off the road under clusters of sturdy oak trees. I walked along the western shore and saw that the sky began to hint at the approaching dawn. The woman's instructions made no mention of the English fog, which was thick and constant along the river. I had to walk slowly to avoid accidentally falling into the river. Every now and then the fog lifted enough for me to see a few feet ahead. It was during such a break that I avoided falling next to a rowboat parked halfway to the shore. I pushed myself into the water and began to row. Foggy, quiet, the only sound being the soft splash of oars in the water - I was in my own world. The gray dawn was approaching, but the fog did not dissipate. This will take the sun, which in England rarely burned until mid-morning. Then, barely visible ahead, I saw the arch of a footbridge over the river and caught a glimpse of the heavy stones forming the arch. I walked underneath it, paddling a little faster.
  
  
  My eyes hurt from trying to peer into the fog. After walking about a third of a mile, I dimly made out another span of the bridge. When I walked under it, I saw that it was a wooden bridge with wooden railings and log walls. I continued to row, and then, as I made a turn, I saw another arched bridge, ghostly, of an unearthly substance cast by the fog. When I reached the bridge, I saw stones forming arched walls. Only the path was lined with wooden flooring. I stopped the boat and waited in the calm, shrouded river. My watch shows six o'clock. I counted the passing minutes. Two, three, five, ten. I asked. Did they really get to her? Then I heard the sound of oars sinking into the water. I pulled out Wilhelmina and held it in my hand. The other boat, my ears told me, was coming up the river and had to pass under the bridge to get to me. Slowly the boat began to materialize, a more ghostly form than anything else. All I could see was the upright figure of a man sitting on the oars. The boat stopped some distance away from me, the voice across the water was the same one I was talking to on the phone. Apparently the woman chose this place because of the fog. She wanted to make sure I couldn't see her.
  
  
  “Okay, you're here,” she said. If anything, her personal accent was stronger. From her voice I guessed that she was not a young woman.
  
  
  “First, you have to understand something,” she said deliberately slowly for emphasis. “I'm not a traitor. Do you understand this?
  
  
  “I have nothing to understand yet,” I replied.
  
  
  "I know they're watching me," she continued. “I talked too freely about my feelings. They can decide to send me away at any time. That's why I had to arrange this meeting."
  
  
  I decided not to say anything about the attempt on my life for now. She clearly didn't know how closely she was being watched. If I told her what happened, I got the feeling that she might shut up and fly away. The woman conveyed great inner torment even in her hazy, disembodied voice.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t betray my country, you know?” - she said again. “You don't have to ask me any questions that could do that. I will only tell you what I have decided to tell you. Clear?"
  
  
  The thought that she was a traitor bothered her terribly. It seemed like she was trying harder than me to convince herself that she wasn't a traitor. I wanted her to deal with it. And soon it will become brighter, and God knows what other difficulties that
  
  
  
  
  
  
  then trouble may begin.
  
  
  “I will understand when you tell me what you want to say,” I replied. "Suppose you start from the beginning.
  
  
  “I just can’t sit back and watch this go on,” the woman said. “These people have value to the world above all else. I can't see it any other way."
  
  
  "What kind of men?"
  
  
  "It's a terrible thing," she said. “I thought about it for a long time before I made the decision.”
  
  
  She said nothing further. The shot split the foggy air, and I saw her figure fall silently forward, face down, into the boat. I dove to the bottom of my boat as the second shot hit the wooden seat. Whoever he was, he was a damn good shot and he had a rifle. In this fog he was too accurate for a hand pistol. The boat sailed towards the bridge where he was apparently located. In a moment he will be able to shoot right at me. My fingers found the edge of the gunwale. Pressing hard with my leg muscles, I half jumped, half rolled onto my side. His shot sent shrapnel flying out of the gunwale where my hand had been, but I was already underwater. Fully dressed, I knew I didn't have much time underwater and headed towards the bridge, surfacing under it as soon as my wind died down. I walked on the water, listening to the footsteps above on the wooden walkway of the small bridge. He had already figured out where I would go and was approaching the end of the flight. I swam at the same end, feeling in my wet clothes, as if bags of cement were tied to me.
  
  
  Where the bridge sloped down to the shore, I pressed myself against the flat underside of the span, still in the water, but on the very edge of the underside of the bridge. I heard a stone roll across the water. He carefully walked down the embankment. I stood there and waited. The muzzle end of the rifle came into view first as he cautiously approached the water's edge. Then he appeared, squatting, his eyes searching the thin mist floating under the bridge. He was a slender, wiry man, dressed in a one-piece overalls. Using the strength of my shoulder muscles, I pushed off from the bottom of the bridge and jumped onto it. He turned around at the sound, but I was on top of him, grabbing him by the waist. He lost his balance and rolled off the bank into the river, and I held on to him. The rifle slipped out of his hand and immediately sank. I punched him in the face and he backed away in the water. He quickly and shallowly dived and tried to rise under me. I managed to move away and he was back on the surface in front of me. We hit each other, and I felt the pain of his blow, felt my head fall back. I swung again and he hit me again. His one-piece overalls, not soaking wet, emphasized the difference. I might as well have dumbbells strapped to my arms. He knew it too, and he came towards me, stepping on the water and swaying. I jumped into the water. Even if I go to the shore, he will still have the advantage on the shore. My arms are already tired. I stepped back again and dove, wrapping both hands around his right leg and pulling him with me. Sometimes I swam long distances. I hoped he didn't. Plus the fact that I grabbed it quickly. He didn't have time to take a deep breath. He threw blows at my back, but under the water they were nothing more than harmless blows. I clung to his leg, hunched over like a crab clinging to a fish. He used punches to try to escape, and I could only hold on. His struggle quickly eased, and now my lungs were burning. Suddenly I felt his body go limp. I held on for another five seconds and then let go and jumped to the surface. I flew into the air a second before my lungs were ready to explode. His body floated next to me, and I pulled him ashore with me.
  
  
  I unzipped my overalls and began to fawn. As I thought, there was nothing. But under his overalls, he had a transistor walkie-talkie hanging on a leather belt. It became increasingly clear that whoever “they” were, they were right. The man covered the woman all this time while the others tried to pin me down. When I showed up, he knew something was wrong. Undoubtedly, he immediately radioed his center and received orders to act. This was a professional team, and their methods reeked of the Russians. The Russians had learned a lot about espionage since World War II, and although they were still pretty tough on anything that required imagination, they were quite effective at this kind of operation. The fog cleared enough for me to see that both boats were sailing to the far shore. I ran across the bridge and hurried to the woman. Of course she was dead. I knew it the minute he fired the first shot. I climbed into the boat and landed her. She wore a tan coat over a simple printed dress. her face is wide
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Slavic type, was framed by gray brown hair. I assumed that she was a woman of about forty-five. There was no wallet, nothing to identify her. Then my gaze fell on the unbuttoned lining of the coat. There was a name tag sewn inside. “Maria Doshtavenko,” it said. This name is etched in my memory. I carefully lowered her body to the bottom of the boat. I suddenly felt sorry for this woman. She was worried about what she wanted to tell me. She was a woman who tried to do what she thought was right. There weren't that many of them.
  
  
  I felt anger rising inside me. As I paddled back to where I'd left the car, my thoughts were racing and my plans crystallized. I wouldn't contact Hawk and tell him what happened. Not yet, until I get something else. I might just see the stern, disapproving look on his face, those steely eyes, if I reported now. They almost killed me, they shot the contactee, and I still had no idea what the hell it was all about. But there was still a small light dish waiting in my hotel room. She was my only host left, her and her boyfriend. I pointed the Sunbeam back towards London as it became light and morning traffic began to fill the roads. Anyone who saw my car would think I was terribly late for work.
  
  
  III
  
  
  Vicky was still there, neatly tied up. I left her like that while I shed my water-soaked clothes, letting her watch me undress, enjoying the grateful look in her eyes. After drying and changing into a new suit, I untied her. Judging by the state of the stockings, I realized that she was not just sitting quietly.
  
  
  “Damn, it hurts,” she said, rubbing her wrists. “And my mouth feels full of cotton.”
  
  
  “Go to the bathroom and freshen up,” I told her. “Wet your wrists with cold water. This will restore blood circulation. Then we're going to visit your boyfriend, Teddy."
  
  
  “He will be sleeping at this hour,” she objected. "Teddy always sleeps in the morning."
  
  
  “This morning will be different,” I said laconically.
  
  
  She stood up and I watched as she unbuttoned her red dress, quickly throwing it over her head. She had the round young figure I expected, with that unvarnished sexuality, round breasts lifted high by her bra, round belly and short waist. She walked towards the bathroom, giving me a look that asked if I was interested anymore. I smiled and watched as she walked towards the bathroom door. She saw that the smile was hard and cold, and the alluring look in her eyes had disappeared. She closed the bathroom door.
  
  
  I sat and stretched out in a soft chair, moving my muscles like a cat, using a system of muscle relaxation that I had discovered many years ago in India. There was a knock on the door. It was probably room service, but when I opened it my hand was ready to draw Wilhelmina. This was not room service. She was a tall girl with dark red hair and a gorgeous face and body named Denny Robertson. She had a shy half-smile that would melt an iceberg in seconds.
  
  
  “I was on my way to work, but I had to come in and apologize for last night,” she said as she entered the room. “You told me you were here on business, but I guess I just saw red, that's all. You know my damn temper."
  
  
  Her arms were around my neck and she was hugging me, her soft body, her breasts, even through the tweed jacket she wore, lay excitingly sensually on my chest.
  
  
  “Oh, Nick. It’s incredibly nice to see you,” she breathed into my ear. That's when Vicky decided to leave the bathroom in her bra and panties. I didn't need to see her. I knew it by the way Denny tensed up. As she retreated, her eyes glowed with points of dark fire.
  
  
  “I can explain,” I said quickly. She swung quickly, hard and accurately. Her cheek was burning, but she was already out the door. "Bastard!" she rushed back at me in the way only the English can pronounce it. I thought about going after her, but I glanced at Vicky. She was wearing a dress and I knew she would take it off at the first opportunity. I knew again what I needed to do and what I wanted to do. I swore under my breath at Vicki, at Denny, at the wrong time, at everything in general.
  
  
  I took Vicky by the hand and pushed her out the door.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” I growled. “Let’s put on a show on the road.” Again that fleeting expression of smug satisfaction flashed across her face, but this time I got the impression that she was enjoying my discomfort. Her complacency quickly disappeared when, about twenty minutes later, we arrived at her boyfriend's apartment in Soho. She returned to the nervous scene as we emerged into the narrow streets of Soho. Beneath the glitz of the night, behind the crossroads, bookmakers, fashion centers, nightclubs and pubs, Soho was a dingy area of studio apartments and temporary boarding houses.
  
  
  "Can't we wait?" - Vicky asked nervously. "Teddy is a heavy sleeper and doesn't like being disturbed in the morning. He'll be really angry, you know."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m very upset,” I replied, seeing a flash of anger in her eyes. I knew damn well that Teddy would be absolutely insanely mad about it; she failed him, that's what. It turned out that Teddy lived on the third floor of a run-down apartment building, a dull gray building.
  
  
  “Knock and answer,” I told the girl as we stood at the door of his apartment. She was right that he was fast asleep. She was practically knocking on the door when a sleepy male voice answered.
  
  
  “It’s me, Teddy,” she said, looking at me nervously. I remained unperturbed. "This is Vicky."
  
  
  I heard the lock unlock and the door open. I pushed, dragging Vicky into the room with me. Teddy was wearing only pajama pants and his hair was long, curly, and disheveled. There was a sullen beauty to him and a cruelty to his mouth. He was pretty much what I expected.
  
  
  "What is all this?" - he demanded an answer, looking at Vicki.
  
  
  “He made me knock,” she said, pointing at me. “He made me bring him here, that’s what.” . The anger I suspected was part of Teddy deepened. A small dream still clung to him, but he tried to shake it out.
  
  
  "What the hell does this all mean?" - he growled. "Who is this guy?"
  
  
  “I’m asking questions, Teddy,” I interjected.
  
  
  "You're going to leave, that's what you're going to do," he said.
  
  
  “Careful, Teddy,” I said calmly. “I just need some answers and I'll leave. Be smart and you won't get hurt."
  
  
  "I told him you'd be really angry, Teddy," Vicki interjected, still trying to defend herself.
  
  
  An experienced gaze looked around the dark room. Most of it was taken up by a large double bed. There was also a chest of drawers with china, a water jug ​​and an empty ale bottle. Teddy's clothes were hung neatly on the straight back of the wooden chair that stood next to the dresser.
  
  
  “Get the hell out,” Teddy told me with an ugly note in his voice. It's not his fault that I don't scare easily.
  
  
  “The men you introduced Vicky to last night,” I said, “who were they?”
  
  
  There was a slight change in Teddy's eyes, the dangerous gleam immediately masked. He began to back away from me while challenging me at the same time.
  
  
  “You have three seconds to get out,” he said. He leaned against the chest of drawers and I watched as he reached out and took the porcelain plate. Even though I was watching him, he still surprised me as he sent the dish across the room in one swift motion. The dish turned into an angry rocket, flying viciously and precisely through the air. I just managed to dodge, the hard flat edge catching my head and slamming into the wall behind me. Teddy followed the dish with his body, diving across the room at me, leaping like a jaguar. Throwing the dish was a good, unexpected move that almost paid off. The subsequent actions were a mistake. I sat down, and he expected to take advantage of this. Instead, I quickly jumped to my feet to meet his leap with a sharp blow. I heard the snap of his jaw, his cry of pain, and he arched back and landed on the king size bed. I reached out to him, but he rolled off the other side.
  
  
  Vicky squeezed herself into the corner of the room, but I didn’t take my eyes off her. What a self-absorbed little cat she was, I couldn't understand how deep her devotion ran. Teddy was back on his feet, his jaw distended like a balloon. Knowing this seemed to enrage him, and he came at me like a windmill. He fought from a crouch and moved as fast as a cat. Speed was his greatest asset, and even that wasn't that important. I parried his blows, threw a sharp left that shook him, and threw a sharp right to the stomach. He doubled over but managed to half-dodge a right hand that nonetheless caught him hard enough to send him crashing into a dresser. Clinging to the chest of drawers, blood flowing from his mouth, his face now swollen and deformed, he looked at me with eyes dark with hatred.
  
  
  “All I need are some answers, Teddy,” I said quietly. "Are you ready to give them to me?"
  
  
  "Of course, cousin," he breathed, breathing heavily for someone as young as he was. “I will give you bloody answers.” He grabbed an empty ale bottle from the top of the dresser, smashed the end against the wall, and walked towards me, holding the jagged half in his hand. It was an old bar brawl technique and was one of the deadliest weapons, far worse than a regular knife. The jagged glass could cut equally well in any direction, leaving a much uglier wound than the sharpest knife.
  
  
  “Put it down, Teddy,” I said quietly. "Put it down or I'll cut your damn head off with it."
  
  
  He was grinning, or at least he was trying to, and his eyes were cold and cruel. His willingness to kill told me at least one thing. He was involved more than by chance. I stepped back as he slowly walked towards me. I knew I could cut off his head with one shot, but I didn't want to. I wanted him to be alive or alive enough to answer questions. But I was trying to walk a very dangerous road.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn't want to kill him, but he definitely wanted to kill me. He hit me in an arc, fast, almost too fast for me to see. I jumped back and felt my feet hit the edge of the bed. He laughed and moved forward with the bottle. I rolled over onto the bed, flipped over and landed on my feet on the other side. I tore the top sheet off the bed and held it in front of me, quickly folding it into three folds. When he came to the end of the bed, I met him by throwing the sheet over his arm and the bottle. He pulled upward and the sheet tore. I jumped back in time so he wouldn't cut me open.
  
  
  I could have pierced Hugo with it, and my hand itched as the thin shaft of the stiletto fell into my palm. I resisted the urge. I still wanted the bastard to live, even though it was looking more and more like an impossible goal. Teddy feinted to the left once, twice, and then cut to the right. The jagged glass tore a button off my jacket. I grabbed his hand at the end of the arc, but he turned the bottle with the back of his hand, and I had to turn again. This time I quickly retreated to put some space between myself and the vicious slashing weapon. In the corner stood a wooden chair with Teddy's fashionable clothes carefully draped. I grabbed him, throwing his clothes to the floor. I saw him stop in the center of the room as I advanced with my chair raised.
  
  
  “That’s it, buddy,” he breathed. “Come on, now. Pick it up." Of course, the son of a bitch wanted me to turn his chair. One blow and I'll be torn apart. He dodged the swing and pounced on me before I could regain position. I let him think that was exactly what I was going to do. I moved towards him, picking up a chair and holding it with both hands. He waited on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge and counterattack. I attacked him, and then, half lowering the chair, I moved forward, using it as a battering ram, putting all my strength and weight into it. Four legs hit Teddy square in the face, pushing him halfway across the room and into the wall with such force that the entire apartment shook. I lowered my head, resting my shoulder behind the seat of the chair. When we hit the wall, I looked up and saw blood pouring out of Teddy's mouth. One leg of the chair was halfway stuck in his throat. I pulled away and he collapsed to the floor, his eyes opening with the look of death.
  
  
  “Damn your luck,” I growled. I felt Vicki approach, covering her mouth with her hand and her eyes wide in horror.
  
  
  "He... he's dead," she gasped. "Teddy is dead. You killed him."
  
  
  “Self-defense,” I said automatically. While she stood there, stunned, looking at Teddy's lifeless body, slumped against the wall, I began rummaging through the pockets of his clothes. They contained the usual odds and ends, a money clip, loose change, a driver's license, credit cards. In the inside pocket of my jacket I found a small white card with a single name written in hand: Professor Enrico Caldone. Immediately the bell rang. Professor Caldone was an Italian, a specialist in space biology. I remembered that he had recently received some award for his work in protecting astronauts from possible microorganisms in space and the possibility of human contamination of other planets. What was a dumb punk like Teddy doing with Professor Caldon's name on a card - handwritten too? I handed it to Vicki, who finally took her eyes off Teddy's motionless body.
  
  
  "What do you know about this?" - I asked sharply. “Who was he dealing with? If you tell about me, I'll know, darling.
  
  
  “I don’t know anything else... I don’t think so,” she said.
  
  
  "What do you mean 'hardly'?"
  
  
  “Teddy told me he gets paid to send messages back and forth,” she sobbed. “These people paid him very well. He said there was someone else on the other end and that's all he ever told me. Teddy wasn't a bad person."
  
  
  “It’s a matter of opinion,” I said. I put the card in my pocket and opened the door. She called me.
  
  
  "What should I do now, Yankee?"
  
  
  “Get lost and find a new guy,” I shot back at her, walking up the stairs three at a time. The name card burned in my pocket. Maybe I finally have something. I may have had nothing, but here I was at the end of the line. It was time to drop this collection of debris into Hawk's lap. A woman who needs to deliver an important message. I had her name Maria Doshtavenko. It was for the best. I also knew that someone did not want this message to be delivered. The last one was a cheap punk with someone's name handwritten on a card in his pocket. Maybe Hawk had something that could piece together a picture.
  
  
  I called Denny from the airport but there was no answer and I was very sorry. The unfinished symphony will remain like this for us, at least for a while. I boarded the airliner and sat down. It was a frustrating two days with bad luck and bad timing, but I learned something.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It's very important to me. Too many people put in too much effort for it to matter.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Within a few hours, I was sitting at the table opposite Hawk and looking into his steel-gray eyes as he listened to my report. He was digesting what I laid out before him, his face impassive. He hunched low in his chair, studying the small strips of paper on which he noted each item individually. He moved them around like puzzle pieces. He had already called the Statistical Office to find out the woman's name - Maria Doshtavenko. Vital Statistics maintains a fantastic folder containing the names of every known employee employed by foreign governments in any capacity. Most major intelligence agencies carry one of these. Of course, there is quite a lot of information about some people. On others there is nothing more than a name. As I watched, Hawk took the index card I had taken from Teddy's pocket.
  
  
  That could be the key element, Nick,” he said. “It could be a light in the dark, otherwise we would never have made the connection.”
  
  
  “Light it up a little more,” I said. "I'm still in the dark."
  
  
  “We don’t know what Maria Doshtavenko wanted to tell us,” he replied. "But from this we can understand what it's all about."
  
  
  "Only this name?"
  
  
  “This, my boy, is an unusual name, as you know. Look at these names."
  
  
  He took a piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk and pushed it towards me. There were seven names on it, each of which belonged to a leading scientist whom I recognized immediately. These were people whose contributions to the world spanned a wide field, including medicine, physics, metallurgy, abstract theory and applied science. Hawke's tone was serious, almost sad.
  
  
  "It's all been quiet for obvious reasons, but every single one of these people today is nothing more than a vegetable," he said. “A mysterious and terrible illness has struck each of them over the past year, leading to a complete deterioration in their mental state. Today they exist as living death, vegetables, their minds lost to humanity.”
  
  
  "The medical study didn't provide an explanation?" I asked. “A brilliant scientist cannot become a vegetable without a reason, let alone seven of them.”
  
  
  "The neurological reason is that their minds have completely disintegrated," Hawk said. “They are in a state of complete mental collapse, which occurs only with congenital retardation or massive brain damage. The scientific community is, of course, terribly concerned. Scientists, like the rest of us, are human and are subject to the same fears and anxieties as everyone else. A team of leading neurologists and psychiatrists examined each of these men. They are completely confused."
  
  
  "No theories?"
  
  
  “Well, they've come up with a couple of theories that they admitted to me are more speculation than anything else. However, they support these theories with scientific reasoning that fills the vacuum. words, what they say, stands because that's all we have."
  
  
  "What they're saying?" I asked.
  
  
  "Two things; one of them suggests the existence of some form of virus, unknown and not yet discovered. The other is based on the development of an electric beam capable of causing enormous physical harm. They suggest that the mind is essentially like any other organ. in organism. When it is damaged in some way - either by so-called natural means, that is, a virus, or by artificial means, such as, for example, an electric beam - it can be dramatically weakened or even destroyed. A hitherto unknown virus of a specialized strain could theoretically cause such a neurological collapse. So can an electric beam, if you think of it as a super strong X-ray machine."
  
  
  I grimaced. “I suppose these are possibilities,” I said. “But I don't believe in them. Maybe I'm not myself here."
  
  
  “We know one fact,” Hawk added. “They were all amazed right after the monthly meeting of international relations scholars.”
  
  
  I knew that International Science Scholars is a worldwide scientific association of very advanced scientific thinkers from all over the world.
  
  
  "The fact that these people passed out after the meetings supports the virus theory," Hawk said. “We caught something at meetings, like all viruses. At least it gave it an opportunity.”
  
  
  I immediately caught the intonation. He was nice.
  
  
  "What do you mean?" - I asked. "What do you mean?"
  
  
  “Look at the list again,” Hawk said. I studied the names again. For a while they were just names, but then my years of training in suspicion, in perceiving things differently than anyone else, came to the fore. Two very interesting facts took shape and grew like a genie coming out of a bottle. Among the seven names there were no Russian or Chinese scientists. There was no one who politically supported a leftist position. Secondly, each of the seven men was connected in some way
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  with the Western powers. ISS was a worldwide group. Their monthly meetings brought together thinkers from almost every country. Why, if it was a virus or a strange x-ray, were none of the left-wing eggheads harmed?
  
  
  “I understand,” I nodded to Hawk. “It appears to be a very selective method of destruction.”
  
  
  He smiled thinly. "Each of these seven individuals contributed to or worked closely with scientific developments in the Western powers," Hawke said. “Danton developed the electronic improvements that we use in the latest military equipment. Dr. Ferris, cutting-edge treatment for battlefield injuries. Horton worked on new molecular theories. I could go on, but you have a picture, Nick. Honestly. , I have been sniffing around this fact, but until this postcard with the name of Professor Caldone and the statements made to you by the woman, I did not come up with enough to satisfy me. But now, I believe we are getting the full picture here. "
  
  
  A message from Vital Statistics sounded on the intercom. They did their usual work quickly and efficiently, which made the picture even clearer. Maria Doshtavenko worked as an office worker at the Russian Information Bureau in London, dealing, as we knew, with all types of Russian activities, including the NKVD.
  
  
  “I’d say it’s very interesting,” Hawk said, nibbling on a cold cigar. I recalled how Maria Doshtavenko was worried and tormented by the fact that she was not considered a traitor. But something bothered her even more, what she wanted to tell us. I kept thinking about one phrase she said. “These people value peace above all else.” It is tied more than neatly.
  
  
  “Do you think the Soviets are forcing these people to become vegetables?” - I asked Hawk directly. "How the hell could they do that?"
  
  
  “I wish I knew the answer to both of those questions, Nick,” the Chief admitted. “But I am convinced there is a connection and something is very rotten here. Our most valuable people are being ruined - the Soviets are stealing the minds of our scientists before our eyes. Professor Caldone should not be the next victim."
  
  
  He picked up the index card again and looked at it. “This map is very disturbing, Nick,” he said. “If this living death is man-made, then Professor Caldone may be next on the list. He is working on a grant for advanced space biology from NASA staff, and the next meeting on the ISS will be in a few days on the Italian Riveria - Portofino. You will go there and stick with the professor. We will contact him and you will be given a firm list of instructions, but they all boil down to one thing - make sure nothing happens to him."
  
  
  I stood up, and Hawk stood up too. "We're onto something," he said. “To date, we and the world have lost seven brilliant minds. This is a loss that cannot be measured. Whatever it is, Nick, we need to get to the bottom of it and do it quickly. I want you here tomorrow morning. We will have a meeting with Tom Dettinger and then our plans will be formulated."
  
  
  I walked away feeling like this whole business was something special that I had ever experienced before. There was a quality of hidden horror, something ghostly and unreal, but still all too real. I knew Hawke would put me on the plane as soon as our briefing ended in the morning, so I spent some time packing and then sent a telegram to Denny Robertson. I told her that I would be in Portofino on business for a few days, but would try my best to return via London to see her. I had a lot of explaining to do and I still felt bad about the whole Vicki thing. When I sent the telegram mentioning the visit to the Italian Rivera, I could not help thinking that ISS held its meetings in very “important” places.
  
  
  Other than a call from a girl I knew near Washington, Linda Smythe, the rest of the day was quiet and I appreciated the opportunity to do nothing and take it slow. Linda wanted to live in the city, and under different circumstances I would have jumped at the chance. But I couldn't shake the image of seven brilliant people turning into vegetables almost overnight. It was a chilling thought. Our scant evidence definitely pointed to Soviet involvement, but the nature of it didn't even match their actions. After playing this game long enough, you will learn that each suit has its own character for operations. This one, in fact, did not fit into any niche except the Chinese communists. While the Russians could be ruthlessly cruel, they were esoterically diabolical. The Russians may have been involved, but not in the way we thought. I was still thinking about it when I went to bed.
  
  
  Tom Dettinger was AX's expert on procedures and techniques for protecting important people. I listened to him carefully, taking mental notes as he continued. Hawk sat nearby, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but I knew he hadn't missed a word.
  
  
  “This is a little unusual, Nick,” Tom said. "There's really nothing that can be defended against in a particular way. There's no direct threat of murder, for example, or
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  there are no famous bands to follow. We are working against something that we do not even suspect exists, and if it exists, then in what form. Therefore, the only approach is what we call the blanket approach, where you become more than just a bodyguard. You become the glue. I will talk about this in detail. "
  
  
  As he continued, I was tempted to ask how to protect someone from a virus or invisible X-rays, but I resisted. These were not theories that I "bought" and neither did Hawk, which proves that people of different professions see things differently.
  
  
  What really mattered in this regard was that Hawk and I could usually indulge in a wonderful exchange of thinly veiled jabs and banter. This time none of us wanted it. When Tom finished, he let me take some of the usual protective equipment with me, and Hawk walked with me to the elevator.
  
  
  "You're going to be dealing with something completely unknown and, frankly, pretty scary, Nick," he said. “Exercise as much personal discretion as possible within the scope of your job duties.”
  
  
  “You mean I should be careful,” I chuckled. He coughed nervously. His main concern broke through this mask from time to time. I kept it casual. Anything else would only add to his embarrassment.
  
  
  “I’ll take a look,” I told him. “I’m not so crazy about vegetables that I want to be one.”
  
  
  His eyes sparkled. "Indeed?" He said. “I think you really like tomatoes.”
  
  
  I chuckled. It was more like that. It gave me a good feeling - the lift I was missing.
  
  
  IV
  
  
  An Alitalia flight took me to Milan, and from there I rented a car and drove south to Genoa. Portofino was even further south, and I continued driving without stopping. The ISS meeting was held at the Excelsior, and a room adjacent to Professor Caldone's apartment was set up for me. I was to have the only key to both rooms. To add insurance, I was instructed to meet the professor at a special service station outside Portofino. He was traveling from Rome to meet me there. AX contacted him and informed him in detail and he agreed to cooperate fully. I dropped off the car in Portofino and took an old and unreliable taxi to get to the meeting place with him.
  
  
  I found Professor Caldon leaning against the hood of his car, a small Fiat sedan. He was short, gray and cheerful, with a small round belly from “too much pasta,” as he put it, patting it gently. I quickly came to the conclusion that I liked him immediately, a completely unpretentious little man. He had a surprise nugget for me when he announced that his wife and niece were with him to enjoy Riveria while he attended meetings. They went into the toilet at a small service station while he waited for me.
  
  
  “For the rest,” said Professor Coldon, “I am entirely in your hands, Mr. Carter. I was told that I must do whatever you say.”
  
  
  I had to smile. He said it like a little boy. Only the twinkle in his small blue eyes on his slightly cherub-like face belied his quick mind at work. Signora Caldone came out first, a short, square woman, a little more stern than her husband, but polite and pleasant enough.
  
  
  “This is Signor Carter,” he introduced me. “The American gentleman I told you will meet us.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” said the woman. "The one to whom you must obey." She turned to me and looked at me somewhat skeptically.
  
  
  “I hope you have more success with him than I have in forty years,” she said with mock seriousness.
  
  
  “He will,” the professor replied before I could say anything. "He's much bigger than you, Mom."
  
  
  I saw the girl approaching over Signora Caldone's shoulder and tried not to look. I'm afraid I didn't succeed. To say that she is beautiful would be incomplete. To say she oozes sex would be too simplistic. I saw how black hair framed her olive face, flowing freely over her shoulders. There was a hint of pout on her full, luscious lips that disappeared when she saw me. In those black-brown eyes, I saw a dark fire suddenly flare up as her eyes met mine. Her full breasts rose above her white peasant blouse with an oval neckline and pressed hard against the fabric. Wide hips emphasized a thin waist, softly curved hips and slender legs. I thought about what Byron said about Italian women having hearts on their lips. This child had so much more than her heart on those full, red, shining lips. She was the embodiment of sensuality. It was throbbing. It was a smoldering volcano.
  
  
  “This is Amoretta,” said the professor. Amoretta extended her hand, which remained in mine only a fraction longer than necessary, and I saw her eyes appraisingly studying my over six feet of muscular body. I quickly talked to myself. I said that you, Nick Carter, are on a very difficult mission. You can simply ignore this succulent dish. “Great chance,” I answered myself. She won't interfere with my work. They never did, no matter what they looked like. But it would also be impossible to ignore it. Maybe if I was lucky, some good compromise would work itself out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Professor Caldone and his wife climbed into the front seat of the Fiat, leaving me to share the back seat with Amoretta. I felt the warmth of her thigh press slightly but definitely against my leg as she sat down next to me. Small European cars have advantages that their manufacturers should advertise more.
  
  
  “I hope you don’t mind having Amoretta with us, Mr. Carter,” the professor said. “She’s not happy to come with us, but we didn’t want to leave her alone in Rome.” I could understand why, I thought mentally. “Amoretta visits us from her home in the hills of Calabria. She visits us twice a year, although we tire her.”
  
  
  Amoretta quickly responded in Italian, her voice rising in protest, and I was glad to see that my Italian was still good enough to understand.
  
  
  “Zio Enrico,” she said to her uncle. “It's not fair. You know I love dating you and Zia Teresa. I hate these stuffy scientific meetings."
  
  
  "Even when they're in the Italian Riveria?" - I intervened.
  
  
  “Even there,” she answered, giving me a long sidelong glance. “Maybe this one will be better though.”
  
  
  I read it correctly, but I didn't say anything. She will soon learn that I will have less free time than Uncle Enrico. But I learned where this pulsating, naked sensuality came from - the hills of Calabria, where people expressed all their emotions openly, a region of passionate hatred and love, where the old ways of life still persisted. Amoretta apparently had more than the education of a peasant girl, with awakened knowledge and desires for more worldly things.
  
  
  The trip to Portofino was pleasant and short and I briefed the professor on the basic procedures he would have to follow. They were quite simple, but absolutely tough. Special bottled drinking water was delivered to his room. He was not to drink or eat anything during formal lunches and dinners, which were not served to everyone. He shouldn't have taken any pills. Most importantly, he was not supposed to go anywhere without me or be alone with anyone unless I was there. I refused Signora Caldone, and he thanked me again with the same sparkle in his eyes. After we checked in, I walked around the professor's rooms, the living room, and the bedroom and checked all the windows and door locks. There were afternoon seminars scheduled, and the professor wanted to get some rest first, so I went into the next room, which was mine, closed the door, and unpacked my only small bag. I usually traveled light. I hadn't been alone for over twenty minutes when there was a knock on the door and I found Amoretta standing there in a bright orange bikini with a clear plastic jacket over it. The bikini clung bravely to her, fighting hopeless modesty. In the short suit, I really saw her magnificent figure, radiant, olive skin, wide and gorgeous hips. She stood with her legs slightly apart, a pose that only emphasized the sensuality of her body. She took one step into the room, just enough for her breasts to come tantalizingly close to me. She had a beach towel on her arm.
  
  
  Amorette is going to the beach,” she told me, making the statement an invitation.
  
  
  “I’m not going,” I replied and saw surprise flash in her eyes. She looked at me as if I was crazy. I half thought so too.
  
  
  “But this is the place for it, the time for it, and the weather for it,” she said logically. “Unless maybe it’s me you don’t want to go with.”
  
  
  She interjected the last sentence with the slight pout on her bottom lip that I first noticed at the service station. It was a typically feminine trick, and an old one at that. I wasn't going to do this.
  
  
  “You know this better than I,” I told her. The pout immediately disappeared and she looked at me seriously. God, those eyes were enough to make me forget about home and my mother.
  
  
  “Okay, I heard you explain everything to Zio Enrico,” she said. “But there must be some time before we can see each other. To be here in Portofino with a man like you and spend it alone would be more than just a waste. That would be a sin."
  
  
  “My feelings are specifically about you, Amoretta,” I agreed. - Let me work on this. Maybe something will appear."
  
  
  Amoretta slowly turned away, her eyes telling me I better work on this. I watched her walk slowly down the hallway, her hips swaying with each step. I had to stop myself from going after her, grabbing her soft, curvy ass and dragging her back into the room. I hoped Hawk appreciated the sacrifices I made in the line of duty.
  
  
  Letting Amoretta go isn't the whole story. By the end of the day, I had attended three seminars with Professor Caldone and had scientific papers coming out of my ears on everything from enzyme interactions in globular disorders to research into hydroid reproduction. I never knew it could be so damn boring. But I also met a large number of other meeting participants.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The list roughly broke down into four Norwegians, two French, three Germans, four Russians, two Yugoslavs, three Chinese, four Americans and several other nationalities. There were a few people I hadn't met at the other workshops that were happening at the same time. I also met Carl Christ, a round man with a cheerful face, taller than his round figure indicated, with small, darting eyes that hinted at a shrewd and quick mind hiding behind a surface softness.
  
  
  “Carl, this is our most valuable person,” said Professor Caldone when we were introduced. “As ISS secretary, his job is to organize each of our monthly meetings. He chooses the location, arranges the accommodations, plans the seminars and dinners, makes sure everyone gets an invitation, and generally makes our meetings what they are. . "
  
  
  Krist beamed and squeezed the professor's shoulder. He looked at me with a mixture of interest and speculation in those small, quick eyes.
  
  
  “As far as I understand, your accommodation was specially arranged, Mr. Carter,” he said politely. “But if there is anything I can do, anything you wish, please do not hesitate to contact me. Karl Christst is always available for participants and their guests.”
  
  
  Christ had a faint accent, which I correctly diagnosed as Swiss, and if I had met him in Chicago, I would have taken him for a typical rebel and slacker. I noticed that he was exchanging opinions with everyone on the sidelines, always smiling and seemed to be happy with everything. He slapped the professor on the back, squeezed my hand and hurried away. I saw him often in the afternoon and during dinner that evening, hovering over everything, checking on this or that, quickly changing when necessary, subject to the personal whims of his distinguished cast of guests. Eminent scientists clearly received attention from him, and Carl Christ did his job very well. He was just a guy I could never warm to; superficial fun was always an empty element to me. But I knew there were plenty of Carl Christs in the world, and they seemed necessary for this kind of thing. I stayed glued to the professor, keeping a close eye on everything he ate and drank, and when lunch was over, I again found Karl Christ under my elbow.
  
  
  I asked. "Do meetings usually go like this?"
  
  
  "You mean it's bad?" - he returned, bursting into boisterous laughter at his little joke.
  
  
  I agreed with what I knew he wanted me to say. “I mean okay,” I said. "Are each program similar to this one?"
  
  
  “Yes,” he replied. "There are general sessions consisting of seminars, formal dinners and dinners, and one main session with an official speaker. Then the last day of the meeting is given over to relaxation. This is only a three-day session, so the day after tomorrow we will all spend it on the beach. Even the greatest intellectual loves the sun and sea. A great mind and a lobster have so much in common.’ He shuddered again at his wit.
  
  
  “I assume you are also a member of the scientific community,” I commented. He smiled, almost too sweetly.
  
  
  “Oh heavens, no,” he replied. “Not a professional member. I'm not smart enough not to belong to the ISS. I am completely satisfied with my role as official secretary."
  
  
  I didn't ask him about it and wondered why he felt the need to give it up. I slapped him on the back and escorted Professor Caldone back to his room. The older man now complained about the tension of the day.
  
  
  “I’m tired, my boy,” he told me. “It’s a shame you can’t go to the nightlife here at the resort. Maybe after I'm safely locked up for the night, you can sneak away."
  
  
  “Not a chance,” I told him. "I'll be there to make sure you're safe."
  
  
  Signora Caldone let us into the room, and I saw Amoretta sitting in an armchair, wearing a delicate pink silk robe. She had a magazine on her lap, her lips pouting.
  
  
  “We would have just gone to bed if you hadn’t come, Enrico,” said Signora Caldone. “At least there was. Amoretta says she is too restless to sleep. She wants to stay up and read a little.”
  
  
  I suddenly realized something I hadn't thought to check. “Amoretta doesn’t sleep here,” I said. "She has her own room, doesn't she?"
  
  
  Signora Caldone turned around in surprise. "No, Mr. Carter," she said. “We planned for her to sleep here in the room with us. As far as I understand, the sofa turns into a bed.”
  
  
  “Sorry, but this is not allowed,” I ordered. “Only you, signora, can be alone with the professor if I am not there.”
  
  
  Amoretta stood on her feet, her lower lip protruded, her eyes sparkling. "Do you suspect me?" she flushed angrily. "It too!" I shrugged. In fact, I was not, but a certain suspicion arose in me. I didn't suspect her, but at the same time I suspected her. I didn't really know a damn thing about her or the depth of her relationship with her uncle. I felt that she loved him very much. However, I have seen many sweet young creatures turn out to be hardened agents. Personally, I felt she was trustworthy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  u. But officially she was as suspicious as everyone else in Portofino. The question was how to respond to Amoretta without the volcano inside her exploding.
  
  
  "I can't let you stay here overnight," I said. "I would lose my job."
  
  
  It seemed to hit the right note because the anger in those black eyes faded instantly. But my unshakable position led to another problem, if you can call it that. I checked the hotel and there was no other room or broom room. There was only one solution, and I was already thanking Hawk for the strictness of the instructions he gave me.
  
  
  “Signorita Amoretta can sleep in my room,” I announced gallantly, and it sounded like a sacrifice of truly heroic proportions. "I'm used to sleeping in a chair."
  
  
  The professor and his wife protested my “sacrifice,” both grateful and suspicious of my sacrifice, and a slow smile crossed Amoretta’s face. She stood up and took out her bag. While she was doing this, I hung one of Tom Dettinger's little devices on the professor's office door. It was a silent alarm that went off when the lock was opened, transmitting a radio signal to the active alarm in my room. All windows were properly locked and after installing the device, Amoretta joined me to return to my adjoining room where I had locked the door between the rooms. Sly as a Cheshire cat, she collapsed on the sofa. I decided to immediately tell her that we were going to spend the evening. She pouted for a moment and then immediately brightened.
  
  
  "So we're staying here," she said, standing up and walking to the window. “You see, we have a beautiful view of the bay and the moon. This is wonderful".
  
  
  It really was. I enjoyed a wonderful view of Amoretta. The silk robe was very light and showed off her legs perfectly as she stood by the window.
  
  
  "Is there something wrong with what you made us drink?" she asked, her tone bordering on sarcasm.
  
  
  “Nothing at all,” I said. "I have bourbon. Have you ever had it?"
  
  
  She shook her head as I made two nice bourbons and water.
  
  
  She sipped hers, at first thoughtfully, and then with genuine pleasure.
  
  
  “This bourbon is like you,” Amoretta said. “Straight, strong... whatever you say, no frills.”
  
  
  Amoretta herself behaved with serious stupidity. I took off my jacket, put Wilhelmina in my side pocket and watched her play with the hotel radio. She picked up a good night station in Genoa and began to move smoothly to the music. She hugged me and we started dancing. Through the thin robe I felt the firm fullness of her figure. She came closer and rubbed her breasts against my chest. I was just beginning to wonder how far she would go when there was a knock on the door. Just in case, I pulled the Luger out of my jacket pocket and walked to the door. Actually, I thought maybe someone was complaining about the sound of the radio. I opened the door and closed my eyes for a long minute. A tall, regal figure in a white silk dress with brown hair flowing softly, highlighting her classic features, said one word. She couldn't have chosen better!
  
  
  "Surprise!"
  
  
  I stopped as she walked past me into the room. “Your telegram was so thoughtful that I decided to come down and surprise you. Checking out hotels here was easy. After all, it's not..."
  
  
  She interrupted her introduction and sentence at the same time. I didn't turn around. I didn't need it. I could see her looking at Amoretta in her relaxing robe with a drink in her hand. This time it took even less time to explode and I braced myself for what I knew was coming. He came swinging from a spin, he landed with full force. My cheek didn't really start to hurt until she walked out into the hall.
  
  
  "Denny, wait!" I called.
  
  
  "You don't waste a minute, do you?" - she snapped with cold eyes.
  
  
  “I can explain,” I said.
  
  
  "Ha!" she snorted. “Explain! You probably have explanations written down by number. Sorry 12D, Explanation 7B, Apology 16FI!”
  
  
  "Will you listen to me?" I called after her, but the only response was the click of her heels as she walked away. Again, I knew what I wanted to do and what I needed to do. I slammed the door angrily.
  
  
  “I got you into trouble,” Amoretta said, and there was genuine concern in her eyes, so different from the sly triumph that the little bitch Vicky wore. I forced myself to smile at her and shrugged.
  
  
  “Not really,” I replied. "It is not your fault". I poured myself another bourbon and found her next to me holding an empty glass. She joined me to finish the bourbon and I poured each of us one.
  
  
  “You’re upset,” she said, leaning her head against my chest. It was true, but it made me smaller. The tips of her breasts gently touched me, excitingly alluring. Anyway, today I was more angry at Denny than sad. She almost seemed to want to jump out when she wasn't expected and walk away when I tried to get to her. Amoretta moved in my arms and we started dancing again, her body was warm and
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  soft in my hands. I turned off the lamp as we danced around her, and only the soft glow of moonlight came through the window. If Denny wanted to jump to conclusions without even hearing what I said, she would have damn well thought it through herself. Amoretta pressed her hand tightly to my back, her stomach touching my own. Her voice was husky, sensual, promising.
  
  
  “In the mountains of my home we have a saying,” she breathed. "Everything happens for a reason."
  
  
  She nuzzled her nose into my shoulder and I felt the pulsating vibrations coming from her.
  
  
  “In other words,” I commented, “there is a reason for what happened recently, and there is a reason why you are here with me now.”
  
  
  She shrugged slightly. Her old Calabrian proverb fell on fertile ground. In any case, I have never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Amoretta was clearly seductive, eager, and desirable. If it was that and nothing more, or if she had a reason, that was the only way I would know. I put my hands under the silk robe. She was wearing a thin nightgown. I parted the robe and let it fall from her shoulders. She trembled and her arms went around my neck and her lips, those full, soft lips, closed on mine, and in a few moments she was naked in my arms. I picked her up and laid her on the sofa, stroking her round, full breasts with my lips. She gasped and her hands reached towards me as I took off my shirt and pants. As I pressed my body against hers, enjoying the tactile pleasures of her skin against mine, Amoretta gasped and grabbed onto me.
  
  
  “Oh yes... yes... yes,” she breathed. My fingers slowly moved down her body, lingering on her full, smooth breasts, her small nipples coming to life, reacting to the touch, rising, rising up, towards my lips. Amoretta pressed my head against them so tightly that I was afraid she would cry in pain. But there were no screams of pain, only ecstasy. She moaned with pleasure and cried out in soft, inviting sounds as she writhed and moved, pressing her body against mine. Her skin was smooth, as if a thin film of oil coated her body, and as I moved down her deep ribcage, down her softly rounded belly and further down, her head swung from side to side in uncontrollable delight. I lingered for a moment, then pulled out and pressed myself to her luscious, full lips, now devouring. The piercing, swift touch of my tongue acted like a spark of flame on a branch. Her body trembled and writhed, and she was choking with desire, the volcano burst into flames. All this pulsating sensuality grew into a feverish desire, an all-consuming passion that swept away everything else. I realized that this was not a girl who knew how to make love, but a girl whose strong desire to make love was enough incentive for two. Such hunger was a gift in itself, and I responded by finding the very center of her womanhood, rewarded by the pleasure of her cries. Holding myself inside her, I let her press her lips to my shoulder to muffle her real cries of ecstasy. As her orgasm took over her body, her scream was in my chest, otherwise it would have woken up the hotel, not to mention the professor and his wife next door.
  
  
  Amoretta lay back on the sofa for just a moment and then turned to me and lay over me, her silken body tingling. She moved her legs over mine, her stomach touched my muscles and whispered against my cheek. “More, cara mia,” she said. "I need more". I saw that this was a moment of escape for her. Her visits away from her mountain home in Calabria were obviously moments she had been looking forward to all year. Her sensuality was such that it could not be hidden anywhere, but I knew the people of those hills. There she was just as desirable, just as welcome, but their own strict code forbade it until she was married, and, if I'm not mistaken, Amoretta had seen too much of the outside world to marry one of the peasant boys. So her home was like a sexual prison for her. It was no wonder that, away from this, she could not contain the terrible pent-up hunger within her. I stroked her back and she pressed her full breasts against me as little sounds of ecstasy began to emanate from her again. I learned that there was no part of this pulsating being that did not feel sensory sensitivity to touch. I turned her over and she offered herself again, like a flower offering itself to the sun. Her small nipples hardened under my tongue and she pushed them deeper into my mouth. Before the moon began to fade, I made love three times to this fantastically hungry Venus, and each time she was the product of pure passion, insincere and unreasonable, but thrillingly responsive to the slightest touch. Finally, sighing with great satisfaction, she fell asleep, burying her chest in my mouth, pressing my head to her. I moved back to hold her quiet figure, admiring the lusciousness of her body as she lay still. I slept next to her until the sun came up
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I woke up through the window, brightly reflected from the blue waters of the bay.
  
  
  I lay quietly, watching Amoretta's deep, even breathing. Her legs, slightly spread, were half turned towards me, her round, full breasts thrust out greedily, as if she were waiting in a dream for me to wake her in the most wonderful way of all. I wished I had time, but I didn't. The ISS workshops started early. I slipped out of her hand on her chest without waking her. I shaved and got dressed when she woke up. She pouted a little, but eventually came over and pressed her head against me.
  
  
  "I don't have the words to tell you what it was like last night," she said.
  
  
  “You don’t need words, Amoretta,” I replied. "You already told me."
  
  
  She smiled a slow, knowing smile, and I went to answer the polite knock on the next door. Everything was fine with the professor. After I removed the alarm from the front door, we went downstairs and had breakfast together in the hotel lobby. If anything in food could turn him into a vegetable, there would be two of us.
  
  
  The day was filled with new seminars, meetings and brilliantly boring presentations. By the end of the day, I had come to the conclusion that every scientist should take a creative writing course. If anything sinister happened at the seminars, it was those papers. In the evening, Karl Christ gave a tour of the resort area. I stayed next to the professor and Amoretta stayed next to me. She didn't try to distract herself on purpose. She just couldn't help it. By ten, everyone was securely locked up for the night, and Amoretta was waiting for me in the room. She didn't have to wait long. She was everything she had been the night before, and more, because she had learned something. When dawn came, neither of us slept very much, but then, I consoled myself, how much sleep does a person really need? I stopped growing a long time ago.
  
  
  It was the last day of the meeting, a time that Carl Christ called a Day of Relaxation and held a buffet on the beach.
  
  
  “It’s a happy day and a sad day,” Amoretta said, running a thin finger over my chest. - Happy because you will be with me all day, and sad because when the day is over we must part. I'll never see you again. I know it."
  
  
  “Never is a word I never use,” I chuckled. “You can come to America, and I can go to Calabria. Our paths may cross."
  
  
  Naturally, I didn’t know this then, but later I regretted that I was not such a good prophet. Since I wasn't thinking about beach parties, I didn't bring any bathing suits, so I just set up the beach chairs when we got to the beach so I could keep an eye on the professor at all times, and relaxed. He was more than content to relax in his chair, and Amoretta was curled up next to me like a contented kitten. I brought lunch from the buffet that Krist had set up, taking no chances on this last day. When the day finally came to an end, Carl Christ made his rounds, looking even plumper in shorts and a bright yellow terry cloth shirt. I watched him move from person to person, hugging each person's hand, patting each person gently on the back, telling each person what a wonderful tan he had. I watched him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. The irritation bothered me, and I decided that it was because he seemed out of place among these sincere people, who were for the most part both brilliant minds and simple people. When he approached Professor Caldone, he helped him up from his lounge chair and, with a pat on the shoulder, helped him put on his beach robe.
  
  
  “I hope you enjoyed your short visit with us, Mr. Carter,” he said to me. “It’s not that we don’t welcome you, but whatever reason prompted your government to send you along with the professor will, I hope, soon disappear.”
  
  
  “I hope so too,” I smiled. “If not, I will show up for another meeting.”
  
  
  “And we will be glad to see you again,” he said, easily outsmarting me. He turned after a brief handshake, walked through the others, and as I watched him climb the stone steps leading from the beach, I felt a slight sympathy for him. It always seemed to me that there was something pathetic and lonely about a professional joker. The true face of the clown behind the mask is often completely different.
  
  
  Feeling a little like a mother hen with my brood, I herded everyone back to the hotel, checked every item in the professor's luggage, and we piled into his little Fiat to drive to Rome.
  
  
  I didn't take any chances on what might happen at the last minute after the meeting or in the immediate vicinity. There was another round of goodbyes and thanks in Rome. The professor and his wife were pleasant people, erudite, pleasant and honest. There was a silent message in Amoretta's eyes. I knew that she did not want to return to the mountains of Calabria, and I felt sorry for her. She really wasn't ready to leave
  
  
  
  
  
  
  hills, there was still too much interesting around her; and yet she deserved something better than she could find there. I was sure that a few more visits with her aunt and uncle should do it for her.
  
  
  I left for Rome airport feeling like a job well done. If something happened at previous meetings of the ISS, it did not happen this time. Even if there had been a plot against Professor Caldon, it would not have worked. Of course, I also knew that this single incident could not be considered a victory. The terrible ominousness of it still lingered, and it raised an even bigger question. Where do we go from here? We prevented everything that could have been planned for this meeting, and it didn't lead anywhere. I put those pesky questions aside before meeting with Hawk. I wanted to clear something up first. I caught a direct flight from Rome to London. It was my turn to suddenly jump out, which I did, only to enjoy the conversation with Denny's landlady. Denny is away at a horse show and will be back in two days. The woman, an old girl with a pleasant face, was kind enough to take from me the note I had written on the back of the envelope. I made it short. There was too much to say for a note. I wrote:
  
  
  Sorry again. One of these days I will explain everything, and you will listen.
  
  
  V
  
  
  The sky has fallen. The world stopped turning. “I heard wrong,” I told myself. This simply couldn't happen! Hawk's steel-gray eyes, looking at me across his desk, were expressionless. Maybe I was dreaming.
  
  
  “Say it again,” I asked. He nodded slowly.
  
  
  “Professor Caldone is a vegetable,” he repeated. "His wife contacted us last night."
  
  
  “I don’t believe it,” I said angrily. “Damn it, I covered him up like a wet nurse. Nothing could have happened."
  
  
  Hawk shrugged. “Something happened,” he said quietly. I quickly did the math. I left him in Rome in the early evening and caught a plane to London. After finding Denny's, I had to stay the night because I couldn't fly out right away. Then I came back here yesterday and arrived at the AX headquarters this morning. In total, about thirty-six hours had passed since I left the scientist. Someone could have reached him in those thirty-six hours. I had to come to terms with it. During the meeting itself, I stayed too close to the professor.
  
  
  “I’d like to go and see for myself,” I said, still angry.
  
  
  “I thought so,” Hawk replied softly. "I've booked you on the eleven o'clock flight to Rome."
  
  
  “Damn it,” I said, “there has to be some explanation for this.”
  
  
  The look on Hawk's face was all I needed. “Okay,” I said. "I will find it. But then this has to be the weirdest or smartest thing I've seen in a long time."
  
  
  I walked out, angry at myself, angry at the world, but mostly angry because of the unfamiliar feeling of being taken away. Nobody likes to lose, especially me. But failing is one thing. Being taken right under my nose is something else entirely. This was a new experience for me and I was furious and thought about it all the way to Rome. I held onto the idea that everything that happened happened after I left the professor. Like I said, I should have stayed with it. But I wasn't sure about it. Hawk had wired in advance for a group of medical specialists to meet me at the professor's house. He wanted me to hear what they were saying with my own ears. These were the doctors who examined each of the stricken scientists. At the professor's house the maid let me in, and Signora Caldone greeted me with more composure than I expected from her.
  
  
  My anger turned to something else when I was shown into the living room, where a nurse in a white uniform sat on a straight chair next to the professor. He sat in a deep leather chair, and suddenly I didn't care about my anger, about my feelings. The cherubic face turned into a gray lifeless mask, the flickering blue eyes became expressionless, staring balls. His mouth hung open, a small continuous stream of saliva flowing from the corners, which the nurse periodically wiped off with a gauze pad. I walked up to him and called him by name. There was no answer. From time to time his throat made small guttural sounds, inhuman sounds. I turned away, a ribbon of ice wrapped around my insides.
  
  
  “The doctors are waiting for you in the office, Signor Carter,” Signora Caldone said quietly. I followed her into the hall and through the foyer into a book-lined office, where four people stood to greet me, their faces equally serious and tired. The icy cold inside me had already crystallized into mortal anger, the desire to tear something or someone apart, to see justice prevail in what I had just witnessed.
  
  
  “First of all, gentlemen,” I said decisively, “is there any hope of recovery?”
  
  
  A tall, gray-haired, distinguished man spoke, introducing himself as Dr. Van Duetonze. I've heard about him. He was an outstanding Belgian neurologist.
  
  
  “None, Mr. Carter,” he replied. "Intelligence
  
  
  
  
  
  
  completely gone. The neurological tests we have already carried out show that the organic functioning of the brain cannot be restored. In fact, Professor Caldon's check was just a formality. Our results from other men affected in this way were more than sufficient. You see, the brain is a fragile organ, and any complete disruption of its physiological functioning results in brain damage that cannot be repaired.”
  
  
  Another doctor spoke up. “We understand that your people are involved in this to find out if there is any criminal involvement.”
  
  
  I quickly realized that Hawke had told them half-truths about my interest in the case, just enough to make things go smoothly.
  
  
  “That's right,” I said. "I'm going to investigate your suspicions about both the destruction ray and the virus theory I've been told about."
  
  
  "Yes, although we are now considering the possibility that perhaps someone on the ISS, someone present at the meetings, may be a carrier of the virus and themselves invulnerable. At the same time, the electric beam - if this is indeed the case - should be applied to other guests at the meetings. Everything is centered around the ISS meetings and the seemingly flawless people at these scientific seminars."
  
  
  I nodded. It all sounded very logical the way they presented it. Someone at the meetings... Yes, but who? And, more importantly, how? But then I thought it was my job to find out. I knew about some things they didn't know, about a woman named Maria Doshtavenko, about a little punk with a card with the professor's name on it, about murders designed to silence everyone about something. They could play along with their theories about X-rays and viruses. I didn't buy it, although I didn't tell them about it. I thanked the good doctors and returned to the living room. As I approached, I heard heavy, painful sobs, and when I entered, Amoretta stood next to the old man, her cheeks wet and stained with tears. She wiped them dry as soon as she saw me. Signora Caldone was next to the girl. As I approached, Amoretta's eyes darkened with sheer hatred and rage.
  
  
  "Have you come back to see for yourself?" she spat, her full breasts heaving under her blue blouse. She was wearing skinny jeans and her thighs stretched to the sides. "You should have protected him!" - she added accusingly. "He was fine until you came!"
  
  
  There was a brightness in her eyes that went beyond the obvious hatred in them, a sudden hardness, a look of vengeance. She was angry and unhappy when she saw me, that was clear. Signora Caldone gave me an apologetic look and led Amoretta out of the room, only to return a moment later.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry for the way Amoretta spoke to you,” she said simply. “She loved her Zio Enrico terribly. We told her that he might have been in danger when we were traveling to meet you in Portofino, and that you would be there to protect him."
  
  
  I told Signora Caldone that the girl's distress was understandable. And it was. Damn, within a few days I fell in love with the professor. Her emotions could very well explain the hatred in her eyes, but then I discovered something else. There was ice inside me, my own icy hatred. I was still convinced that the professor was all right when I left them in Rome.
  
  
  "Did you have any visitors after I left?" I asked. "That night or the next day?"
  
  
  “No,” the woman answered wearily. "Nobody. Amoretta was with us all morning and then went home.”
  
  
  Only Amoretta. I turned those two words over in my mind, hating the thought, hating the meaning, but continuing with it. I asked myself again, what the hell did I really know about the girl, other than that she was a volcano in bed? Signora Caldone, of course, did not arouse suspicion in her niece. Hawk once said that I would not keep my mother above suspicion if the circumstances required it, and he was right. Especially when I felt like I do now, which was an ugly, angry, ugly feeling I got when I saw something dirty. I looked at the vegetable that was a man and it became even uglier. Hawk described it so well... the living dead. The nurse had already started to lift him up. He slipped out of her arms, and I rushed to him, but he was on all fours and crawling on the floor. "It's okay," she told me. "I'll take care of him."
  
  
  I turned again to Signora Caldone. “You called Amoretta to tell her about her uncle,” I asked. The woman nodded, keeping her eyes on me, refusing to look at the pathetic figure crawling past us.
  
  
  "Did you tell her that I would come here tonight?"
  
  
  “Yes,” she replied. "I received a telegram from your boss."
  
  
  "What did Amoretta say?"
  
  
  “She said she was coming right over,” the woman replied. "She thought that maybe you would take her uncle away and she wanted to see him again."
  
  
  Or, I thought quietly, she just wanted to be here while I was. I went to the door. If I was wrong about the girl, I would like to find out and apologize to her profusely. If I were
  
  
  
  
  
  
  she had big problems on the right path. I was still convinced that someone had crossed over to him from the moment I left them in Rome, somehow, somewhere. Who and how? These were two key questions. I was sure that if I got an answer to one of them, I could answer the other. Now is the time for questions for Amoretta. But the corridor was empty. I quickly looked outside, but the streets of Rome were dark and quiet. I found Signora Caldone.
  
  
  “Amoretta is gone,” I told her. “Is there anywhere else she can go in Rome? Are there other friends, relatives?”
  
  
  “No, no, we were the only ones,” the woman said. “She probably ran outside. She's so upset. Please look for her."
  
  
  “I’ll look for her, okay,” I said darkly under my breath and ran outside, stopping for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The Caldons lived near a small square, and I quickly scanned the circle of light under each of the street lamps that dotted the edges of the square. I saw her unmistakable form as she stopped under a lamp at the farthest corner of the square. I started running when she moved on. When I approached the area, she was nowhere to be seen and the street leading out was a narrow cobblestone street lined with darkened shops, bakeries, groceries and fruit stands with many doorways. I listened to the heels clicking on the stones, but there were none. She was hiding in one of the doorways. I began to slowly descend when she came out and stood waiting. Even in the dark I could feel the burning hatred in her eyes.
  
  
  "Why are you following me?" she asked.
  
  
  “You’re going to answer a few questions,” I told her as I approached her. She took a step back and turned to run. I was about to grab it when I heard a faint scratching sound behind me. I turned, but not fast enough. A strike, like lightning, struck me on the temple. My head exploded with lights, stars and sharp pain. I leaned forward and forced myself not to lose consciousness. I heard footsteps, many of them. I grabbed a pair of legs in front of my face and pulled. The owner screamed in Italian and fell. I jumped at him, my head still foggy, and I caught a glimpse of a short, sweat-clad man when a sharp blow to the ribs sent me flying. I continued the steep roll, hitting my legs hard, grabbing them and pulling. One figure leaned over me, and I hit his stomach hard to the left, hearing him grunt in pain. My head was now a little clearer and I knew there were at least four or five of them. Pressing my heels into the gaps between the cobblestones, I rose up on my elbow and catapulted forward, face to face, into someone's middle, carrying him with me. Managing to avoid flailing my arms and swinging violently, I grabbed the man I'd knocked back by the arm, lifted him up in a judo motion, and threw him through the bakery window. I heard him scream amid the sound of breaking glass. Still struggling more out of training and instinct than clarity of mind, I punched the face that appeared in front of me, heard the satisfying crack of knuckles against my cheekbone, and the face disappeared. But now it's my turn. It was a good, hard blow from behind and I fell. A hard object crashed into my skull almost at the same moment as a heavy-soled boot hit my temple. I heard Amoretta's voice before the lights went out, damn her black heart. She decided that I would follow her. She led me right to this. I tried to raise my head and shake it, but there was no answer. Another blow fell on me. It doesn't hurt that much. He simply lowered the curtain.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  I don't know how long it was before I woke up, but from the state of my head I decided it was quite a long time. I slowly turned my neck in a circular motion, and the fluffy web began to tear apart in my head. The intense sharp pain in my wrists told me that my hands were tied behind my back. The terrible bouncing and jolting didn't help my throbbing head, but I managed to focus on my surroundings. I wasn't alone. Four other men were seated inside, apparently inside a truck with the panels closed. I was against the driver's partition, the others were sitting in pairs on the sides of the truck. They were stocky, stern, black-eyed men in work clothes and heavy peasant shoes, with heavy, gnarled hands with thick fingers. I noticed that three of them had cuts on their faces and bruises on their cheekbones. One of them called out to the driver in Italian.
  
  
  “Americano has woken up,” he said.
  
  
  “Si, be careful,” the voice answered. "Look at him"
  
  
  Then I heard Amoretta's voice. “Don't take any chances,” she said.
  
  
  They could all relax. Now is not the time or place for whims. Besides, I wanted to know more about where I was being taken. From the steep ascent of the truck we climbed into the mountains. The men spoke to each other briefly, abruptly, but this was enough for me to understand what the Calabrese dialect was. It wasn't difficult
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried to understand the rest. Amoretta took me to the hills of her home. If I had been gone as long as I thought we would, chances are we were almost there. How she and the peasants of Calabria fit into this dirty business was another matter. It was one hell of an unexpected turn. But it was all strange from the very beginning. The road became more uneven and the truck was barely moving. I checked my wrists. They were well connected. They took Wilhelmina from me, but I felt Hugo in its sheath on my forearm. They were in too much of a hurry to get me off the street and into the truck, and they clearly weren't professionals. I knew it by the way they fell on top of each other, trying to pounce on me in that narrow street. If that first blow hadn't weakened my reflexes, they would still be there, bunched together.
  
  
  The truck slowed down and my muscles automatically tensed. I counted two more turns before it stopped and the rear doors opened. I was pulled out and exchanged glances with Amoretta, who looked tense and shaking in her blouse and skinny jeans.
  
  
  “You have some good friends,” I said casually.
  
  
  “These are my brothers,” she said, pointing to the three men. “And the other two are my cousins.”
  
  
  “Family business,” I commented.
  
  
  “When I heard you were coming back to check on your work, I took them with me,” she said sharply. "Now we're going to find out what you did to Zio Enrico and why."
  
  
  "What the hell are you talking about?" - I said, frowning. She hit me in the face. Hard.
  
  
  “Take him inside,” she said. "Enough of his lies."
  
  
  I was still frowning as I was pushed into a long house of stone and terracotta with a low roof. They took me into the kitchen, a large, spacious room, and threw me into a strong, straight-backed chair, keeping my hands tied behind my back. For double security, they tied my wrists to the back of the chair. Amoretta stood in front of me, observing the operations. When they finished, they formed a semicircle behind her. Her eyes, blazing with anger, glared into mine.
  
  
  “When I think that...” she began and quickly broke off, a fleeting blush of embarrassment flashing across her face.
  
  
  “Keep going, Amoretta,” I chuckled. She hit me again, harder.
  
  
  “I will kill you,” she hissed. “You are a creature from hell. You are going to tell us what you did to Zio Enrico.”
  
  
  “I didn’t do anything to him,” I said, studying her eyes. She hit me again.
  
  
  "No more lies!" - she shouted. I saw that in those eyes there was nothing but hatred and anger. This was not an act, this was not an attempt to deceive me.
  
  
  "I swear to God, you're really serious, aren't you?" - I asked, incredulously realizing this.
  
  
  “Yes, I'm serious,” she said. "I'll kill you myself if I have to."
  
  
  “No, I mean do you really think I did it,” I said.
  
  
  "Let's just kill him now," one of her brothers intervened.
  
  
  “No,” Amoretta snapped. "I have to find out what he did and why."
  
  
  “Ready,” said the cousin, a cretin with big ears. "Who cares? Just kill him."
  
  
  "Silencio!" - Amoretta shouted. "I'll handle this."
  
  
  I listened to them in surprise. They weren't kidding about anything, especially about killing me. Here I suspected her, and she was convinced that I had done it. Under other circumstances this might have been funny, but these characters were a wild bunch, fully capable and charged to do anything.
  
  
  “I didn’t do it, Amoretta,” I said, putting all the sincerity into my voice.
  
  
  “Stop your lies,” she retorted. "It should have been you. You made it so you could be with him all the time."
  
  
  Maybe you put something in that special water you made him drink."
  
  
  “No, I’m telling you,” I shouted back. "I was sent to protect him."
  
  
  “But you did the exact opposite. Maybe you're not even a real man, Nick Carter. Maybe you killed him and took his place. But we're going to find out. You are going to tell us the truth. . "
  
  
  "I am telling you the truth".
  
  
  “This will take a long time,” one of the brothers interjected. “Could we question him later? The pigs were not fed. The cows were not milked."
  
  
  “Exactly,” another chimed in. - You sent us urgently this morning. We didn't have time to do anything. Besides, I’m hungry too.”
  
  
  “I say just kill him and be done with it,” the big ears chimed in.
  
  
  “No, he will speak first,” Amoretta insisted. "But we'll do it later, after you've finished your chores." She turned to the big ears. “Glauco,” she commanded. “Stay here and watch him. If he tries anything, shout right away, you know?”
  
  
  Big Ears - Glauco - nodded. It was probably such a complex order that he could grasp it right away. Amoretta gave me one last hard look and left with the others. Listening to them, I was convinced of one thing. Their emotions were too strong to listen to logic or reason. Besides, I had to admit, from where she saw it, I actually had the best chance of succeeding as an old man. I had to free myself. Maybe then I can get them to listen. I wandered my eyes around the kitchen - a large stone oven, heavy iron
  
  
  
  
  
  
  pots and pans hung on wall hooks overhead. Glauco sat down on a straight-backed chair, put his feet on a long, strong table and began whittling a piece of wood with a penknife. If I tried to turn towards the oven to scrape the rope on my wrist against the stone, Glauco would immediately see me. With my wrists tied to the chair, the chair was a part of me for the moment. I measured the distance to where Glauco was sitting, thinking about throwing myself headfirst at him, crashing into him. It was no use. He'll be up before I get to him. I needed something that would only require one movement. I could only fire one shot and all I had to use were my legs and knees. The rest of me was chained to the chair.
  
  
  I sat up and looked at Glauco. He became more absorbed in his harshness, but periodically glanced at me. With my feet on the table and the chair reclined on its back legs, it was a perfect target if only I could get close enough. Suddenly I realized that I didn't need to get so close. All I needed was to get within range. I moved one chair leg an inch and waited. Glauco looked at me and went back to his cutting. I moved my other leg another inch and waited. Glauco continued to switch glances. I moved closer, timing each tedious movement between his glances, moving each foot a fraction of an inch at a time. I was glad to discover that Glauco was neither too smart nor too wary. Finally I stopped, not daring to come closer. I listened to sounds from the other room, but everything was quiet. The rest were still busy with their own affairs. I jumped, knocking my leg out and hitting the back of Glauco's chair. It flew out from under him and he fell backwards screaming. I was instantly on top of him, the chair still tied to my back, one knee on his chest, the other on his throat. His eyes immediately began to pop open, and I relaxed, lifting my knee from his throat.
  
  
  “One wrong move and you’ll be dead in half a second,” I warned him. “All I have to do is push with this knee. Do you see? I pressed and his tongue stuck out. His eyes widened in fear. I released the pressure again.
  
  
  “Now you do exactly what I say,” I told him in a careful, measured tone. Just looking into my eyes and feeling my knee against his windpipe was more than enough for him. “From where you are, you can reach out and loosen the knots on my wrist. Slowly, now... slowly. The wrong movement could cause my knee to drop automatically.” I increased the pressure on him again to emphasize. I felt his hand slide along my back, feeling the bonds of my wrist. His fingers squeezed the knots, and his eyes looked at me with fear. I felt the ropes loosen a little. “Keep going,” I growled, pressing my knee a little more. His fingers sped up, and the ropes were enough to free one hand, then the other. I heard voices entering the house. Without lifting my knee from his throat, I hit Glauco hard on the jaw. His head tilted to the side and I stood up. I knew that they would look in now. I didn't want to use Hugo. No matter how lost, stubborn, and stupid they were, they still tried to do what they thought was right. I took one of the iron frying pans. “No wonder an Italian housewife should eat a lot of pasta,” I thought. It was better than weights for building muscle. I walked through the door as Amoretta brought the others in.
  
  
  She instantly screamed. “Mio dio! He's gone!" - she howled. The others fell at her heels. I swung the frying pan and caught two of them in one shot. They stretched out facing forward as I grabbed Amoretta, and now I had Hugo in my palm, the tip of the stiletto pressed against the tip of the girl's full breast. Her brothers froze, and I heard Amoretta inhale sharply.
  
  
  “Wake them up first,” I said, pointing to the three unconscious forms. One of the others poured a bucket of water on them and they woke up.
  
  
  “Now you wild people are going to listen to me,” I said. “I didn't do anything to hurt your uncle. Get it through your thick skulls. I tried to protect him. I can’t prove it because I don’t know what happened any more than you do.”
  
  
  Amoretta's chest gently touched my hand holding the stiletto, and a thought occurred to me. If I could prove to them that I am myself, it would save me hours trying to get out of these mountains, or avoid their possible pursuit. God knows how many relatives she has here. If it worked, I'd be safe. If this hadn't happened, I would have had my hands full. What the hell, I decided, sometimes you have to take risks. I stepped away from Amoretta, letting her go. When she turned around, I handed her the stiletto. Her eyes widened in surprise. The rest of her relatives were equally puzzled.
  
  
  “Take it,” I said, pushing her with my pen. She hesitantly extended her hand.
  
  
  "Now do you believe me?" I asked. "I give up
  
  
  
  
  
  
  to prove that I'm telling the truth."
  
  
  The others watched Amoretta, waiting for her signal. I saw her eyes suddenly melt, her full lips parted, and she was in my arms, her head buried in my chest.
  
  
  “Oh, Nick,” she sobbed. "Please forgive me. I was so upset. I should never have suspected you."
  
  
  “I suspected you,” I admitted. “So I guess we're even.” I could have told her that it was my job to be suspicious of everyone while she was just an overly emotional, wild tomato, but I decided against it. Besides, her brothers and cousins were crowding around, patting me on the back. The apologies and camaraderie took over with a vengeance.
  
  
  “Everything worked out and no one was really hurt,” I told Amoretta, wiping tears from her cheek. “I'm glad about it, really. Now I need to return to Rome as soon as possible. I need to find a clue somewhere.”
  
  
  “Si,” Amoretta quickly agreed. “Get the truck, Luigi. We must leave immediately."
  
  
  Glauco had just returned Wilhelmina to me, taking one last look at Luger. I heard Amoretta's remark, but it took me a few seconds to understand.
  
  
  "Hey?" I said. "What do you mean 'we'?"
  
  
  “I’ll go with you, Nicky,” she announced dryly.
  
  
  “Oh no, honey,” I said. “I'm returning alone. It's my business".
  
  
  “No, I’ll go with you,” she said, sticking out her bottom lip. I saw her relatives frown.
  
  
  “This is not for you,” I objected.
  
  
  "Why not?" - Glauco asked in a belligerent tone. I wanted so badly to give his big, stupid face an impact that might make some sense out of him, but I restrained myself.
  
  
  “Because this is my job,” I shouted to him.
  
  
  “And this is our uncle,” he replied.
  
  
  "It's a matter of family honor," Luigi intervened. They were approaching again, and I saw the spirit soar and all the ingredients for a new fight.
  
  
  "Is she not good enough to help you, Americano?" another one looked at me angrily. If I had time, I would have gladly smashed some thick skulls, but all I wanted was to get out of there as quickly and easily as possible.
  
  
  “She's fine,” I said. “She can come with me. In fact, I would welcome her help.”
  
  
  The relaxation was audible. Luigi pulled out the truck and got behind the wheel, and Amoretta sat next to me. As I left, there were shouts of good luck and farewell. It was as if we were going to the front line. I said I would welcome her help, and I meant it. She would be more than helpful in guiding me down the mountain. When I reach the main roads, the passionate, delightful Amoretta and I will part ways. I knew it wouldn't be a gentle goodbye, but she would get through it.
  
  
  As we approached the base of the hills, I saw lights that indicated the intersection of the main road ahead of me.
  
  
  "Have you ever walked from here to your house?" - I asked casually.
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I did this often in my youth. It's not so bad if you know the way and take your time."
  
  
  “I'm glad to hear it, dear,” I said, stopping abruptly. "Because you're going home right now!" I jumped out of the truck, pulling her with me. Pine thickets grew along the road. I tossed her up, screaming at her. The air turned blue with Italian curses that I had never heard and knew more than some. I was in gear and started driving when she crawled out of a pine bush. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw her running out onto the road, shaking her fist after me and still screaming.
  
  
  “Nothing personal, doll,” I chuckled. “But this is not your bottle of wine, so to speak.”
  
  
  Dawn was just beginning to color the sky, but I was already thinking about where to go next. One thought returned in a repeating melody. If this had not happened after I left the professor, then it should have happened right under my nose. “This is simply impossible,” I told myself again, all the while realizing that the impossible had obviously happened. I wanted a list of all the sons of bitches who have attended the last eight meetings. I traced the background of each of them. There must be a clue there somewhere.
  
  
  The little truck, although slow, was reliable. The morning brought hot sun, but I did not lose it. When I reached Rome, I turned the truck into a side street and left it there. The carabinieri will find him and trace his registration. I was tired as a dog, and I took a room at the modest Hotel Raffaello and wired Hawk that I was staying there from here. I gave him my hotel and number and told him to wire me if he had anything to add. It was day and long night. I took a hot bath, stretched out on the bed and fell asleep. I woke up late in the evening. There was no telegram from Hawk, which means he had nothing more for me. I decided that the fastest way to get a list of all the participants of the past eight meetings was through Carl Christ. I did some research, found that there was a Carl Christ in Zurich, and called him. He answered and, to my surprise, immediately recognized my voice. I
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  could just see his round face covered with an unctuous smile, while those quick little eyes clicked intently. I told him what I wanted. “I need a complete list of people present for each of these meetings,” I said. “I want every person, big, small, important, unimportant.
  
  
  Carl Christ's voice was gentle, but his words were the opposite. “It is not ISS policy to provide such information, Mr. Carter,” he intoned. - May I ask why you are making this rather unusual request?
  
  
  “I can’t divulge this,” I said, feeling my anger flare. “The list of each meeting was then publicly announced. Why can't I get a copy now?
  
  
  “Such announcements are never complete,” he replied calmly. “I'm afraid that going back and compiling a complete list of the last eight meetings would be a difficult task.”
  
  
  He was always so helpful, continuing to hedge. I was getting angrier every second. “Listen, cousin,” I began again, hearing the harshness in my voice. "I know you damn well have a complete list for every meeting. You'll have to have them for your own records, if nothing else. If you don't send me a photostatic copy of the last eight attendance lists, I suggest we go to ISS management and make sure they order you to cooperate."
  
  
  His tone immediately changed. “You misunderstood me,” he said. “There is absolutely no need for this. I am always happy to cooperate with any government official on official business, even if I do not know what he is talking about.” The ending was a line thrown by the bait that I didn't grab. He might have wondered what the hell it was all about. I came to the conclusion that he was typical of petty officials who always try to make themselves more important than they really are.
  
  
  “Please send me the lists by airmail to the Raffaello Hotel here in Rome,” I said.
  
  
  I hung up and went for a walk and dinner in Rome. I wanted to enjoy the warm, friendly city, but I was on edge, nervous, irritable. I went back to the hotel and got some sleep. The knock woke me up early. Give him credit, or maybe I would have put the fear of God into him, but Crist immediately collected the lists and they arrived. I laid them out on the floor and spent the morning studying them, making my own worksheets with each person's name on the sheet. As the morning drew to a close, I had a floor full of papers and many names had been cross-indexed, with the disappointing result that not a single ISS member had attended all eight meetings. This seemed to rule out my thoughts that one person was responsible for all eight terrible failures after the meeting. I repeated it again. I had to make sure there were no mistakes or oversights. But I was right. Many of them attended many meetings, but none attended all of the last eight. As my eyes wandered over the worksheets laid out all over the floor in front of me, I let my mind race on its own into the association flow technique I had learned years ago: dig, skip, explore, jump. Eventually, something began to manifest itself. The only name that appeared at every meeting was Carl Christ. I sat back on the couch and let it roll around in my head for a while.
  
  
  I didn't try it for reasons of no motivation whatsoever. I was only looking for clues, and although it seemed unlikely, it is a fact that He was present at each of the last eight meetings. In the past I have seen many incredible facts that have become very probable. I never discounted anything, no matter how strange it may seem. Of course, I didn't intend to do that in this crazy business. Joyful Karl could be a dead support - and then he could be more than he seemed. This was the only clue I came up with, if you can call it that. I decided to call it that. I called Rome airport to find out the flight schedule to Zurich.
  
  
  VI
  
  
  "Did you look out the window, sir?" - a pleasant young voice asked me over the phone. I was so caught up in my worksheets that I didn't do it. When I did this I hung up. A thick fog shrouded the city, which did not go away for days. I checked out of the hotel and bought a ticket for the Rome-Zurich express. My compartment was in the middle of the rain, and I boarded twenty minutes before we left. Although it was listed as an express train, it was far from what we call a direct train home. I took the sleeping compartment, the conductor checked my passport and made the bunk. It was evening when we set out, and I watched the mist-shrouded lights of the Eternal City pass by as we picked up speed. Like most European trains, it ran like hell between stops, but then there were countless stops to switch cars and add new ones. I went to bed early and slept well. Trains have always had a sedative effect on me. When I woke up we were just approaching the Swiss border at Bellison. I went to the dining car and had breakfast. The countryside had changed, I saw as I looked out the train window. It was more hilly, with distant mountain peaks, snow-capped peaks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  outlines rising to the sky. Spruce, evergreens and mountain laurel replaced olive trees, cedar and grapevines. Fresh air replaced the mild, idle climate of southern Italy. I returned to my compartment and was almost there when a man's voice rang out. I turned around and saw a balding man of average height with an open gold cigarette case who approached me.
  
  
  “Scusi, sir,” he smiled in a thick Italian accent. "Favorite darmi un fammigera?" I stopped, fished a pack of matches out of my pocket and handed it to him. Leaning towards them, he spoke softly in accented English. "Don't move, Carter," he said. “Two guns are pointed at you. One is here in the other hand, the other is behind you.”
  
  
  I stopped and saw the tip of a revolver sticking out of his jacket. I turned my head just enough to see another man at the far end of the hallway.
  
  
  “Open your compartment door and come in,” said the balding man. "No tricks." Two more big, burly guys in leather jackets appeared behind the man at the far end, and they were getting closer. I knew I was in the bag. I opened the compartment and went inside, new acquaintances crowded behind me. They quickly and professionally got rid of Wilhelmina for me right away. They missed Hugo. That was the great thing about the little stiletto. Even professionals, especially in a hurry, often did not notice the leather sheath on my forearm.
  
  
  “I think you know my name,” I smiled heartily at the first person to ask for a match.
  
  
  "Carter - Nick Carter." He smiled thinly. “Chief Operative of AX. N3, officially."
  
  
  I quickly tried them on. If I hadn't been able to print the balding one, the last two would have been instantly dead. They had the phlegmatic expression of NKVD workhorses with cabbage faces, heavy hands and a strong head. The Balding Man was without a doubt a top-level Soviet intelligence officer.
  
  
  “Since you know so much about me, should I consider this some sort of special interest?” - I asked kindly. The balding man smiled again.
  
  
  “Not really,” he said. "But your reputation is well known."
  
  
  “Especially Soviet counterintelligence,” I commented. “Have I not met some of your boys lately in and around London? Quite a fateful meeting for them, if I remember correctly.”
  
  
  He nodded and his smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, you are right,” he said. “But this time it will end differently. I am Captain Vanuskin, and I pity the scoundrels."
  
  
  “Me too,” I smiled. My mind was racing. They came out of nowhere. Either they were getting smoother or I was getting old. That actually bothered me more than getting caught.
  
  
  “I didn’t notice that you were following me to the train,” I admitted. "I am impressed."
  
  
  “We didn’t do that,” Vanuskin answered, and my eyebrows involuntarily raised. “As I said, your reputation is very well known. We were sure that you would notice the “tail”, as you Americans so strangely put it. We were stuck in the hotel and knew that airports were closed due to fog. You left, it had to be a train or a car. We had a man who watched every departing train. When you left the hotel, our man simply radioed about it. Then another of our men picked you up on the Zurich Express."
  
  
  I felt better. They haven't gotten any smoother, just a little smarter. And the fog made their task easier. This brings me to another very interesting point. Only two people knew that I was at the Raffaello Hotel - Hawk and Carl Christ. Of course, Krist could have told someone else about this, but I doubted it. I put it aside as a fluke and decided to go on a little fishing trip instead.
  
  
  “Then he is one of your people,” I told the Russian. “He is the one who told you that I was in Raffaello.”
  
  
  "Who is this 'he'?" Vanuskin answered slyly.
  
  
  “You can stop playing games,” I said. "It's too late for that, I'd still like to know how it's done."
  
  
  Vanuskin grinned a wide, sly grin. "You mean, I assume, the unfortunate mental deterioration of some scientists - their stolen brains?"
  
  
  I wanted to imitate his smiling face so much that my hands clenched and unclenched. I suppressed the impulse. It would be certain death.
  
  
  “More or less,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual.
  
  
  “We don’t know the answer to that question any more than you do, Carter,” the Russian replied softly.
  
  
  “Oh, come on,” I said. “This kind of modesty is something new for you boys, isn't it? I never imagined that this was not your country’s operation.”
  
  
  “This is not our operation, as you put it,” the Russian said. “But we are only happy to cooperate. And we are not being modest. We feel like we have received a very unexpected and very valuable gift. Naturally, we will do everything in our power to protect our unknown benefactor."
  
  
  The Russian threw back his head and laughed at my incredulous expression.
  
  
  “As hard as it may be for you to believe,” he continued, “it is true. About a year ago, we were mysteriously contacted by someone who wanted a list of these scientists.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We knew that they were doing scientific research for the Western powers. Regarding our cooperation, he promised that he would do us a great favor, which he certainly did. We have presented such a list. He chose a name, returned it to us, and the next thing we knew, this scientist had suffered a complete mental breakdown. Since then, this person has contacted us every month in much the same way, either by mail or by special courier. We offer several names that we know are doing important work for the West. He chooses one thing, and he did the rest. Of course, we are very happy to provide him with whatever he desires.”
  
  
  "Money too?" - I asked, wondering about the motives.
  
  
  “If he asks for it. But he rarely does this."
  
  
  "What about Maria Doshtavenko?" I asked.
  
  
  Vanuskin shrugged. “A regrettable incident, one might say, an outburst of bourgeois feelings.”
  
  
  “You mean humanitarian feelings,” I objected.
  
  
  “Call it what you want,” said the Russian. “She may have known about our contacts and the general outline of what was going on. She wanted it to stop. She had ideas to put these few scientists above the interests of her country.”
  
  
  “Were,” I corrected him. “She had ideas to put humanitarian ideals above local political maneuvers. You found out about it and they killed her.”
  
  
  “I told you,” said the Russian. “We do everything to protect our contact and its work.”
  
  
  I smiled mentally. In fact, I knew more about his dirty little game than the Russians. All they knew was that they had contact. I knew who he was, and now they had actually betrayed their benefactor without knowing it. Of course, there were a lot of questions to which I did not yet have answers. What made Carl Christ act, for example. And how did he achieve his dirty goals?
  
  
  "Why did you take so long to move?" - I asked casually. "As you know, I've been on board since last night."
  
  
  “We were waiting to see where you were going. Obviously, you are going to Zurich,” Vanuskin said. He smiled again. “Or, more accurately, you were going to Zurich.”
  
  
  Vanuskin and the others suddenly began talking among themselves. My Russian was more than good enough to understand them, and what I heard was not intended to be published. They discussed how best to eliminate me. Things were getting more complicated. I needed to get out, and quickly. I was safe for a while when the train slowed to pass through a small village. There was little room to do anything in the cramped compartment. Even Hugo was inadequate. I could kill one, maybe two, and that's it. I realized the situation and it was grim. Two heavyweights stood at the door. Vanuskin was in front of me. The fourth person was on the right, I heard Vanuskin conclude the discussion with his decision. With me they will take the least risk and do all the work here in the compartment. A quick glance out the window showed me that we were starting to cross a high overpass. I saw blue water below, too far below. But this was my only chance. At the last moment they concentrated on the conversation. I slowly raised my hand. The emergency brake cable hung directly above my head. I pulled and the train came to an emergency stop with a terrible slam of the brakes on the wheels. Everyone flew to the left side of the compartment. Everyone but me. I was ready for this and rushed to the window, crossing my arms in front of me to cover my face. I hit the window with full force, felt shards of glass hit my hands and forehead, and then I fell, doing a slow, lazy somersault in the air. My ankles hit the handrail of the overpass and knocked me over onto my side. I noticed the train above me stopping and the water too far below my falling body. It wasn't a proper dive anyway, and although I tried to concentrate, when I hit the water it was as if I'd hit a concrete wall at full tilt. My body shook from the impact. I plunged into the water and instinctively rose to the surface, gasping for air.
  
  
  I was stunned, wounded, bleeding from small wounds from the glass, my body ached in every bone and muscle. Half-shocked, I still managed to get to the shore, fortunately not far away. As I stood on the gravelly, rocky ground, my head cleared just enough for me to realize how much pain I was in. My muscles and bones seemed completely different as I struggled to pull myself up on the rocky shore. I had not gone far when I heard a shot and felt a tearing, burning pain in my leg, right in my thigh. The force of the shot caused my body to turn almost completely, and I saw four figures running along the overpass, the train stopping halfway across the narrow bridge. It would take them a while to get to where I was. I looked down at my foot as another shot sent a hail of gravel onto my foot. The leg hurt excruciatingly and was bleeding heavily. They must have used a .45. The tree line beckoned ahead
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  , and I reached for them, stumbling on shaking, trembling legs. My wounded leg hurt a lot, but the impact on the water shook me greatly. All this made me dizzy.
  
  
  I fell to the ground and crawled forward, feeling my arms weaken, feeling the loss of blood. My pant leg was a soaked red rag and I knew I was leaving a mark a mile wide. The forest line suddenly ended and I looked at a pasture where several cows were grazing. Now it was difficult to raise my head, and the scene looked blurry. I saw a farmhouse and barn on the other side of the green pasture. I sat up, swaying dizzily, shaking my head to clear it. “If I could get to the barn, I could hide there,” I thought vaguely, and at the same moment I realized that the trail of blood would lead them straight to me. I began to turn to take a few tentative, weak steps along the edge of the trees when I heard a child's cry, close but strangely distant. Then I was on all fours, the earth floating in front of me. I fell forward and half rolled over onto my back. I saw a child, a little blond girl, about ten years old, with pigtails and wide eyes. Then I saw a woman appear behind her who looked like an older version of a child. I raised my head and fell again. I didn't completely black out, but I saw the world in moments of clarity mixed with moments of gray fog. I felt hands lift my shoulders and they managed to focus on the woman's face above me. It was a beautiful face, a sweet, beautiful face. I felt her trying to move me, to lift me.
  
  
  “No... no,” I said hoarsely. “Car... take the car.” I felt the woman stop, put my shoulders on the grass and heard her talking to the child. I didn't hear or see anything until I felt myself being lifted and a hard wheelbarrow ride rolled over me. The blows brought me to my senses for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of the farmhouse, which was now very close, and a sweet face that looked at me with concern.
  
  
  “Men... carefully... want me,” I croaked. That's all I could do. Darkness fell again.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  I woke up a few hours later, I found out in time, with aching pain in my body. I was alone in a dark room that smelled like a damp basement. I lay quietly, letting my head clear. My groping hands told me that I was on a cot, covered with a blanket, naked under the blanket. I tried to stretch and almost screamed in pain. Every muscle screamed. My leg was in particular pain, and my probing hands told me that it had been bandaged with cloth. I lay quietly on my back and took a deep breath. This fall from the overpass hit me hard. I lay there and heard the sound of the door opening. The door was in the ceiling, and a beam of light fell, illuminating the steep short stairs. The figure of a woman descended with a lamp in her hand, followed by a child in nightwear.
  
  
  “You’re awake,” the woman said in English in a faint Swiss accent. "Very good." I was right even in my fuzzy, foggy state. She had a beautiful face, soft and tender, with beautiful lips and fair hair that was framed like a halo around her head. She wore a dirndl skirt and a dark blue blouse that matched her soft blue eyes.
  
  
  "How are you feeling?" - she asked, leaning over me and placing the lamp on a small wooden table that I did not see next to the bed. There was a chair nearby.
  
  
  “It’s like I fell out of a speeding train,” I said.
  
  
  "That's exactly what you did, Mr. Carter," she smiled. “Even though I jumped, I didn’t fall.” She smiled and sat down on the chair. The blouse fit tighter to her deep, heavy chest. “I'm afraid I looked through your papers,” she apologized almost shyly, her lips soft in a slow smile. “And the people who stopped told me they were looking for an escaped prisoner who jumped off the train.”
  
  
  She shuddered and her eyes suddenly became distant. “They were scary,” she continued. "Ruthless. Cold. They'll be back. I'm sure".
  
  
  "Why are you sure of this?" I asked.
  
  
  "I've encountered their type before," she replied simply, a terrible sadness clouding her face.
  
  
  "But you didn't believe what they said about me?"
  
  
  “No,” she replied. “The prisoners do not have the passports and documents that you had, Mr. Carter. I don’t know why they were chasing you, but it’s not because you’re an ordinary escaped prisoner.”
  
  
  “Thank you for your insight,” I said. "What is your name?"
  
  
  "Emily," she said. “Emilia Grutskaya, and this is my daughter Gerda.”
  
  
  "Is your husband away?" I asked.
  
  
  “No,” she said. “Gerda and I manage the farm alone. My husband is dead. Now rest." She stood up, not paying attention to further conversations on this topic. “I'll be back later,” she said. "I'll put Gerda to bed."
  
  
  I watched as the woman and child climbed the steps and closed the hatch. The short conversation tired me, I was amazed and angry about it. My eyes have closed
  
  
  
  
  
  
  no matter what, and I fell asleep in seconds. I woke up only when I heard the hatch opening. This time Emily was alone, wearing a shawl wrapped around an opaque nightgown, her hair long hanging behind her back. I saw that this woman had some kind of ancient beauty, gentle but strong, young and at the same time feminine, as if a Vermeer painting had come to life. She was carrying a small iron pot with a long handle and a spoon sticking out of it. There was soup in the pot that tasted absolutely wonderful. She sat down on the chair next to me and watched me slowly sip the soup. She propped me up with an extra pillow and looked at me as I sat bare-chested, smooth muscled skin belying the internal pain of my body.
  
  
  “Your clothes are ruined, of course,” she said. “Your personal things are there in the corner along with your work pants and shirt, I think they'll suit you when you're ready for them, that is. I think it could be a long time.”
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment and then slowly smiled her half-sad, slow smile. “I hope it doesn’t bother you that I undressed you,” she said. "I think not. You are not the kind of person who is easily embarrassed. Somehow this seems obvious to you, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  “Nick,” I said.
  
  
  “I didn’t want to talk about my husband in front of Gerda,” she said. “The child knows enough. She didn't need to know the details at the moment. The Soviet Union killed my husband. He was Hungarian and became a freedom fighter during the occupation. I'm Swiss and we lived in Hungary at the time. The Russians caught him after a long search. That's why I know the people who stayed here. I've met their colleagues before, many times. My parents died and this was their farm. I took the child and ran away. We're back here. and we have been working on the farm ever since. It's hard work, but we're happy."
  
  
  "Any help?" I asked. “Aren’t any young people interested in two such cute girls?”
  
  
  “I’m hiring extra help to help with the harvest,” she said. “As for your men, here in Europe they are not interested in women with children. Maybe someday I'll meet someone. Who knows?" A smile, both sad and warm, flashed across her face.
  
  
  “If they come back, I need to get out of here,” I said.
  
  
  “You are not strong enough yet,” the woman said. “You won't get very far between the shock to your system and the loss of blood from your leg. Besides, they won't find you here. You are safe."
  
  
  She stood up. “I’m going to change the bandage on your leg,” she said, opening a wooden chest on the other side of the small basement and taking out fresh strips of cloth. She worked quietly, gently, with a minimum of pain for me. But when she finished, I was more than happy to lie back on the bed. She gave me one last reassuring smile as she disappeared down the steps and the hatch closed me in the darkness again. Nick Carter, I told myself, sometimes you're a lucky bastard.
  
  
  I fell asleep until late in the morning and was awakened by muffled voices from the floor above. I sat down. My body stopped hurting as much, but my leg still hurt a lot. After a while the voices died down and Emily came down.
  
  
  “I told you they’ll be back,” she said grimly. “There were two more this time, for a total of six.” There was a stubborn stubbornness on her face as I watched her change the bandage on my leg again. “I hear they ask at every farm in the area,” she said.
  
  
  “They're counting on me not being able to get far,” I said. “And they are right too. But they won’t get me and won’t hurt you.”
  
  
  “Don't worry about me,” she said. “I'm happier than you think to help anyone against them. Nick... - she paused, - what do they need you for? Who are you in fact?"
  
  
  She deserved the truth and I told her without going into the details of living death and Carl Crist.
  
  
  “I imagined something like this,” she said, stopping at the steps and looking at me again. “It's nice to know that we have people like you on our side. They are cold and ruthless. They are difficult to stop. But I think you can beat them, Nick. Yes, I think so... yes, I know.”
  
  
  I grinned at her. "Do you think I'm cold and ruthless?"
  
  
  “I think the time is coming for cold and ruthless action,” she replied seriously. I shrugged. It was a pretty good score. She left and I returned to my rest. It paid off. By evening I felt much better. My leg was my main problem. There was a nice hole in it that luckily didn't tear off any vital muscle. But it still hurt like hell. When Emily arrived with the milk and cheese, she smiled, but I immediately noticed the worried look in her eyes. I immediately smelled it.
  
  
  “They’re back,” I said decisively. She nodded.
  
  
  “They followed a trail of blood to where I put you in the car,” she said. “He just disappears there, and they are puzzled by it.”
  
  
  “With bewilderment and suspicion towards you,” I added. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. I knew what Vanuskin was thinking. Tenacious, persistent,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  unimaginative, his narrow-mindedness is an advantage in this kind of operation. He couldn't imagine me doing anything smart to escape, so he kept wandering and searching. I immediately made a decision. I was going to clean up. I wouldn't put Emily and the baby in danger anymore. I changed the subject to talk about the farm. Emily was happy to agree and told me about two of her proudest possessions, the four-disc plow on her tractor and the Volkswagen truck. The plow, she proudly told me, was seventeen feet across, and four razor-sharp disc blades could plow through an entire field in one day. We talked until it was time to put Gerda to bed and she left me alone again.
  
  
  I lay awake thinking about my next move. One thing was certain. I didn't intend to stay in the house any longer. If they come back again, they might decide to get rude and really search the place. If I had been there, they would have killed the child and Emily, as well as me. But I knew my leg needed at least one more day of rest. I stopped at the barn. They had no doubt that it had already gone well. I could stay there out of everyone's sight. Satisfied with my plans, I sat back and Emily returned to bed herself, this time wearing blue pajamas under a long shawl. We talked quietly for a while, and then as she walked away, I took her wrist.
  
  
  "Can I say something in my own way?" I asked. She nodded, her eyes soft. I leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. Her lips parted only for a moment, just enough for a brief answer.
  
  
  “Thank you for everything, Emily,” I said quietly. She understood and said nothing except gratitude in her eyes. “You are as good as you are beautiful, Emily Grutskaya,” I said, meaning every damn word.
  
  
  I lay quietly in the dark again, but this time I did not fall asleep. I waited deep into the night to make sure they were both fast asleep. I slipped out of the bunk, dressed in the work pants and shirt I found in the corner along with my papers and Hugo, which I carefully strapped to my forearm. My leg was still causing me a lot of pain, I carefully opened the hatch, found that there was a small rug on it, which I carefully put down, and walked out of the house. It was my way of saying thank you to her.
  
  
  VII
  
  
  I watched the sun rise from my perch in the hayloft of the barn. From here, reached by a side staircase, I had a clear view of the house, most of the pasture, and a deep ravine to the left through two open doors. I noticed a shiny four-bladed disc plow sitting in the corner of the barn, opposite the cow stalls. Every step up the stairs sent a tearing pain through my leg, and I was happy to lie in the hay of the attic and let the pain subside. At dawn I closed my eyes and fell asleep again. I have come to the conclusion that pain is a great drug. The sounds of movement below woke me up, and I looked out to see Gerda letting the cows out into the pasture. I looked through the wide open doorway and saw Emily step out of the house to slowly scan the pasture, her eyes taking in every inch of the field. I knew what she was looking for - signs of me. She found me gone. I had no doubt that she would understand.
  
  
  Gerda finished driving the cows to pasture and left. I rolled over onto my back and rested a little more. I wanted to give my leg all the help I could. I'll need it soon. The scream almost made me sit up abruptly. I rolled over onto my stomach and looked out the barn door. I saw Vanuskin and his team, all six of them. Two of them were holding Emily, and while I was watching, Vanuskin hit her in the face again with the back of his hand. Emily screamed again. Another Russian held Gerda's hand. Then I saw what Vanuskin was holding in his other hand, a bundle of blood-soaked tissue. I immediately collected the picture. They searched everywhere and found the rags Emily used to bandage my leg. She probably threw them in the trash heap instead of burning them. I cursed myself for not thinking to tell her.
  
  
  "Where is he, bitch?" I heard Vanuskin growl. He was furious. He was probably given hell by Moscow for letting me go, and now he had his first real opportunity.
  
  
  “Take her down and tie her to that tree,” Vanuskin ordered one of his men, pointing to a young oak tree nearby. While Gerda gasped, they tore Emily's clothes off, dragged her to a tree and tied her to it. Her face turned purple with shame and embarrassment as she stood helplessly naked. She had, as I expected, a full figure, heavy by American standards, but well proportioned, large, heavy hips balancing heavy breasts and legs that were quite slender. Like her face, it was an old-fashioned figure, feminine and girlish at the same time. I saw one of the Russian heavyweights take off his leather belt on Vanuskin's instructions. The Russian pulled his hand back and hit him with his belt. He hit Emily in the stomach and
  
  
  
  
  
  
  she screamed in pain. A red welt instantly appeared on her white skin.
  
  
  “It was just an example,” Vanuskin said. "Where is it? Where did you hide it?"
  
  
  "He's not here," Emily spat. "I don't know anything about him." Vanuskin gave a sign with a snap of his finger. The Russian with the belt stepped forward and swung again. Another followed, then another, beating the woman with sadistic pleasure. I watched, gritting my teeth in anger, as Emily's white skin turned into a mass of ugly red welts and bruises. Now she was constantly screaming. Vanuskin ordered to stop, and I saw Emily's head fall forward, her body shaking with sobs.
  
  
  "Are you ready to talk now?" - he demanded an answer, pulling her head back by her hair. Emily looked at Gerda, who stood motionless in the Russian's arms, overcome with horror and fear, her cheeks stained with tears.
  
  
  “Don't tell them anything, my dear,” Emily shouted. “These are the people who killed your father.”
  
  
  I saw how the girl suddenly tore her hand away and evaded the Russian's grasp. She ran straight to the barn.
  
  
  “Let her go,” I heard Vanuskin order. “Okay, get what we want to know from her mother. Go work with her again.”
  
  
  Emily's screams mingled with the baby's heartbreaking sobs as she ran into the barn and stopped for a moment almost directly below me, her hands pressed to her ears, trying to drown out her mother's agonizing screams. We'll have to act. Emily didn't break, behind that gentle exterior lay a steely determination; but soon her beautiful full body began to tear apart from the lashes. She will have scars that will never heal. I shouted to Gerda, who stumbled into one of the haystacks to hide there. She looked up in surprise.
  
  
  “Here, Gerda,” I whispered. “Come here, quickly.” She climbed the stairs, her eyes wide open. Moments of despair give rise to desperate plans. I studied the ravine that I noticed on the left. I guessed it was about ten feet deep and no more than eighteen feet wide. It was normal. The tighter the better. It was fifty feet or more long.
  
  
  “We’re going to save your mom,” I told the child. “But I will need your help. You have to do exactly what I tell you, understand?”
  
  
  She listened carefully and we walked down the stairs together, Emily's screams quieting for a moment. She was interrogated again. I couldn't ignore the searing pain in my leg, but hatred forced me to ignore it. While Gerda rushed from the barn back to the house, I climbed onto the tractor attached to the four-disc plow. The Russian with the belt raised his hand to begin beating Emily again as the child ran onto the scene.
  
  
  “Stop it,” she screamed. “I'll tell you where he is. He ran down into the ravine over there. He's hiding there."
  
  
  Vanuskin's smile was triumphant. He immediately headed towards the ravine with a gun in his hand. The rest of his team followed on his heels. I waited until they were going down the steep slopes. I wanted to give them time to go deeper into the ravine. Then I started the tractor and flew out of the barn. He jumped off the steep slopes into a ravine, almost flipping over on top of me. I turned the disc plows on at high speed, and their whirring, swirling motion caused a hum. I knew that running a plow down the steep sides of a ravine wouldn't do much good, but it was either a bent plow or Emily's broken body. I thought Emily would prefer the former. The Russians were racing through a horizontal ravine when the roar of a tractor driving into the ravine sent them spinning as one. I stood the tractor up high, raised the rotating blades about a foot and a half off the ground, and locked them in place. I was lying on the tractor seat, my legs hanging over the back of the seat. Raising one hand, I controlled the tractor more by instinct than by sight. I heard a shower of bullets hit the metal of the plow and tractor, ricocheting off the plow frame. Too late, Vanuskin and the others saw what was happening. They tried to climb the steep slopes, but fell again. The plow was already upon them, the rotating steel discs humming in their circular motion. I felt the blades as they struck human flesh and bones, heard cutting, crunching, grinding sounds and heard the terrible screams of people being cut into pieces. It was sickening, and I was tempted to pull the lever that stopped the whirring of the blades, but I thought of the woman who died for caring for the world, of the handsome old man crawling on the floor, of eight brilliant minds reduced to idiocy. .
  
  
  I lie flat and release the tractor forward, placing the rotating disc blades in front of it. When there was silence, when the last of the intermittent screams ended, I turned on the tractor and moved into the gorge. The blades did their job. The scene in front of me is not for the sensitive. I backed up to the end of the ravine and climbed out.
  
  
  When I approached the house, Gerda
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He had already untied his mother, put a robe on her and helped her get into bed. Emily's body was still trembling, still trembling, and her sobs filled the room when I entered. She looked at me, the fear still fresh in her eyes.
  
  
  “It's over,” I said. "They won't come back." I didn't need to say any more. I sent Gerda to herd the cows with orders to stay away from the ravine. Pulling the blanket off her, I let my eyes roam over Emily's soft, plump body, red with raised welts and ugly marks. She had her eyes closed, but she reached out and took my hand, I brought towels, hot water and gently bathed her with hot compresses. I left her in bed, and when Gerda returned later, I prepared dinner for us.
  
  
  “Now is my time to be a nurse,” I said. I asked if there was a lake nearby other than the one I ended up in when I jumped off the train. She said that to the north, about ten miles, there was a river that ran quickly through the mountains. After midnight I got into a Volkswagen panel van and drove into the ravine. Using a shovel and a blanket, I loaded the remains of the NKVD group, brought them to the river and dumped them. It was a terrible thing.
  
  
  When I returned, I wanted to drink, just so the fire would destroy the taste in my mouth. I was surprised to find Emily awake and sitting up in bed, waiting for me. In response to my question, she pointed to the closet where I found a bottle of Kümmel. I poured two glasses and the strong aroma of cumin was a welcome taste. I sat on the bed next to Emily and although she was in her nightgown, I noticed that the redness and raised areas had decreased significantly. We finished the kümmel and I felt her hand on my chest. Her face turned towards me and she raised her lips. I kissed her tenderly, tenderly. There was something tender about this woman.
  
  
  "Stay with me tonight, Nick," she whispered. “Just let me feel your body against mine. Please". I stroked her cheek and took off her nightgown. I undressed and lay down next to her, binding the softness of her skin with a warm and pleasant sensation. She turned to me and one full, heavy breast fell onto my chest.
  
  
  “It’s been a long, long time since I slept with a man,” Emily said quietly. “I don't want you to make love to me. This will only open up passions and feelings that I have long put aside. You'll be gone in a day or so. I know it. carry me."
  
  
  I pulled her close to me and she pressed her legs against mine. I could make love to her. She was certainly pretty enough in her own way as a girl-woman, and her body had its own carnal sensuality. But I just hugged her to me.
  
  
  "Do you understand what I'm saying, Nick?" she asked. “A person like you who can’t afford to get involved with anyone.”
  
  
  “You'll be surprised at what I can figure out if I try a little,” I said softly, cradling her head in my hands. I held her quietly and she fell asleep in my arms, a wonderfully sweet woman waiting for the happiness she deserved, waiting for someone to bring it to her. I wasn't the one. She was right about that. I could only give her a moment, a moment that could do more harm than good on a long trip.
  
  
  When dawn came and the sun woke us up, she snuggled up to me for a long time, and then quickly stood up, with grateful tenderness in her eyes.
  
  
  I left that night. She took me to a nearby town where I boarded the milk train that would eventually end up in Zurich. There is still a lot of dirt ahead, a lot of answers that need to be sought out. All the real questions remained unanswered. How? Why? When?
  
  
  A man named Carl Christ was still living untouched. We still had to pay, although now I imagined he felt safe again. Fine. I liked it.
  
  
  VIII
  
  
  My first step in Zurich was to contact AX about financial arrangements for Central Europe. There was enough money for new clothes and shoes. The fall in the lake almost ruined all the paper money I had. Having made do with some ready-to-wear items, I decided whether to pay Karl a friendly visit. This could serve a purpose. This will, firstly, show how surprised he was to see me, and perhaps make one or two more feints. But now I had an advantage, why waste it? He set his Russian friends against me and hasn't heard from them since. He would have thought they had done their job. I decided to wait until dark and pay him a night visit.
  
  
  When it got dark, I took a taxi to the address I had given and stopped it a block away. Krist lived in a modest private house, and I was glad that I carefully approached him on foot. I almost ran into him as he walked away, barely managing to duck behind a tree, feeling like something out of a cartoon. I watched his lumbering figure walk down the street and noticed again, as he passed several other people, that his roundness was deceptive. He was about six feet. He looked dressed for at least dinner out, perhaps a night on the town. I carefully examined his house,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  on all four sides. The light turned off. I was glad to find out that he was a bachelor. The windows were low and provided the most convenient entrance. First I tried the ones in the back so they wouldn't be seen by passing strollers. Surprisingly, they were unlocked and within fifteen seconds I was in the house. I closed the window behind me. He also carefully equipped every room of the house with softly glowing night lights. There is not much lighting, but enough for a quick inspection. There was nothing unusual in the living room, bedroom and kitchen. I found a small office leading from the living room, closed the door and turned on the lamp. I didn't find anything unusual there either. ISS correspondence and financial reports made up most of the papers on the desk. I turned off the lamp and went out into the corridor, where I saw a door and stairs leading to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs I found a switch.
  
  
  Light flooded the large rectangular room lined with soundproof wall panels. In the center of the room stood a laboratory table with a row of stoppered test tubes and neatly arranged vials. But what caught my attention was the device lying on the table, partially disassembled. There was a drawing nearby, and I felt my pulse quicken. I had only seen two or three of these before, but I knew immediately that this was a powerful air pistol. It was one of the latest models, and suddenly thoughts lit up in my head. Compressed air guns were the newest injection device, eliminating the physical and psychological pain of a hypodermic needle. The gun was pressed against the patient's skin, and under intense pressure the injection itself, the liquid itself, went straight through the skin into the veins. Under strong compression, the liquid itself turned into a stream, a needle of liquid that penetrated painlessly and instantly. Except for one important fact, I was looking at a device that could shoot poison, virus, or electric shock at a person who didn't know it. The important fact was that the compressed air injection guns I had ever seen were big, heavy, and clumsy. The injection itself may not be painful, but you will likely notice someone using one of these things.
  
  
  I was studying the drawing of the gun and was wondering about several small figures that were apparently marked in pencil on the diagram. I concentrated on the drawing, but nevertheless, I suddenly noticed that the hair on the back of my hand stood on end. My failsafe built-in alarm system told me I was not alone. I slowly turned around and saw Christ standing at the foot of the stairs with a gun in his hand. The round face did not express a smile, and dots of bright anger darted in the small eyes. I saw that he was wearing socks, which explained his quiet approach. As I found out, this was only a partial explanation.
  
  
  “I'm surprised, I have to admit,” Carl Crist said. “I am also disappointed in my Soviet friends. I thought they did their job."
  
  
  “Don’t be too hard on them,” I replied. “They tried. It’s hard to get rid of me, like fate.”
  
  
  “You also underestimated me,” Crist said as he sank to the floor, pointing the gun at my stomach. "In this regard, you are no different from the rest. I have always been underestimated. I knew someone had entered my house as soon as you walked through the window. I have every window and door protected by an electric eye that triggers a small alarm, a buzzer ", in the receiving device that I always carry with me. Of course, I didn't know it was you, Carter."
  
  
  “Then I was right,” I said. “You are behind all this. You use a compressed air injection gun.”
  
  
  Christa smiled his usual unctuous smile. However, I still couldn't figure out how he did it. There was no way he could use such a large, clunky device on Professor Caldon without me seeing him. I got my answer when he continued.
  
  
  “Of course I don’t use anything that big. You were studying my calculations on a drawing when I came across you. These are abbreviations. I shrunk the whole gun down to the size of a matchbox or a small cigarette lighter." He raised his hand and I saw a small square object in his palm. It made a neat and disgusting machine of destruction.
  
  
  “You used it during the session on the beach,” I said, suddenly aware of what had come over me. The compressed air gun had to be pressed directly against the person's skin. All these blows to the back hid his special purpose.
  
  
  “True,” he admitted. Shrinking a bulky compressed air injection gun was a matter of applied science that somehow did not suit Christie. I couldn't imagine that he had this land of skill or knowledge.
  
  
  "Where would you downsize the gun?" I fired.
  
  
  “An old friend right here in Switzerland,” he said, his smile suddenly turning evil, malevolent. "He was the leading master
  
  
  
  
  
  
  in the watch industry. You forget that miniaturization has been part of our precision watchmaking for generations."
  
  
  "Your old friend, where is he now?" - I asked, knowing what the answer would be. I was right again. The round bastard smiled that unctuous smile.
  
  
  “He had a sudden mental breakdown one day,” he chuckled. "A real tragedy."
  
  
  "Why?" - I asked directly. "Why all this?"
  
  
  "Why?" - he repeated, his small eyes becoming even smaller. “Because they needed to be taught a lesson. Yes, a lesson in humility. Quite a few years ago I approached the International Scholars for membership. I was refused. I wasn't good enough. had no authority to belong to their small elite group. I was just a self-taught physics teacher in a private school. They looked down on me. Later, when I conceived my plan, I applied for my current position with them. They were glad to see me for it, their paid lackey, their devoted servant."
  
  
  Crist was a fifteen-karat first-class psychopath. It was clear that he had been harboring a monumental grudge all these years.
  
  
  “Why only those people who work with Western powers?” I continued my research. This one still eluded me.
  
  
  “Those who rejected me were all people belonging to or working with the Western powers,” he replied with some heat. “Russian and Chinese scientists joined the ISS only a few years later, in accordance with the International Scientific Agreement. Now I'm almost ready to go to the Soviet Union and reveal myself. The world will see how willingly they will accept me into the Soviet Academy of Sciences. They recognize me for the genius that I am."
  
  
  I pointed to the vials on the laboratory table. He may have been as crazy as fruit pie, but he seemed to have come up with something terribly effective.
  
  
  "What do you use in these bottles?" I asked. He nodded triumphantly. “Yes, indeed,” he smiled. “It’s a substance that specifically attacks brain tissue, causing fungal growth within twenty-four hours that cuts off the oxygen supply to the brain cells.”
  
  
  I felt myself frowning. A fungus that specifically attacks brain tissue. This rang a bell for me. Several years ago I knew a Dr. Forsyth who was working with such a fungus, trying to develop growth that would stop the spread of damaged brain cells or cancer cells. I looked closely at Christa.
  
  
  "Isn't this what Dr. Howard Forsythe was working on for positive purposes when he had his heart attack a few years ago?" - I asked. Crist's round jaw trembled and he blushed. “Yes, and I managed to get his formulas,” he shouted. “But I developed my own use for them.”
  
  
  He was an idiot. “I turned his discovery into a powerful tool... I unleashed his power!
  
  
  “They tried to take away my rightful place in the scientific community. But I showed them! I stole the minds of their so-called geniuses. I am better than all of them - better, you hear, the best! "
  
  
  Around that time I stopped listening to his rants. Clearly this man was crazy. Ingenious - but dangerous, deadly attempts to use the research results of a respected doctor. I was wondering how Christ found someone to downsize the compressed air injection gun. What luck for him to have a friend in the watch industry - of course, he himself was completely incapable of such a difficult feat. His voice rose to a squeal and I heard his words again.
  
  
  "I'll get you too!" Chris shouted, rushing at me. His shot, fired in mad rage, missed. I had Hugo in the palm of my hand and it cut through the air in the blink of an eye. Christine turned away and the stiletto went straight through the wrist of his gun hand. He screamed in pain and the gun fell to the floor. I dove, but he hit me, and I had to roll away from the blow. Before I had another chance, he threw the gun away and I saw it slide into the narrow space under the laboratory table. I grabbed him, but like many fat men, he was surprisingly light on his feet and avoided my grip. Then, in his strange and twisted way, he did something I didn't expect. Instead of removing the pin from his wrist, he struck with his hand. The sharp point of the stiletto, which passed through the wrist, acted like a spear point at the end of the arm, rather than like a spear. I backed away, avoiding the thrusts of his hand, and was hit hard right in the middle of my stomach. My hand sank into it, and although it felt the impact, it had a natural padding for protection. He swung angrily at me. I dove under him and grabbed his wrist to hold him in a judo hold. I had to step back to avoid being hit by my own weapon. Krist attacked me again, swinging his right arm. I gave way and we walked around the edge of the laboratory table. Suddenly I saw an opening and came in with a right, part uppercut, part right cross. I threw him out of the squat and saw that I lifted him off his feet and forced him to stretch out on the smooth table. His body crashed into the bubbles
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  and the sound of breaking glass echoed as the entire row fell to the floor. I reached across the table for it. He pulled back and kicked with both legs, I turned enough to not catch the full force of the kick, but he threw me back. He jumped off the other side of the table and with an unexpected movement rushed towards the stairs. It took me another two seconds to walk around the long table. I walked down the steps when he slammed the door and I heard the lock click. I stepped back and looked around for something I could use to break the door. Using your shoulder when you need to hit up a ladder is pretty ineffective. I heard a hissing sound and looked up at the ceiling vent. A whitish cloud flew into the basement through the ventilation hole. I felt my lungs already begin to contract. In desperation, I looked around, but there were no windows at all. The room was a rectangular box. I rushed to the door, but it resisted. Gas was released in huge quantities through the vent. I felt my eyes water and the room began to float. It was a combination of apprehension, surprise and relief when I realized that the gas was not one of the deadly types, but a soporific one. I grabbed onto the staircase railing as the room spun faster. This thought flashed through my hazy mind. Why turn on the gas? Why not the real deadly things? As I rushed forward, I realized it wasn't because he was being kind. He wondered if I would become a vegetable in twenty-four hours. Before I lost consciousness, a ridiculous thought flashed through my head. If that were the case, I hoped I would become a cucumber.
  
  
  IX
  
  
  The gas was running out. My eyes were watering, so I had no idea where I was. But I knew one thing. I'm frozen. In fact, I was so cold that I was shaking. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. Gradually I began to see, but at first all I could discern were large areas of black and white. I fell, feeling the wind, along with the cold, and as I focused my eyes, I began to see snow, snow and darkness and a feeling of being suspended in the air, which is exactly where I was, sitting in the chairlift that was moving up its cable over the ski slope. I looked down and saw Krist standing by the working mechanism. Behind it was a darkened cabin for ski equipment. I heard his voice calling me.
  
  
  “Consider yourself lucky, Carter,” he said. “My injector body has run out of fluid, otherwise I would immediately destroy your mind. Since you've broken all the vials in the lab, it will be at least a month before I can prepare a new batch. You will of course be dead in a few minutes. But it will be pure death, although this prospect does not suit me. The authorities will write this off as the result of trespassing by a stupid skier leading to his own death."
  
  
  Christ's figure rapidly diminished as the ski chair carried me upward, but I noticed the moonlight flickering from the blade of the ax he held in one hand. I saw the picture too clearly. When I got higher, he was going to break the cable. I would have been killed. I saw the lights of Zurich flickering below. He took me to one of the high mountains near the city, put me on a chairlift and set the elevator in motion. If I hadn't woken up from the cold, I would never have known what happened. I wonder what he was waiting for? I was more than high enough, but the elevator kept going higher. I looked at the cable he was hanging on. When it was clicked, the chair with me in it fell. But I calculated that the cable would also fall loosely. There would have been a moment, no more than a fleeting moment if I had known my gravitational principles, when the broken cable hung in the air before slackening to lower the chair down. I slowly, carefully rose up, resting my feet on the straps on which I was sitting. The chair rocked and I lowered my center of gravity a little. I didn't want to beat Christ to his goal.
  
  
  Suddenly I heard it, a sharp crack echoing in the cold night air, bouncing off the mountains. I felt the cable shake, the chair began to lower, and I jumped, grabbing the air with my hands. My fingers wrapped around the cable and slid down. I wrapped my legs around the still twitching, fastening cable and slowed down the slide a little. I walked down the cable when I heard the soft thud of a chair hitting the snow below. I slid faster than I wanted, and my hands burned, skin tearing away from the friction of the smooth cable. The cable, still held at the top end of the elevator, swung freely in a wide arc, and I felt like the very small end of a giant pendulum. Krist was far away, at the other end of the chairlift, so I didn't have to worry about him at the moment. All I had to do was get to the end of the cable before my arms gave out completely and then try to avoid freezing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  to death in the snow and ice of the mountain.
  
  
  Squeezing my legs together so hard my muscles groaned, I slowed my descent just enough to save my arms. Finally I reached the end of the cable. There was still a terrible fall to the ground. I quickly prayed for soft snow and let go of the cable. The snow was soft. I was almost back to normal, my teeth were chattering as I climbed out. I wanted to have some idea where the hell I was on this dark, snowy mountain. I started to go down. It had to lead somewhere. The moon was higher and reflected off the snow to at least give me plenty of light. Less than ten minutes had passed before my legs turned into blocks of ice. Kristen might win after all, I realized with despair. Even a person dressed for this could easily freeze to death in the snow. No matter how I was dressed, it was almost certain. I slapped my legs and found that they, too, were quickly losing all sensation. I didn't go any further. I dragged my lifeless limbs through the snow. Suddenly I saw a dark square shape ahead. I came across it, a shack on the piste, a resting place for skiers. It was just a shack and nothing more. There was no fireplace, but it was protected from the biting wind and free from snow. I also saw four pairs of skis lined up against one wall, a replacement in case the skis or bindings broke.
  
  
  I grabbed a pair and almost screamed with joy. They could have saved me from freezing to death. I restored circulation to my feet and legs, strapped my skis to my boots as best I could, and began my descent.
  
  
  I took it as lightly as possible. Without proper ski boots I risked losing my skis on every turn, and without poles I couldn't find the time. I was still cold, my body freezing from the wind from skiing, but I could handle it until I reached the bottom. That's when I heard the soft whoosh of skis on the snow, the occasional pop of snow as the skier made a sharp turn. I looked back and saw a figure walking behind me, his round shape unmistakable. The bastard left nothing to chance. He skied to make sure I was lying dead at the end of the rope, and when he found only a chair, he knew I was still alive. He noticed me now, and I sped up, but I knew that I couldn’t escape the rushing figure. He walked quickly behind me and I looked over my shoulder. As he rushed at me, I saw him pick up one of the sharp poles and throw it in front of me. I made a tight turn and he rushed past while I managed to hold on to my skis. He walked forward, and as he approached the foot of the slope the trees became denser. I lost him only to suddenly find him behind me again, coming towards me again, this time from the side. He struck again with the pole. This time the dagger-like point stabbed me into the shoulder of my suit as I barely managed to dodge it. He made a semi-circle, and as I passed by, trying to stay in a straight line as much as possible, he tried to grab me again. He came in quickly with the pole raised, but this time instead of turning away to avoid him, I turned towards him, ducked and slammed my shoulder into his stomach as the pole flew over my head. He flew backwards, the loose fasteners coming apart as we collided. My boots also jumped out of my skis, and I felt like I was sliding forward. Krist jumped to her feet as quickly as I did and rushed at me with wild hesitation. I saw that he took Hugo out of his wrist and put a thick bandage there. He was on a higher part of the slope, and with one sharp swing I hit the cheekbone. It didn't hurt too much, but I lost my balance and fell backwards. His heavy ski boots caught my head. I grabbed his ankle and twisted it. He screamed and stumbled to his hands and knees. I hit him hard on the right jaw as he rose to his feet. He was tumbling in the snow. I went after him and landed another hard right hand on him as he struggled to his feet. This time he fell a good six feet before hitting the snow. He stood up, head down, trying to rush. I leveled him with a crushing left uppercut and a perfect right cross. I felt a blow to the tip of his jaw. He turned halfway and fell backwards. When he hit the ground, I saw that he had sunk into a crevice, a deep crack in the mountain. I saw his figure go down, and then a good half ton of snow fell on him. I didn't dare get too close. I couldn't see where the snow would do the same to me. And again silence and wind were my only companions. They won't meet Karl Christ until the snow melts, if he ever does in these mountains. I put my skis back on and continued down the slope, finally reaching a brightly lit chalet. The post-ski crowd was in full swing, dancing to the chords in a sort of alpine disco. I rested my skis on the wooden walls of the chalet and
  
  
  
  
  
  
  moved on. There was an empty old taxi at the taxi rank. I tracked down the driver and found him enjoying the warmth of the small waiting room. I thawed out when he drove me back to Zurich.
  
  
  All the dirty deeds are over. I had been close to death many times before, but when I thought about how close I was to being a vegetable, alive but truly dead, my flesh shut down. I have rarely been so happy to finish a task. I didn't even try to get a hotel for the rest of the night. In rumpled clothes, dirty and unshaven, I went straight to Christy's house, proceeding in the same way as at first. I went down to the basement; the faint smell of gas still hung in the air. Broken vials were scattered, their contents already forming a thick paste-like mucus on the floor. I didn't take any risks with this material. I carefully walked around him, making sure he wasn't touching my shoes. It has proven its virulence and effectiveness. A cut finger that grazed him might be all he needs. After collecting the compressed air injection gun diagrams with miniaturization symbols, I found a briefcase to put them in and went upstairs. I searched the house thoroughly and at last found a sheaf of papers which appeared to be Dr. Forsythe's original notes on the substance which Karl Christst had turned into his own hands. I was confident that our scientists would be able to do something with the basic material.
  
  
  It was already light when I arrived at the airport and I was lucky enough to catch an early flight to London where, despite my appearance, I was allowed to check in at the Royal Albert Hotel. However, to do this I had to use my official authority. The British still believe that a gentleman should look the part. Having had a good night's sleep, I went out and tried my best to keep the tradition going by buying a decent suit from King's Row. The one I bought in Zurich lived a short but active life. But not many suits are used for siding or cable release. And to be honest, I was damn glad I survived.
  
  
  
  I felt better when I called Hawk. I never let an assignment stay with me once it was over. This was fatal for this matter. Never look back. I never saw how close death came. Don't ever think about it.
  
  
  “You did a great job on this, Nick,” Hawk said in a rare moment of excitement.
  
  
  “It was unpleasant from the very beginning. Most of the time you worked in the dark. You say that you have sent all the data and materials that you found. I am confident that our people will be able to take full advantage of this. Good job, N3."
  
  
  I knew when to strike. It was as good a time as ever.
  
  
  “I want to spend the rest of the week here in London, Chief,” I said, diving straight into the water. If I hadn't sat down, I would have fallen.
  
  
  “I think it can be arranged, my boy,” he said. I shook the phone to make sure it wasn't static. “In fact, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you enjoy your few days in London. Great City, London. I had some good friends there at one time.”
  
  
  Before he got to the memory and changed his mind, I thanked him and hung up. His mention of helping me have a good time for a few days was due to his generosity in giving me the day off. At least that's how I perceived it now. For a change, everything began to fall into place beautifully. Even Denny was home when I called. She was cool, or rather, she tried to sound cool. It didn't last more than a few minutes before she agreed to meet me at the Royal Albert.
  
  
  “The girls don’t come out of the closets,” she said.
  
  
  “There are no girls,” I promised. "I can explain it all."
  
  
  “I think I’ve heard that somewhere before,” she laughed.
  
  
  “Maybe yes,” I agreed. "But this time I'm going to explain."
  
  
  “Okay,” she laughed. “If we're going to meet tonight, I want to shower and change clothes. Give me half an hour or so."
  
  
  It was no more than half an hour. It just seemed like it. When she arrived, she was gorgeous in a soft beige that clung in all the right places, rounded her hips and fell off the pointy ends of her upturned breasts to tantalizing effect. She came and stood in front of me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I found her lips, but she turned away.
  
  
  "Not so fast, Nick Carter," she said. "I've waited so long and I can wait a few more moments."
  
  
  She stepped back and looked around the room and I could see her foot tapping impatiently as she crossed her arms over those beautiful bulging breasts.
  
  
  "Waiting for something?" I chuckled.
  
  
  “Just want to make sure this time,” she said with a quick smile.
  
  
  “You have become suspicious in your old age,” I said confidently.
  
  
  “I’m not old and I don’t suspect it,” she replied. “I just had all the surprises I want to avoid for a while.”
  
  
  Finally she came up to me again and smiled that amazingly infectious smile that could light up a room and sweep everything away with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It looks like I'll have to believe you this time,” she laughed. “And I guess I'll have to listen to these explanations.
  
  
  We sat on the couch and I found her lips to be as sweet as honey as I remembered. She was such a wonderful way to kiss, from the almost prim touch of her rip, which became a sweet, gentle longing, which turned into a wildly sensual whirlpool.
  
  
  "How long can you stay?" she asked. My answer was interrupted by the doorbell. I opened it and saw a tall, sassy beauty in a miniskirt standing there, her long gorgeous legs spread provocatively.
  
  
  "Surprise, Nick!" She said. “Well, aren't you going to invite me? You were expecting me, I believe.”
  
  
  I was still blinking when Danny walked past me and disappeared down the hallway.
  
  
  “Wait a minute,” I shouted after her. "Denny, come back!" As luck would have it, the elevator stopped when she called, and she stepped in, giving me a scathing look of pure rage. I turned to the girl still standing in the doorway. She was pretty, just like in the photo, but I didn't care.
  
  
  "Who the hell are you?" I asked.
  
  
  “Joan Threadder,” she replied. “Your boss, Hawk, and my mother were once very good friends. He called her not long ago and asked me to come see you, and here I am.”
  
  
  “Oh my God,” I groaned. "Deliver me from my friends."
  
  
  “I thought he told you I was coming,” she countered.
  
  
  "No, but it's not your fault, honey," I said. “I'm very sorry, but I can't see you right now. I have some important unfinished business that I'm going to finish come hell or high water."
  
  
  Having said that, I thought those were the only two things that didn't conspire to keep Denny away from me. I left her standing, gave her an apologetic smile and ran down the stairs. I grabbed a taxi and directed it to Denny's house. The hostess was glad to see me again.
  
  
  “Miss Robertson just left,” she said worriedly. “She left, and then she came back, and now she’s gone again. It’s really hard for you to catch up with her, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “You’re so right,” I agreed. "Do you know where she disappeared?"
  
  
  “She took her little overnight bag and said she was going to Devonshire for a horse show tomorrow.”
  
  
  I hugged and kissed the surprised old girl and left. I returned a moment before she had time to collect herself. "How is she doing, do you know?" I shouted.
  
  
  “She’s driving her car,” the owner said. "Little Red Morris Minor."
  
  
  I rushed back to the taxi. “Devonshire,” I told him. “There can’t be so many roads. Let's take the main one - the one that a girl driving a red Morris Minor is inclined to drive on."
  
  
  He looked at me suspiciously and pulled out into traffic. I sat back and watched her. I was amazed at how many little red cars there were. We were almost in Devonshire when I spotted her driving down the road, top to bottom, with her brown hair flowing behind her.
  
  
  “Pull in front of this car and stop it,” I told the driver.
  
  
  “Listen, Yank,” he said, “this isn’t a Hollywood movie, is it?”
  
  
  “No, this is strictly an amateur production,” I said. “And I will do everything to ensure that you do it.” These magic words did their job. He stopped in front of Denny and forced her to stop, choosing a place where the flow of passing cars prevented her from leaving. I pointed my fat wallet at him and raced back to the little red car. She was surprised to see me and was almost going to be happy, but changed her mind. I sat down next to her and she drove off.
  
  
  “I can explain that,” I chuckled. She looked at me and suddenly we started laughing together.
  
  
  “Stop trying to explain,” she said. "Maybe it's a curse."
  
  
  “Good enough,” I said. “I seem to remember that there is a small hotel nearby, not far from the city. I could rent a room there for two. You can still take part in the horse show in the morning - if you want, of course."
  
  
  She drove up to the hotel, and a few minutes later we found ourselves in a chintz-covered room with a four-poster bed. Her lips were impatient, hungry, and I began to slowly, step by step, undress her. Her body was everything I remembered it to be - bright alabaster, crafted by a master. She reached towards me and her head was on my shoulder, her hands were stroking my body.
  
  
  And it was still there, this something special, this quality that transcended the body, went beyond the senses, but was still part of the senses. I caressed her white breasts, two peaks of temptation, caressed them with my fingers until the pink tips stretched upward, and then let my tongue circle each one. Denny began to cry quietly, but it was not a cry of sadness or pain. Every tear was a tear of ecstasy.
  
  
  “Oh, Nick, Nick,” she breathed. “I've been waiting for you for so long. I've waited so long. One time with you and the rest is Boy Scout night.”
  
  
  Judging by how I felt and how I responded, she was not waiting alone. I stroked her body until she was a jumping, crying, pleading mountain of desire, and then I came to her, completely and completely. We made love with increasing intensity, rap anthem
  
  
  
  
  
  
  a song sung together, body harmony. When Denny reached the top of her rise, she screamed, a scream of pure delight, a sound that had never been heard before, would never be heard again, not quite.
  
  
  As we sank onto the bed in a wonderful exhaustion of passion, we both knew that the unfinished symphony was finished. But we also knew it would never be finished. It was a self-starting, self-reproducing melody.
  
  
  “Nick,” she said thoughtfully, placing her breasts on my chest, her hand holding mine gently, tenderly. “Now I know that I will have no one but you.”
  
  
  I started to protest, but she stopped me with her lips and pulled back. "Oh, I'll probably have to marry some terribly decent guy from some terribly nice family someday, but you'll always know, and I'll always know, that it was because you couldn't be mine is your work between us."
  
  
  “Maybe someday you will forget about me,” I said.
  
  
  "It's more likely that I'll continue to turn my back on terribly decent guys because I'd rather have you with me all the time than with anyone else at any time."
  
  
  I looked at Denny Robertson. If she was still free when the day came when I gave up the spy rock, I knew damn well what I would do. But I didn't tell her. This will only confuse the situation even more.
  
  
  "What do you think?" she asked.
  
  
  “I think I have just started making love to you, you are a magnificent creature,” I said.
  
  
  "So tasty!" She said. "Prove it." I did it, and the world went on without us. We didn't really care, and neither did we. We had our own world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  Operation Che Guevara
  
  
  
  Annotations
  
  
  
  
  Che Guevara is a murderer, a sadist, a madman... a hero, a saint, a savior - depending on your point of view or your political beliefs.
  
  
  
  The world thinks Che Guevara is dead. But Nick Carter, battling the deadliest mission of his long career, has reason to believe the Cuban revolutionary is still alive.
  
  
  
  Key number one is Teresina, a cross-eyed peasant girl who makes love with the majesty of a spoiled princess. Key number two is Yolanda, a rich, icy beauty who turns into a man-eating tigress in bed. One of them may lead Nick to a man they call El Garfio - "The Hook" - a man who could be Che Guevara.
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  
  Operation Che Guevara
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  The old man licked his lips nervously. “It was terrible, senor. Terrible. They arrived, everyone was in bed, except for the night nurse and the girl who helped her. In an instant everything was the same... the man who had been operated on that morning moaned every now and then, but otherwise everything was quiet... the next time the door swung open and a light shone into our faces.”
  
  
  
  He paused, looked at the young man in the brown suit sitting opposite him, then at the tape recorder on the table between them.
  
  
  
  The young man looked up. “Yes, continue,” he said softly.
  
  
  
  The old man nodded and continued. “A man came in, a man with a long beard.” He made a gesture as if he were stretching out his chin. “He was an ugly man, short, fat, and he had a gun. He walked from bed to bed, directing this light into our faces. One man objected and called him... a bad word. He hit him in the face with a rifle.
  
  
  
  “They turned on the light and another man entered the room. He was younger and impatient. He told us all to get out of bed. Some couldn't. They were too sick. Two of them tore the mattresses and knocked them over to the floor. They lay there and screamed."
  
  
  
  Now the old man was even more worried. “I was lucky,” he said. “I could move around. I got out of bed, as ordered, and went out into the corridor. It was a nightmare, sir. Men, women and small children were pushed out into the corridor wearing only their hospital jackets - no matter how sick they were. Some were very sick and died. Some actually died because of that night, senor. "
  
  
  
  The young man nodded. "Please continue."
  
  
  
  The old man nodded solemnly in response. “There were more of these bandits in the corridor. Everyone had rifles or weapons of some kind. Many had stolen medicines and bandages. I heard a woman scream... a terrible sound. The man next to me whispered that they grabbed the night nurse and dragged her somewhere... and she had... well, señor... well, you know..."
  
  
  
  His questioner knew. This old man was a patient in a hospital near Cochabamba, Bolivia. Three nights before, it was raided by Red partisans. A doctor, a nurse, three patients were killed, and several more people were injured. The nurse was raped, but she apparently put up a strong fight and her assailant - or assailants - responded by slitting her throat. Another nurse, actually a nurse's assistant, went crazy and her family prayed she would never come to her senses. Five, six men raped her, and she was only 17 years old and a virgin.
  
  
  
  Survivors, eyewitnesses such as the old man, did not want to talk about the raid on the hospital. Even the Bolivian government kept it quiet, issuing a brief statement to the press that such an attack had taken place. It took a lot of persuasion - and the promise of a decent amount of money - to get the old man to come to this tiny hotel room in La Paz for questioning.
  
  
  
  "How many
  
  
  
  
  were any of these people there? “- the young man asked him.
  
  
  
  He shrugged. “Maybe a dozen, maybe more. I don't know. I probably counted a dozen people.”
  
  
  
  “Did you recognize any of them? Would you recognize any of them again?”
  
  
  
  The old man looked at him for a moment, then his eyes slid to the side. “No,” he said carefully, “I didn’t know any of them. I wouldn't recognize any of them again."
  
  
  
  The interviewer didn't believe him, but ignored him.
  
  
  
  "Did you notice anything else about these men, anything unusual?"
  
  
  
  “Unusual? No. They were bandits and behaved like bandits. It's a miracle they didn't kill us all. The doctor tried to stop them from taking the medicine. He stood in their way. He was a brave man. They were shooting. him, right in his face." He pointed to his cheek. "Blowed it away. They walked over his body, going in and out of the room to pick up the medicine."
  
  
  
  "Have you seen their leader?" - asked the young man.
  
  
  
  The witness shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. There was one man outside. He didn't enter the place where we were. I saw him through the window later when they ordered us into the cafeteria. I saw people running up to him, as if receiving orders, and then back."
  
  
  
  "What did he look like?"
  
  
  
  The old man shrugged again and his eyes drifted away again. “Like others. He had a beard, a jacket like in the army, and he had a gun.”
  
  
  
  This time the young man was not going to let him get off so easily. “Are you sure there is nothing unusual about him? Or something familiar?
  
  
  
  The old man licked his lips again. “You understand, senor,” he began hesitantly, “I’m afraid. The village where I come from..."
  
  
  
  “I understand,” the young man nodded. “But no one knows you're here. No one will ever know, I promise you. And,” he reminded him gently, “you’re going to get a lot of money.”
  
  
  
  The old man looked doubtful, but then sighed and said, “Well, there was one thing.”
  
  
  
  He looked around, then leaned forward and whispered to the young man. The tape recorder turned on. The young man said nothing. Finally, he thanked the old man, gave him the promised money and walked him to the door.
  
  
  
  When the old man left, the young man turned off the tape recorder and took out a pocket radio. He turned the dial and spoke into the tiny microphone:
  
  
  
  “S5 reporting, sir,” he said.
  
  
  
  “Come on,” someone’s voice answered loudly.
  
  
  
  "Suspicions confirmed, sir."
  
  
  
  There was silence for a moment, then a voice said, “Okay. Thank you".
  
  
  
  The young man turned off the radio and put it back in his pocket. He put the tape recorder in an old brown suitcase, then looked carefully around the room. Once he was sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he opened the door and walked out into the hall.
  
  
  
  The young man was an AX field agent. The information he had just given to his boss was dynamite.
  
  
  
  It was connected to the person's right hand...
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  
  
  This time it was a different kind of search than I had ever been involved in. As the chief agent of AX, the United States Government's Special Spy Branch, I traveled all over the world tracking down people and their schemes. I have dealt with highly organized espionage operations and power-mad individuals, with officially sponsored threats to free people, and with underground groups pursuing their own agendas. At first it seemed like just another search for an insidious enemy, but when I fell into it, I realized that I was looking not just for a person, but for the truth - the truth about a figure who had become a legend in his own short story.
  
  
  
  The legend is known as Che Guevara. The truth I was looking for was whether he really died in the hills of Bolivia as the world was told. Was this apostle of revolution and hatred laid to rest on the hills of Bolivia or was the truth buried there?
  
  
  
  Those who have studied the account of his death given to the world know certain things. They know how thin the actual evidence was. They know that there are always those who want to sell the truth for a certain price. Words can be bought. Photos can be remade. The unreal can be made to appear real and the real to appear unreal. Men in high positions and men in low positions can be reached in different ways and with different rewards, but still obtained
  
  
  
  Where, then, is the truth in a world where sophisticated methods and techniques can serve the honest and the dishonest alike? Truth today has to be assumed more often than it can be seen. The truth, as Boileau said, can sometimes be incredible.
  
  
  
  And so I laid it out like it was, just like
  
  
  this happened day after day. Those who have read Che Guevara's Diary, prepared at the direct request of AX, will recognize certain elements: places, people, patterns, events. They will draw their own conclusions. Some will scoff and quickly dismiss my account as fiction. But others who believe with Boileau that the truth can be incredible will stop and think... and be surprised.
  
  
  
  March
  
  
  
  28th
  
  
  
  
  I was in Cairo, on vacation. I was sent there to help Joe Fraser, a man from AX in the Middle East who was doing a good and efficient job on a gold smuggling transit.
  
  
  
  When a message arrived from Hawk, telling me to remain where I was until further notice, I did not argue. Cairo, the largest city in the Arab world, is the modern successor to ancient Baghdad not only as a center of Arab culture, but also as a Mecca of pleasure.
  
  
  
  In Cairo, the pleasures of East and West hang like ripe figs in street market stalls. The girls of modern Cairo can be divided into four classes: the willing, the adventurous, the professional, and, most interestingly, the recently “liberated.”
  
  
  
  Ahmis, the girl Joe Fraser introduced me to, was one of the “modern,” “enlightened” young women who had thrown off the ancient veil and the resignation that came with it. One evening she explained to me that the subjugation of women had never been part of the teachings of Muhammad, but was borrowed from Asia Minor thousands of centuries ago. Like most newly enlightened people who have just been liberated, Ahmis was a little carried away by her newfound freedom. I was happy about this because, having dropped the veil, literally and symbolically, she was willing and eager to drop everything else at the slightest whisper. With olive skin and black hair, she had a small, wiry body designed specifically to wrap around a man's waist, and she used it like an eager kitten, playful and sensual at the same time.
  
  
  
  The night before receiving the message, we went to dinner at Joe Frazier's house, and then, back in my modest hotel room, Ahmis decided that our cultures should become closer. We spent the evening drinking wine distilled from rice and grapes and topped with brandy, so I was all for the idea.
  
  
  
  She was wearing a hot pink silk shantung dress that was not a sari, but just that. He wrapped himself around her, and when her wet and thirsty lips pressed against mine, I unwrapped her like a Christmas package. She craved, as I said, but not so experienced, in a delicious combination. In addition, she had her own sensual heredity, which immediately came to the fore.
  
  
  
  She responded to my touch like a steel spring. A small cry escaped her and she threw her body back and up in a graceful invitation. She took her hands and ran them over my body, pressing, holding and caressing. Her passion was contagious, exciting in itself. My own body burned and I pinned her to the bed. Ahmis arched her back again and I walked towards her. She answered with wild energy.
  
  
  
  We brought with us half a bottle of wine from Joe Fraser. After we finished enjoying each other, we drank some more. I saw Ahmis begin to glow again. She leaned forward, placed her hands under her small breasts and lightly rubbed them over my breasts. She then hugged me and moved down my body, rubbing her breasts against my stomach, all the way down to my lower back. There she lingered to evoke a feeling of erotic delight.
  
  
  
  We made love again. I found its volcanic power both fascinating and surprising. She wrapped her small, sinewy body around me, and all the sensual pleasures inherited from the times of the ancient pharaohs belonged to me. In short, Ahmis made up for her lack of experience with natural talent.
  
  
  
  At dawn, when the muezzin's cry rang out over the Arab quarter, we fell asleep, her small figure curled into my side.
  
  
  
  
  29th
  
  
  
  
  I woke up from a knock on the door and a knocking in my head. I sat down and took them apart for a moment, put on my pants and slowly made my way to the door. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated the figure of a little boy standing outside the door with an envelope in his hand.
  
  
  
  He handed me an envelope. I took it, fished a few coins out of my pocket, and watched him disappear down the hallway. Ahmis was still sleeping, the sheet half covering her, her small upturned breasts peeking provocatively over the edge. I opened the envelope and focused on the note inside.
  
  
  
  It was just a few neatly typed short words.
  
  
  
  “Go to the street market,” I read. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Tent of the Prophet of Doom. Gold and red striped tent. H."
  
  
  
  I shaved, drank coffee and put on a white linen suit without a tie. Ahmis
  
  
  was still sleeping, turned over on her stomach. On the way to the door I kissed her neck.
  
  
  
  The best thing that can be said about Cairo's street market is that it's damn good to be outdoors, especially under the scorching midday sun. I made my way through the thronging crowds, past fakirs, beggars, tanned Arabs, tourists and other beggars, and even a Brahmin bull. Finally I found a tent with gold and red stripes. The guy who delivered the message was standing at the entrance. I stepped inside, immediately grateful for the dark coolness. The child came up to me.
  
  
  
  He asked. "Have you come to see the Wise One?"
  
  
  
  “I think so,” I replied. "Is he a prophet of destiny?"
  
  
  
  The guy shook his head solemnly and pointed to the far corner of the tent. I saw a robed figure sitting on a pile of pillows, wearing a deserted kaffiyeh with a black cord. I approached him, examining his face under the flowing kaffiyeh, unusually thin and angular for an Arab. As I came closer, steel-blue eyes looked at me over a long, aquiline nose. I stopped dead half a dozen feet away from him.
  
  
  
  “I see a vision,” I said. "It's damn rice wine."
  
  
  
  “You can’t see anything,” the robed figure growled. "Sit down."
  
  
  
  “Yes, I am,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling. "I see the funniest damn thing I've seen in a long time."
  
  
  
  I couldn't help it. I threw my head back and laughed long and loudly, tears welling up in my eyes for so long and so loudly. Hawk just sat there impassively, irritation only showing in his eyes. Given the man's always correct and somewhat rugged New England origins, the masquerade was the height of incongruity - something like meeting Whistler's mother in a brothel.
  
  
  
  “Sit down, Nick,” he said. "The boy is watching you."
  
  
  
  “As you wish, O Wise One.” I bowed, still smiling.
  
  
  
  Hawk shifted uncomfortably as I sat cross-legged in front of him. “God, these clothes are damn warm,” he said.
  
  
  
  “I bet you have a suit underneath,” I said.
  
  
  
  "Naturally". He frowned with mild reproach.
  
  
  
  “Naturally,” I mimicked. "I thought so. I don’t think Arabs wear them like that.”
  
  
  
  He chuckled and shrugged. “I'm not here to attend a costume ball. I suggest we get down to business,” he said with his typical unevenness.
  
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said.
  
  
  
  Hawk stared at me with his steel-blue eyes, like a bird of prey staring at a field mouse. I didn't sit across the table from him at AX headquarters. DuPont Circle in Washington, D.C., wasn't quite the same on the outside. But as far as Hawk was concerned, that's how it was. The incongruity of our surroundings did not matter; everything was as usual with him. He also used his usual approach, slipping into this place.
  
  
  
  “Che Guevara,” he said, shouting the name like a whip. "What do you know about him?"
  
  
  
  "I know he's dead," I said.
  
  
  
  "Draw your own conclusions?" - Hawk objected. I instantly caught the tone behind the words.
  
  
  
  "Fine. Let’s just say I know what the whole world knows, plus classified material from our files,” I said. “Until his death, he was Fidel Castro’s most famous aide.”
  
  
  
  “Maybe he still exists,” Hawk said flatly.
  
  
  
  "What does it mean?"
  
  
  
  "This means that we have reason to believe that Che Guevara is still alive and has resumed guerrilla activities in Bolivia," he said.
  
  
  
  "But what about the reports of his death?" I asked. "Photos that were circulated?"
  
  
  
  “Reports may be falsified,” Hawk said grimly. “I do not doubt Major Aroyoa's statement, but there is strong evidence that even the Major could have been deceived. One account states that Che was actually killed by a shot fired by a drunken sergeant after a drunken officer failed to execute him. We know that bribery among Bolivian troops is almost legendary, and it was the Bolivian army that took Guevara. As for the photographs, they are so blurry that they may be the result of crude retouching.
  
  
  
  “But he was captured, according to our best inside information,” I argued.
  
  
  
  "Yes, but remember that it was reported that he was taken wounded but alive and transported to the city of Higueras, where he was executed twenty-four hours later. This leaves too many possibilities. For example, he could have been shot, as reported, but not killed "The body could have been swapped with someone else's and Che was taken and nursed back to health. Or the soldier who supposedly executed him could have fired blanks. This has happened before. Photos taken of him said they were taken after his capture and after his death , but we just don't know, to be honest.
  
  
  
  There are inconsistencies everywhere. He was presumably captured because the shot destroyed the barrel of his M-2 rifle. However, photographs of this rifle do not show such damage."
  
  
  
  I listened and then reminded him that I knew about a very confidential package received at AX headquarters. The package contained Guevara's right hand - there were some identifying marks on it. We never found out who sent it. We more or less assumed that it was the Bolivian military, stung by the implication of bribery, corruption and unreliability, and wanting to prove that they had actually killed Guevara.
  
  
  
  “How do you imagine it now?” - I asked Hawk.
  
  
  
  “I think we made the wrong assumption,” he replied. “I think Guevara himself sent us his hand to convince us - and the whole world - that he was dead. Look, this man is a real fanatic. Such a person will not hesitate to give his hand to advance his cause. People like him make incredible, crazy sacrifices. If he wanted us to close the file on Che Guevara, what better way to convince us than this? What better way to relieve the tension, give him time and opportunity to organize his Bolivian uprising? What better way to lull America into a false sense of security? "
  
  
  
  I stood up and paced back and forth in the small tent, very worried about what I had just heard.
  
  
  
  “Something obviously convinced you that he was alive,” I said. "What?"
  
  
  
  "First, the resurgence of guerrilla activity in the hills of Bolivia. This does not seem to be a cause for concern, but the guerrilla leader is using Che Guevara's military tactics to defeat. His political tactics are identical, intimidating the peasants then organizing them."
  
  
  
  I shrugged. “This is not enough, any astute person can use this tactic. What else?"
  
  
  
  “Little things are big things,” Hawk said hesitantly. “Last week there was a raid on the hospital. The rebels acted very selectively - bandages, bactericides, penicillin to fight infections, against tetanus and hypodermic injections. They also took every bit of ephedrine they could get. You know what ephedrine is mainly used to treat. "
  
  
  
  “Asthma,” I grumbled and remembered those pages of Che Guevara’s diary, where he described in detail the terrible asthma attacks he suffered. The picture as Hawk painted it was more than alarming.
  
  
  
  “Your job is to find out what Che Guevara was doing for five years,” Hawk said bluntly. “And what he is doing now is what was done before. You'll leave Europe and fly straight to Bolivia as Nikolai von Schlegel, an East German arms dealer. You are trying to sell weapons and ammunition to Bolivians. government. You will also try to sell weapons to the partisans. You will be a real arms dealer - an unscrupulous one, playing both sides of the fence. The shelter is already ready. Everything you need is available at Templehof Airport. "
  
  
  
  Flying directly from Europe will eliminate any suspicion when checking my ticket and itinerary. And when I come to Bolivia, someone will check them. The Bolivian government was riddled with opportunists and leftists. Making contacts would be the least of my problems. As Hawk told me the details of what had already been set in motion, my mind turned off possibilities. If Che Guevara still lived in these hills, I had my own idea on how to smoke him out and destroy him. I told Hawk.
  
  
  
  "Okay, Nick." He nodded after listening to me. “You know, we will provide you with everything we can. Once you take control, it's your show. Give me until tomorrow to check and put it into action. I will meet you here tomorrow at the same time.”
  
  
  
  I left him and returned to my hotel. Ahmis left; the note said that she would return tomorrow. I was glad she wasn't there. I had a lot of plans and little time. I had to give Hawk a full account of what I was going to do. There were no special effects, no fancy weapons. This was thought out to the smallest detail. I mapped out every move in my mind and finally went to bed knowing I had a great plan. All it took to succeed was a huge amount of luck and a few minor miracles.
  
  
  
  
  30's
  
  
  
  
  The next day Hawk had some of my orders ready.
  
  
  
  “There will be no problems with a helicopter and a warehouse,” he said. “I already have people setting it up. Another is something else.”
  
  
  
  He took a lighter from his pocket and lit the flame. “We will need to contact us regarding the rest of your request. This is how we will do it." He waved his lighter. “This is a transmitting and receiving set, pre-tuned to a special frequency. Turning it on and off will activate it. Our station will be under surveillance twenty-four hours a day. Only one thing - it has a short service life. We had to do this for compactness.
  
  
  
  I'll give you a word about the rest of what you need in a few days with this little device."
  
  
  
  He handed me a lighter and I put it in my pocket. We stood up and shook hands. The hawk looked at me solemnly from under the kaffiyeh. “Good luck,” he said. "Take care, Nick."
  
  
  
  “I checked the airlines and got the earliest flight to Berlin,” I said. "I will be in touch."
  
  
  
  When I returned to my room, a visitor was waiting for me. I enjoyed watching and thinking about her. When I told her I was leaving, her face clouded over. It lit up when I told her there were four hours left before the flight.
  
  
  
  "We'll do our best, Nick," she said. I agreed. What the hell, there's nothing better than leaving with fond memories. Ahmis hugged me, her small body already a tense package of desire. She was wearing a one-piece loose suit that came unbuttoned with ridiculous ease.
  
  
  
  When I go on a new mission, I always leave everything else behind. All my thoughts, my actions, my motivations are directed forward. The past is a tightly closed door, and only that which is related to my task can interfere. The international espionage agent is portrayed as a man of action and danger. He is also a man of intense concentration, a concentration that directs all emotions, all goals towards the goal of his mission. At least if he's any good, he is. Anything less means quick death. There is no room for mistakes in this game.
  
  
  
  Ahmis was part of the past now or will be in a few hours. However, she still had one foot in the door, holding it open. I let her show me again why the Middle East has such an overpopulation problem.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  April II
  
  
  
  
  1.
  
  
  
  
  It was raining when I arrived at Templehof Airport, light rain which gave me a little extra time due to the delay of my connecting flight.
  
  
  
  Before leaving Cairo, I checked my personal equipment. Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger, was securely tucked into a custom lightweight shoulder holster, and Hugo, my pencil-thin stiletto, was strapped tightly to my forearm in a leather sheath. I called the box office for the envelope left there under my pseudonym: Nikolai von Schlegel. It contained the keys to my locker and the receipt for my luggage. There was also Nikolai von Schlegel's passport, a wallet with money, a photograph of a girl and ordinary cards. There was also confirmation of my hotel room reservation in La Paz.
  
  
  
  I went to my cabinet and took out my special “samples.” I didn't need to look into them. From their size and shape I knew what they contained. After collecting the rest of my luggage, I boarded the Lufthansa plane, calming down with just the right touch of Teutonic charm for a flight attendant. Blonde, round Fraulein, she looked at me with obvious gratitude. I returned the compliment. During the flight I practiced being Nikolai von Schlegel. I joked with the flight attendant and got into a discussion with the Englishman about the relative merits of German, American and Russian tanks.
  
  
  
  The flight was uneventful and I was happy to see the lights of La Paz in the early evening darkness as we approached the El Alto airport runway. The airport was located outside the city, on the other side of the mountains, on an altiplano or high plateau. La Paz, located under the Andes, is the highest capital in the world. Nuestra Señora de la Paz, Our Lady of Peace, is like many other South American cities: a relatively isolated urban island in a sea of rugged, undeveloped countryside. For me, as Nikolai von Schlegel, an arms dealer, it was important for me to settle in the capital. But for Nick Carter, the city of Cochabamba, some 150 miles away, will be even more important.
  
  
  
  I checked into a hotel room. It was a luxurious setting, befitting a leading arms dealer, and I smiled as I looked around. Compared to the modest one-room floor plans I usually pictured, this must have set the AX back quite a bit. I saw Hawk wince when he ordered.
  
  
  
  I checked out the terrace that runs along the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and bedroom. It was wide and stone. The balcony looked out five stories onto the street below. I noticed that there was more than enough stonework on the front of the hotel for anyone to climb onto the terrace.
  
  
  
  It would have been easy enough to install a crude alarm device, but I decided against it. This would be out of character for Nikolai von Schlegel. I went to bed with chairs next to the door and French windows. I wasn't expecting any company, but you never know. There are always boys from the second floor who look back at every tourist.
  
  
  
  
  
  2.
  
  
  
  
  I spent the day arranging meetings with government and military officials of the Barrientos regime. I also reported that news of my presence in La Paz had reached such people as Monje, the secretary of the Bolivian Communist Party.
  
  
  
  A little careful inquiry soon showed me which officials were particularly receptive to outside negotiations. Hawke gave me a short list of those government officials who, in our opinion, were solid, trustworthy Bolivians. He also gave me several names of those who were known to have very leftist connections. As soon as I announced the purpose of my visit, everyone wanted to make appointments with me.
  
  
  
  I stayed near the hotel all afternoon and evening, giving the rumors and reports time to fly and rest as I knew they would eventually. In the evening I walked along the main promenade of the city of Prado. I went to bed early, ready for a busy day.
  
  
  
  
  3.
  
  
  
  
  Mr. von Schlegel had two different approaches to sales. He reserved one for reliable Bolivian officials; the other is for opportunists and leftists.
  
  
  
  Major Rafael Andreol was recommended to me as a loyal officer, a professional person who would not give in to bribery. He turned out to be a short, dapper man with sharp black eyes, who looked at me with calm self-confidence.
  
  
  
  “Your prices seem quite high, Herr von Schlegel,” he said.
  
  
  
  I shook my head. "Not in today's market, Major." "And you should know that we thoroughly test every piece of equipment, even weapons from other countries, that we have to offer."
  
  
  
  "Isn't your current equipment subject to Russian inspection?" he asked.
  
  
  
  “I don’t work through normal channels,” I said calmly. "That's why I avoid dealing with the Russian bureaucratic system."
  
  
  
  "You say you have materials for immediate delivery?" he asked.
  
  
  
  “Not with me, but close enough for immediate delivery,” I said. “You see, in this business we are subject to attacks from arms dealers and various unscrupulous groups. We have learned to be careful and aware. I know that your government needs modern weapons and ammunition. We are ready to supply you."
  
  
  
  The major smiled. “We are aware too,” he said. “I understand you have an appointment with Colonel Finona of the Special Forces.”
  
  
  
  I smiled back. Colonel Finona was a well-known member of left-wing groups. “We're talking to anyone we think can help market our products, Major,” I said. "We sell guns and ammunition - this is not politics."
  
  
  
  "I'm afraid that's an oversimplification." Major Andreola stood up. “But, of course, you know this well. We will prepare a request for some of what we need and present it to you. Once you study it, you can tell us how much of it you can complete. Our discussions can then continue."
  
  
  
  We shook hands.
  
  
  
  My next stop was another office in the same building. Colonel Finona was typical of his type - oily, helpful, the kind of guy who holds out his hand even when it's in his pocket. But, damn it, Nikolai von Schlegel was a worthy opponent for him, greedy and devoid of remorse.
  
  
  
  Finona fenced with me for a while, but his intellectual swordsmanship was quite rigid - a machete, not a sword - and did not last long. I was pretty harsh and made holes in it that he could drive a truck through.
  
  
  
  "So, you know that the guerrillas have resumed their activities in the mountains." He grinned. "And you'd like to contact them, huh?"
  
  
  
  “Let's say I have a certain weapon that I'm sure they'd really like to have, at a price they can afford,” I said. “Do you know how such contact can be organized?”
  
  
  
  Finona's little eyes darted back and forth. “It so happens that I have a friend who maintains contacts with peasants in the mountains,” he said softly. “But I heard that the partisans have little money to buy weapons.”
  
  
  
  I didn't care about it. I just wanted to spark the interest I could in as many places as possible.
  
  
  
  I explained to Finone: “Nikolai von Schlegel knows his stuff, Colonel. They will find money for the weapons I have.”
  
  
  
  “And do you have these guns and ammunition for immediate delivery?” he asked.
  
  
  
  “Close enough,” I said, giving him the same answer I gave to Major Andreola. That was the only line they all got. “Naturally, their exact location is my secret.”
  
  
  
  "And you will really trade with El Garfio?" - Finona asked casually. I quickly remembered my Spanish.
  
  
  
  "El Garfio-Hook?" I asked.
  
  
  
  Finona nodded. "Partisan leader"
  
  
  
  - he said. - Mystery man. The peasants call him El Garfio because his right hand, I am told, is a hook. They have two names for it. Sometimes they call him "El Manco, the One-Armed One."
  
  
  
  It fit perfectly, damn well. Hawk's suspicions, as always, were justified. I expressed nothing while my pulse quickened.
  
  
  
  “The Bolivian government has not publicly acknowledged the resumption of guerrilla activity,” Finona continued. “And this El Garfio is following in the footsteps of Che Guevara, only he seems smarter.”
  
  
  
  “It may well be the same steps,” I thought. And he would be smarter. If it were Che Guevara, he would have learned a lesson from his last vacation.
  
  
  
  "But would you trade with this El Garfio?" - Finona asked again.
  
  
  
  I shrugged. "Why not?" I said. “His money is no worse than anyone else’s. And this would be my contribution to the cause of the world revolution. The East German government would not be displeased at all."
  
  
  
  “But the Bolivian government will be,” Finona noted.
  
  
  
  “There’s no way they’ll know if it’s done right,” I said. The Colonel smiled. “I'll see what I can do to help you,” he said. The tone of the voice meant that the meeting was over. “Of course, only as a personal favor, since you are a guest in our country. My contact may be in contact with El Garfio. Only time will tell, Senor von Schlegel."
  
  
  
  “Time is my problem,” I thought. I bet El Garfio already knew I was around. It doesn't take much time to wake up a hornet's nest. I was right too. Tonight I got the first direct sign of this.
  
  
  
  I said a hearty farewell to Finona, knowing that we understood each other, gave him one of von Schlegel's best bows, and called it a day. I was having lunch at the hotel restaurant, looking at several dark-eyed girls and thinking about pursuing them further. They were at a bar looking for a good time and were clearly looking for company. One was round, lively and pretty. I wondered if Hawk appreciated the strength of will I displayed in such moments. I bought a paperback from the cigar kiosk in the lobby, went to my room and read to sleep.
  
  
  
  I had been asleep for at least a few hours when I woke up with a tingling sensation that I knew very well. My eyes snapped open and a chill ran through my flesh. I lay motionless, not moving a muscle, until I could focus my hearing on the sounds in the quiet room. Then I turned my head very slowly and saw a dark figure on the terrace, moving towards the living room, carefully opening the French windows.
  
  
  
  I saw that he was stocky and short, wearing a tatty pullover. I watched him cross the room. I waited to see what he would do next. I left my jacket on the sofa in the living room. He took out his wallet, put the money in his pocket and laid out all the papers. Having struck a match, he laid out the papers on the table and quickly studied them.
  
  
  
  He left them on the table and moved into the bedroom. He hit the door against the chair I had placed and stopped, ready to run, looking at my bed. I took a deep breath, half turned onto my side, and resumed deep, even breathing.
  
  
  
  Satisfied, he walked into the room where my luggage was stacked near the open closet. He carefully opened each suitcase, then sorted through the clothes hanging in the closet. He was a quiet, professional thief. But is that all he was? Or was he looking for something specific?
  
  
  
  From the way he went through each suitcase and all the clothes in the closets, I felt that he wanted something special: perhaps on a piece of paper von Schlegel had scribbled down the location of his weapons. I would have let him search the place and leave without even letting him know that I knew he was there, but unfortunately fate intervened.
  
  
  
  He walked through the living room when he stopped at my jacket again. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the cigarette lighter and put it in his pocket. If he worked for someone else, he was no higher than a small private enterprise. I could give away the money, but not the lighter.
  
  
  
  I had to move quickly. He was already walking through the French windows leading to the terrace. I jumped out of bed in only shorts, opened the French windows in the bedroom and met him on the terrace. I saw his jaw drop in surprise and his eyes widen.
  
  
  
  He had a flat face with high cheekbones, and I aimed straight at them. He landed and he floated backwards, doing a half somersault, hitting the terrace slabs. I immediately pounced on him, grabbed one of his flailing arms and twisted him hard. He screamed in pain. I reached into his pocket, took out a lighter and let go of his hand.
  
  
  
  My shorts didn't have pockets
  
  
  
  to put the lighter down, and I didn't want to risk damaging the fragile mechanism by palming it as I buckled it back into place. So I let him go, took two steps towards the living room and threw the lighter on the sofa. When I turned back, the thief was already on his feet and rushing towards the end of the terrace. Hugo was tied to my arm, and I dropped the stiletto into my palm, thinking to scare him into stopping.
  
  
  
  “Wait,” I shouted. "Stop or I'll blow some air out of you." He stopped with one foot over the terrace balustrade, looked back and saw that I was ready to throw the stiletto, and fell overboard. I ran to the edge and looked out. He climbed dangerously sideways along a row of stone carvings that jutted out from the building.
  
  
  
  “Stop, you stupid son of a bitch,” I shouted after him.
  
  
  
  He continued walking and I saw at the end of a row of carvings a descending line of cut stones. If he got to them, he would go down five floors, like a tall staircase. Crap! I could not allow him to return and report that Señor von Schlegel seemed unusually interested in an ordinary lighter. I could have stabbed Hugo with it, but I didn't want him landing on the hotel doorstep with a stiletto around his neck either. Be that as it may, I was lucky that my screams did not raise anyone.
  
  
  
  I looked around in despair and noticed a wrought iron chair in the corner of the terrace. This should do. I grabbed it, and holding it in one hand, I climbed over the balustrade. Standing on the edge of the terrace, I leaned out as far as possible and dropped the chair right on the wall of the building.
  
  
  
  The blow was casual, but more than enough to break his weak grip on the stone carving. His cry rang through the night air like the howl of a dying wolf. I went back up and back through the balustrade. Quickly going back inside before anyone could see me, I put the lighter in my pants pocket and went back to bed. I could sleep another three hours before it was time to get up. I was sure that my visitor was the first sign that the hornets were stirring. I didn't know then how quickly other signs would appear.
  
  
  
  
  4.
  
  
  
  
  In the morning I received by special courier the list of weapons and ammunition promised by Major Andreola. I saw that the major acted in a businesslike and efficient manner. But it won’t be difficult to detain him under one pretext or another. If necessary, price negotiations may take several weeks. Delivery negotiations may take longer.
  
  
  
  But there was a second message I received that interested me. It was slipped under my door, and I found it when I returned from breakfast: an unmarked white envelope with a brief note inside.
  
  
  
  “Go to Timiani at the foot of the Cordillo Real, 25 miles,” it said. “The dirt road along Kuhiala is 500 yards. Someone will meet you to talk about your products.”
  
  
  
  Of course, without a signature. I read it again and searched my memory for idiomatic Spanish terms. I remembered that "Kuchial" was a bamboo field. If this was the first step in making contact with El Garfio, I wasn't going to let it pass.
  
  
  
  I hurried downstairs and found a garage nearby. It was run by a decrepit old man, but he had a car I could rent, an old beat-up Ford. I drove it, heading northeast toward the mountains called Cordillo Real, listening to the Ford's engine running and wondering if the car would make it to the outskirts of La Paz. But despite the sound of the coffee grinder, the engine continued to run, and soon I slowed down when I saw a sign that said “Timiani.”
  
  
  
  I noticed a bamboo field, parked the car and got out. Walking along the edge of the field, I came across a narrow dirt road cutting through bamboo. I walked down the road, counting out five hundred yards, give or take a few feet. The road ended in a small clearing of stones and bamboo stalks.
  
  
  
  I looked around and didn’t see anyone, but still clearly felt that I was far from alone. Tall bamboo stalks on both sides formed a dense curtain.
  
  
  
  Suddenly they came out from behind the bamboo curtain, first two, then another, then three more - six in total. They came out and surrounded me.
  
  
  
  A stocky character with a thick drooping mustache and a tangled beard growled, “You have pistols. Where are they?"
  
  
  
  “I don’t have a weapon,” I said.
  
  
  
  "You told the others they were close enough," he said. "You tell us where."
  
  
  
  They seemed to have some pretty accurate information, so I looked at them. They were dressed in work clothes, and two of them had what appeared to be .38 caliber guns in their belts. All had unkempt, dirty beards, and none of them looked like they could represent the partisans. I decided that El Garfio had better get his staff in order.
  
  
  
  
  “I won’t tell you anything,” I said calmly. "You vile bastards."
  
  
  
  "Silencio!" - Usa shouted. He slapped my hand across the face. "Speak... or we will kill you."
  
  
  
  “It won’t get you a weapon,” I pointed out.
  
  
  
  "If we don't get them, we have nothing to lose by killing you!" - he shouted back. It may not have earned him a passing grade in Logic, but it was hard to argue with that. I saw how quickly a clearly unpleasant situation developed. These bumbling characters could end my entire operation right then and there. This became even more possible when two of them grabbed me, and the mustachioed leader said something quickly to the others.
  
  
  
  “We'll make you talk,” he said, looking at me angrily.
  
  
  
  “Stupid bastards brought this on themselves,” I decided. I wasn't worried about these amateurs making me talk, but it was possible that they could cause me enough harm that I switched to English instead of speaking German or Spanish. They would return knowing that von Schlegel was a fake and that I could not allow this to happen. I sighed. I couldn't let them come back, period, under any circumstances. I watched as two of them approached the chief with pieces of bamboo.
  
  
  
  “These ends are rough and sharp,” he pointed out needlessly, taking one of the bamboo poles and holding it in front of my face while two of his men held my hands behind my back. "You will speak."
  
  
  
  He unbuttoned my jacket and shirt. Pulling his hand back, he stuck the end of the bamboo into my stomach. I allowed myself to scream; the bastard was right, it hurt like hell. I caved in and they let me fall to my knees, but they still held me. The mustachioed man laughed and plunged the end into my stomach again. I moaned and screamed. They suddenly lifted me up, and Mustache pulled my pants off.
  
  
  
  “This time,” he said, grinning, “you won’t be able to scream in pain. And you can forget about being a man again.”
  
  
  
  He pulled back his hand, sharpening the jagged end of the bamboo pole at the ready. I played my part to the hilt.
  
  
  
  "No!" I screamed. “I’ll speak... I’ll tell you!”
  
  
  
  He laughed, lowered the pole and motioned for the others to let me go. I grabbed my pants and pulled them up, breathing heavily, feigning horror. They were such a bunch of lousy amateurs it was disgusting. I knew what I had to do and I did it quickly and ruthlessly. I dropped to one knee, looking at the smiling face of the leader, and straightened my jacket. When my hand reappeared, Wilhelmina was in it. I had previously spotted the two with pistols and said hi to the first two men with .38s. Then I turned around, continuing to shoot. The rest fell back in a semicircle, like bowling pins.
  
  
  
  One of the two who was holding me was still behind me and had the opportunity to act. He dove into the bamboo and I heard him rush across the field. I followed him, putting the Luger away. I followed the light trail of broken stems, heard him making his way, and then suddenly there was silence. He wised up and was hiding somewhere ahead. I could spend a lot of time looking for him in this overgrown place.
  
  
  
  I decided to let him find me, give him the opportunity to attack. I continued to break through the thickets, as if not realizing that he was hiding, waiting. I had walked about twenty yards when he struck. I received an instant warning - the rustling of stems behind me - and turned as he rushed towards me with a hunting knife in his hand. The blade flashed. I managed to raise one hand in time to grab his wrist, but the force of his jump carried me backwards and down.
  
  
  
  As we fell, the bamboo stems gave way, pleasantly softening the fall. He fought out of fear, and it gave him strength that he didn't really possess. I rolled him off me, pushed his hand away and put my elbow on his neck. It was all over in seconds, his last breath escaping his gasping mouth.
  
  
  
  I left him there and hurried back to the clearing. I dragged other bodies into the bamboo. Unless someone comes through this place, they will be there until they rot. El Garfio would have wondered what the hell happened to his men, but that was all he could do. He might have believed that they had been captured by Bolivian troops.
  
  
  
  I was a little surprised by the man's rudeness and thought about it as I drove the small Ford back to La Paz. I was sure they were El Garfio's men until a van and a donkey suddenly pulled out of a side road to block the road. I had to hit the brakes and I braked hard.
  
  
  
  The van was driven by an old man. A black-haired girl sat next to him, looking at me with deep brown eyes. She was very pretty, with a flat face with high cheekbones and beautiful lips. Her peasant blouse was low-cut, and her breasts, round, high and
  
  
  
  full, defiantly swollen above the neckline.
  
  
  
  She just sat in the van and looked at me. I got out of the car and walked up to the cart. The old man looked straight ahead.
  
  
  
  "Fine?" I said. "Are you going to move or not?"
  
  
  
  Suddenly I realized that we had company. I shifted my gaze and saw three men, each with a rifle, standing behind some boulders on the side of the road, looking at the small stage.
  
  
  
  "Are you Schlegel?" - asked the girl. "Are you an East German arms dealer?"
  
  
  
  I nodded, looking at her intently. This was an unexpected development. She jumped out of the van and I caught a glimpse of her beautiful tanned, slender legs as her dark green skirt spun briefly.
  
  
  
  “I arrived at your hotel,” she said. “I was told that you left in this direction, so we were waiting for your return.”
  
  
  
  "Who are you?" I asked.
  
  
  
  “I came from El Garfio,” she said simply. "My name is Teresina."
  
  
  
  My face remained expressionless, but my thoughts were racing. I realized I was wrong about the other group. They were not from the leader El Garfio at all; he would not have sent two delegations. Suddenly it became clear who they were. The Bolivian Communist Party had its own guerrillas. They never worked with Che Guevara properly. In his diary, he recorded a series of disagreements, and his boss, Fidel Castro, created much of the bad relations between the two groups. They disagreed on everything from strategy to leadership.
  
  
  
  Apparently the Bolivian Communists found out about my presence and decided to stage a coup. But this beautiful girl, whose eyes flashed dark fire at me, was real - in many ways. She stood and waited for my answer.
  
  
  
  “I am von Schlegel,” I said. “But I’m not going to talk here on the road. If you want to talk, come to my hotel."
  
  
  
  Raising her voice, she spoke sharply to the others, and suddenly we were alone. They disappeared as if by magic. Only the old man, the donkey and the cart remained. The girl came to the car and sat down next to me. The old man drove the cart along the road.
  
  
  
  “El Garfio is willing to buy if you have the right gun to sell,” Teresina said as I started the Ford. “But he must have samples. He doesn’t buy without seeing.”
  
  
  
  I was ready for this request. “I have certain samples at the hotel,” I said. When she asked where the main shipment was, I gave her the same information I gave to the others, only saying that it was close enough.
  
  
  
  At the hotel, Teresina carefully examined all the rooms in my suite. I watched her with pleasure and satisfaction. She moved flexibly, and her legs were beautifully shaped under the heavy peasant skirt. When she had finished looking around the rooms, she sat down on the sofa, putting those beautiful legs together as neatly and modestly as any schoolgirl's. Her eyes, so very dark and liquid, looked at me with open interest.
  
  
  
  I let my gaze slowly wander over the round, high breasts bulging beneath the scoop-neck cotton blouse. It was indeed a very attractive dish, certainly not the usual stocky, thick-waisted peasant woman in this part of the world. I was wondering what her relationship to El Garfio was. Was she his woman? A follower of his camp? A devoted comrade revolutionary? She might even be someone he hired to represent him in his negotiations with me. In any case, I knew whoever she was: she was an unusual peasant girl.
  
  
  
  I went to the bar and started mixing bourbon and water. "Will you join me?" I asked. She shrugged and for the first time relaxed enough to smile a warm, inviting smile.
  
  
  
  "Why not?" She said. “Moreover, we can soon become business partners.” She took the glass from me, raised it, and sparkles sparkled in her eyes. "Salud!" She said. “Salud,” I repeated.
  
  
  
  While she sipped her drink, I brought out a case of samples. It contained the latest model M-16, a small but very effective bazooka, a new type of Mauser and some ammunition.
  
  
  
  “I can supply all the weapons and ammunition he needs,” I said. “I also have grenades and dynamite.”
  
  
  
  I sat next to her, looking at her swollen breasts. She looked at me with some defiant impudence over her glass.
  
  
  
  “I have other equipment, but it will be too expensive for El Garfio,” I said. “For now, I’ll risk selling it to him. But with these guns, he could be more than a match for government forces."
  
  
  
  “I can see it myself,” she said sharply.
  
  
  
  “But there are others who need weapons,” I said. "Major Andreola, for example."
  
  
  
  “And you will sell to the highest bidder,” she said bitterly.
  
  
  
  “You learn quickly,” I said. I looked at her hands. Fingers, I
  
  
  
  noticed they were long and tapering. Not by the hands of a peasant woman.
  
  
  
  She leaned back on the sofa. Her breasts were pressed so hard against the cotton fabric of her blouse that I could see the outline of her nipples.
  
  
  
  “It’s a pity that you are such a greedy person,” she said, smiling. "You are so handsome. It's like finding a diamond with a flaw."
  
  
  
  I had to laugh at the analogy. “But women love diamonds,” I said. “Even diamonds have flaws.”
  
  
  
  Her answering laugh was a musical sound. She leaned forward and placed the empty glass on the coffee table in front of the couch, giving me a great view of those generous breasts. She caught my eye and laughed again.
  
  
  
  “You men are all alike. It doesn't matter if you cut cane in the field, or work in a store, or get rich selling ammunition."
  
  
  
  “All mice love cheese,” I said.
  
  
  
  She leaned towards me. “You want me to be more than a buyer of your guns, don’t you?” - she said teasingly. “I see it in your eyes. But you are selling, not buying, amigo.”
  
  
  
  I looked at her. This girl was amazing, she threw herself at me and laughed about it at the same time. Okay, I can play this game.
  
  
  
  “I have something you and your El Garfio need,” I said. “I will sell where I find the most attractive offer.”
  
  
  
  She smiled confidently. “And I think maybe I have something you need,” she said. “You are a very handsome man, Señor von Schlegel.”
  
  
  
  “You’re a beautiful girl, Teresina,” I said.
  
  
  
  She stood up abruptly, took the box of samples and headed towards the door.
  
  
  
  “Thanks for the drink,” she said. “I will contact you shortly, rest assured, senor.”
  
  
  
  “Please call me Nikolai,” I said. "Nick would be even better, considering that we, as you put it, could soon become business partners."
  
  
  
  Her eyes lingered on me for a long time, then turned away. But I saw how irritation appeared in them - irritation with themselves. She wanted to be in complete command and knew that wasn't the case. El Garfio or Che Guevara, if he was one and the same, had the most unusual woman working for him.
  
  
  
  It was dark when Teresina left. I had a snack and went to bed, knowing that the hornets were starting to swarm.
  
  
  
  
  5.
  
  
  
  
  The fifth of April was Saturday, and they brought me two parcels. One came in a plain brown package; the other has a very nice alpaca cover.
  
  
  
  The plain brown one was an envelope from Hawk. It contained a short note and a set of keys:
  
  
  
  “Upon request, equipment in abandoned warehouse in Cochabamba,” the note reads. “Ten miles north of the Beni River. Good luck".
  
  
  
  I destroyed it by flushing it down the toilet and put the keys in my pocket.
  
  
  
  The other package, wrapped in alpaca, belonged to Señorita Yolanda Demas. I heard a knock on the door and saw dark eyes looking at me from under half-closed eyelids of a face surrounded by the hood of a fur coat. Señorita Demas burst into the room as if she owned the place. “I came to you,” she announced imperiously. "You are Senor von Schlegel, are you not?"
  
  
  
  I nodded, and she half turned around, still wrapped tightly and completely in her fur coat, then turned imperiously to face me again.
  
  
  
  “I heard you have guns for sale,” she said. "I'll buy them."
  
  
  
  I smiled politely as I studied her face. It was handsome, with flat cheekbones and wide-set eyes. The lips were heavy and sensual. Despite the arrogance she wrapped around herself like an alpaca coat, I sensed an earthy, smoldering undertone to her. I decided I wanted to see the rest.
  
  
  
  “Before we discuss anything, take off your coat, senorita,” I said.
  
  
  
  She stopped when I took the coat off her back. I put it on a chair and, turning around, saw a rather short girl with strong and slightly heavy legs. She wore an expensive cherry red silk dress and behaved very awkwardly in it. Her haughty expression did not match the sensuality of her face. Her lips, although she tried to keep them tight and arrogant, refused to be anything other than an alluring provocation.
  
  
  
  “Why does a beautiful senorita like you want to buy guns now?” - I asked, smiling widely. I mixed two glasses of bourbon with water and handed her one. She took it, holding the glass with her pinky outstretched.
  
  
  
  “I admit, senor, this is certainly unusual,” she said. “But I'll explain. I have a large tin mine in the mountains outside Cochabamba. My father died unexpectedly and I had to take up mining. As you can see, I’m not quite equipped for such a task.” She paused to drink her drink.
  
  
  
  “But I had to take responsibility, and I did,” she continued. “The mine works and brings in a lot of money. I intend to keep it in the same condition. The guerrillas, whom they call El Garfio, have already raided my buildings twice in search of supplies. I'm afraid they might try to take over the mine."
  
  
  
  “And pistols,” I said, “will allow you to arm the defenders.”
  
  
  
  “Quite right, senor,” she said, dark eyes looking at me from under drooping, heavy lids. “This is so important to me that I will accept any offer you make.”
  
  
  
  I smiled, thinking about Teresina's implied proposal. “This may be difficult to do, Señorita Dimas,” I said. I finished my drink. She stood up and came towards me. Her breasts beneath the cherry red silk seemed to vibrate with brightness. But it was her lips that caught my eye, lush lips made for pleasure.
  
  
  
  “I am ready to make my offer economically attractive for you,” she said. "But our association could be more... personal."
  
  
  
  I wake up. First Terezina, and now this one, throwing in additional incentives. If all gun dealers received this treatment, I would quickly change careers. Señorita Dimas was undoubtedly a sultry creature behind that commanding front. I really wanted to remove the facade and get to the real woman, but I restrained the impulse. She, like Teresina, was too ready, too eager to use sex to get what she wanted. Of course, such things were not unheard of. But in this case, while it was great for the ego, it caused me a little anxiety. If Señorita Dimas and Teresina want to come for their own reasons, I will damn well accommodate them. But I needed more time to put things into perspective. Everything went as I expected, but in an unexpected way. Of course, this sensual, sultry woman in front of me was a completely unexpected dividend.
  
  
  
  "Why don't you call me Nick, Yolanda?" I said. "Either way, it would be a start."
  
  
  
  She smiled in agreement. “But time is important to me, remember.”
  
  
  
  “For me too,” I said, handing her a fur coat. She put it on. At the door she turned and ran her tongue over her lower lip, so that it glistened seductively. She handed me a small card. A phone number was scrawled on it.
  
  
  
  "I'm staying here at a friend's house for a few days," she said. “You can call me there. Otherwise I'll call you."
  
  
  
  I watched her walk down the corridor toward the elevator, her gait stiff and unhurried. She tried very hard to maintain an arrogant pose. As she entered the elevator, she nodded back at me with a royal, authoritative nod.
  
  
  
  I closed the door and sat down to look through my collection, pouring myself another bourbon. I've stirred up the Bolivian government, El Garfio's girlfriend, a tin heiress, and a few unlucky small fry. So far so good, but now it is time to set other plans in motion, plans that will bring me closer to this El Garfio by a different route.
  
  
  
  Besides beautiful heiresses and beautiful peasant girls, I was chasing the legend to find out if she was made of flesh and blood.
  
  
  
  
  III
  
  
  
  
  I turned the lighter on and off, brought it to my ear and listened. Soon I heard a faint but distinct voice coming from thousands of miles away.
  
  
  
  “The hawk will talk to you, N3,” said the voice. A moment later I was listening to Hawk's characteristic, even, dispassionate speech.
  
  
  
  “The people you asked for have been sent, I will give you information on each of them. Instructions for making contact will follow. If you don't have any questions, please log out when I'm done."
  
  
  
  I sat back and listened intently as Hawk, his voice sounding unnaturally thin and distorted on the tiny equipment, told me the details of what had been done. As I listened, I realized how difficult the task I had given him to complete in such a short time was.
  
  
  
  I had no questions when he finished and turned off the small radio, turning it on and off again. I got out of the car, took off my well-tailored Nikolai von Schlegel suit and put on a one-piece jumpsuit. I got back behind the wheel of the beat-up old Ford and headed east-southeast.
  
  
  
  The city of Cochabamba is about 150 miles from La Paz, on the edge of rugged mountainous terrain. It was from Cochabamba that Che Guevara and his man Pachungo entered the mountains, and it was from Cochabamba that I pursued his legend and the man known as El Garfio.
  
  
  
  When I got there, it was almost dark along the mountain roads with twisting turns. I drove slowly along the bank of the Beni River until I found an old warehouse and stopped the car closer to the wall of the building. One of the keys Hawk sent me opened the front door and I entered.
  
  
  
  It smelled old, damp and unused.
  
  
  
  I closed the door behind me and clicked the pencil flash. A small helicopter, designed for one person, stood in the middle of an empty floor with its blades tilted back. It was transported to Cochabamba in parts and reassembled in a warehouse.
  
  
  
  It would have been stupid to try to make contact for the first time in the dark, so I curled up in the car and slept until the first light woke me.
  
  
  
  The warehouse was located around a sharp bend in the river in a deserted area with tall thickets and marsh grass. I didn't have to worry about being seen when I opened the main doors, pulled out the light helicopter at dawn, and closed the doors again. I climbed into the helicopter and used Hawk's other key to start the engine. It instantly came to life, and the rotor blades began to rotate. A few seconds later I lifted myself off the ground, standing up towards the morning sun.
  
  
  
  
  6.
  
  
  
  
  Following Hawk's instructions, I flew the helicopter over the dark green, lush mountain forest, keeping a close eye on the compass on the instrument panel. Looking at the terrain below, I realized why aerial reconnaissance was so poor. There could be an army there, hidden in camouflaged ravines and valleys, on tree-covered hillsides.
  
  
  
  I was flying low, almost at treetop height. After crossing the Pirai River, I turned the helicopter south. I was looking for a small flat area marked with an orange canister.
  
  
  
  Systematically crossing the area, I was almost ready to give up when a flash of color to the right caught my attention. I turned the helicopter sharply. The orange canister stood at the edge of a circular clearing, barely larger than a helicopter. I walked in low and sat down carefully. When I got out, I saw the path that Hawk had described, leading from the far edge of a small clearing.
  
  
  
  I quickly moved along the rough path.
  
  
  
  This land was indeed what the Bolivians called elevador, a terrain particularly suitable for guerrilla warfare. According to Hawk's radio programs yesterday, I will eventually reach a small ridge. On the other side was a tapera, an abandoned Indian hut.
  
  
  
  I found the ridge that topped it and saw the tapera. As I approached the hut, two men came out of the bushes to the right and left of the narrow path. They had Marlin 336 big game guns. With grim faces, they unmistakably raised their rifles.
  
  
  
  I stopped and said: “Che Guevara.” The rifles were immediately lowered.
  
  
  
  "N3?" said one of them. I nodded and walked towards them. Four more men came out of the tavern and we shook hands. They introduced themselves: Olo, Antonio, Cesare, Eduardo, Manuel, Luis. I looked at them with some pride. Although they were probably very different in type and temperament, they had one thing in common: each was dedicated to overthrowing Castro's government and everything that entailed it. Each of them suffered torture and saw how the Reds destroyed their families. Hawk collected them from everywhere. He told me that Olo was tortured for two years in Castro prison and saw his two daughters brutally raped. Luis saw his parents shot as reactionaries. Eduardo, bound hand and foot, watched helplessly as his wife was tortured and raped, his mother was beaten until she died of a heart attack, and his sisters were dragged away never to be heard from again because they could reveal where his father fled to.
  
  
  
  In short, I asked Hawk to gather me a small group of ruthless, fanatical killers, people who could be compared in their hatred to Che Guevara or El Garfio. They were informed of me and my purpose and parachuted into the hills to wait for me to contact them.
  
  
  
  I was taken to the hut. They were having breakfast and I joined them for mate, a strong South American tea, and juminta, a cornmeal roll. Looking around, I saw that a lot of supplies had been parachuted with them.
  
  
  
  We made plans while we ate. “We have discovered one of Guevara’s groups,” Olo said, biting into a huminta. He was a tall man with a large body and huge hands. He was apparently allowed to take command until I arrived.
  
  
  
  "Remember, amigo, we still don't know if the man we're looking for is really Guevara," I reminded him.
  
  
  
  Olo's eyes looked deadly. "To us, he's Guevara until we see otherwise," he said. “This bastard’s main powers are still somewhere unknown to us, but it seems he divided the others into small parts.”
  
  
  
  “According to his diary, the last time he also sent small groups of men separately,” I said.
  
  
  
  “But only to make a forced march to some destination or to build a new camp,” Olo replied. “This time he is using them as raiding parties and organizers.”
  
  
  
  “Then we will strike those you have identified,” I said. "How many are in the party?"
  
  
  
  “Seven, eight, maybe ten,” he said. "They will be child's play for us, Señor Carter."
  
  
  
  “For you, Nick,” I told him. "Let's have a weapon then." Louis went to the back of the hut and returned with a carbine for me. I noticed that each of them also had a gun and a knife.
  
  
  
  Without further ado, with a kind of grim determination, we moved into the dense undergrowth. When Hawk first gave me the assignment in that tent in Cairo, I formulated my own plan to take on Guevara - if it was Guevara. These people were the result. I knew that the guerrillas would only come into the open by using their own tactics on them - quick, quick strikes, chewing up their forces until they had to either disband or move out. The government's approach to sending in large, unwieldy groups of troops was a bit like trying to catch a rabbit in snowshoes. The rabbit was behind you, in front of you, and all around you while you were still trying to get one foot off the ground.
  
  
  
  We rushed through the forest, picking our way through the undergrowth, silent, like Indians. Suddenly Louis, who was walking ahead, raised his hand. Everyone froze.
  
  
  
  Louis pointed to a small brownish bird watching us from a low tree branch. “Kakare,” he said softly. I knew the habits of the bird. It flew into the air when a person or animal approached and announced the presence of an intruder with a hysterical cry. One Kakare is better than ten watchdogs. Louis moved forward, step by step. We did the same, stepping carefully so as not to scare the bird. Louis picked up a piece of wood. Moving within the bird's reach, he slowly raised his hand and then, with an incredibly fast motion, brought the club down on the bird, killing it instantly.
  
  
  
  Louis took a deep breath. “Their camp is right behind those trees,” he whispered.
  
  
  
  We parted. After a moment I was looking forward and slightly below at three tents and several men cooking in front of them. Their rifles, mostly old US and German WWII-era rifles, were stacked and ready for immediate action. Although there was little chance of using them.
  
  
  
  At my nod, my small group opened up with deadly fire, a surprise attack so deadly and effective that it was over before it even began. Olo and Manuel ran to the tents and removed everything valuable from the bodies. When they returned, we headed back to the hut.
  
  
  
  We were moving carefree through the forest when we heard people walking ahead. We ran away and found ourselves under cover. A few moments later another group of guerrillas passed us, apparently unaware of our presence. We were wrong about this.
  
  
  
  They were close to our shelters when they suddenly stopped, turned around and opened deadly fire into the bushes. I heard shouts and saw that perhaps six more guerrillas had rushed to join the battle. I knew what was going to happen. They were on their way to join the group that we destroyed; we sent an advance man who saw the attack and reported in horror and alarm.
  
  
  
  They couldn't see us in the bushes, but kept up random fire that was dispersed but deadly. I rolled deeper into the bushes as bullets struck the trees and shaved the bushes around me. Some of my men returned fire, but those who came rushed with knives and machetes.
  
  
  
  I looked back and saw that Olo had knocked down two attackers at point-blank range. We recovered from our initial surprise and fired with much greater accuracy and efficiency. I killed one attacking partisan with a precise shot between the eyes.
  
  
  
  Their firepower was now dwindling as those who still survived began to retreat disorganized. I saw one crouching for safety and a thought popped into my head. I dove after him and knocked him down. He tried to use his hunting knife, but I ended the action with a quick blow to the jaw. He lay motionless.
  
  
  
  His surviving comrades disappeared from sight, flying through the underbrush. I stood up and looked at how we sorted it out. Manuel had a superficial wound to his arm, and Antonio had a bruise on his forehead. Apart from this, there were no casualties. I jerked the captured partisan to his feet as he began to regain consciousness.
  
  
  
  “I want this one to come back knowing who sent it,” I said. The horror in the man's eyes disappeared when he realized that he was going to live.
  
  
  
  “Tell El Garfio his days are numbered,” I said. “Tell him that men of vengeance are hunting for his soul here in the mountains, led by an American.”
  
  
  
  Olo asked the partisan. "How many men does El Garfio have?"
  
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he replied. Olo walked up to him, put one huge hand on his lower back and the other on his neck. He pressed, and the partisan's spine,
  
  
  
  seemed to crack. The man screamed. Olo dropped it and stood over it. He kicked him brutally in the ribs. He asked. "More?"
  
  
  
  The partisan groaned in pain. “I don’t know, I’m telling you,” he breathed. “He never told anyone, and his own squad is separated from the others.
  
  
  
  I put my hand on Olo's arm. “Enough,” I said. “I think he's telling the truth. Our enemy is playing smart and keeping his forces separate until he is ready to attack something very important together."
  
  
  
  I jerked the man to his feet. “Go,” I said. "You can count yourself lucky."
  
  
  
  His look told me that he completely agreed. He turned and ran, moving as fast as the terrain would allow.
  
  
  
  My group continued marching back to the tapera. There we sat down to a simple but delicious meal prepared by Eduardo. In a huge cast-iron cauldron, he prepared locro, a soup made from rice, potatoes, and various local root vegetables with the addition of charka. Charki, sun-dried meat, was pork from a wild pig.
  
  
  
  After dinner we sat down before the fire; Nights in the mountains are cold and piercingly humid. We talked about our next step. I instilled in them that I did not want any attacks, no clashes, unless I was with them.
  
  
  
  "It's not that I don't trust your abilities." I said. “The point is that I have to be there when we meet with Che. I have to be sure it's really Guevara."
  
  
  
  I spent the night with men. It had been a long day, and the hard tavern floor felt like a feather mattress.
  
  
  
  
  7.
  
  
  
  
  In the morning it was decided that while I was away, they would conduct reconnaissance, find more partisan detachments and determine their position before my return. I wanted to get back to the warehouse in Cochabamba while it was still early, so I left before the sun hit the hills. The return flight was uneventful and soon I was on my way to La Paz, driving an old Ford along winding mountain roads.
  
  
  
  Towards midday I slipped back to the hotel unnoticed and found myself again as Herr von Schlegel, the munitions dealer. I sent Major Andreola a price that I knew was too high, but that would allow him to begin the process of haggling and bargaining. The bilateral operation to capture El Garfio began - and was very successful. With one or the other, or perhaps a combination of both, I will soon come face to face with the guerrilla leader.
  
  
  
  I ate at the hotel alone. Later, back in my room, I discussed how to contact Hawk by radio to tell him that he had outdone himself by choosing my people. I gave it up; Hawk discourages unnecessary communication at work.
  
  
  
  I was getting ready to go to bed when I heard a faint knock on the door. I buckled Wilhelmina under my jacket and opened the door. Teresina stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me coldly. She was wearing the same dark green skirt, but this time with a yellow blouse, also low cut and tight.
  
  
  
  She demanded. "Have you decided to sell the weapon to El Garfio?"
  
  
  
  “Come in,” I said. “I haven't decided anything yet. But I can".
  
  
  
  She smiled a slow, lazy smile and entered the room. I watched her pass by, smoothly, gracefully, and did everything I could to avoid stroking her shapely ass as she passed.
  
  
  
  
  IV
  
  
  
  
  Teresina sat up and fixed me with a cold gaze. I was only wearing trousers and a jacket. I prepared two bourbons and water and handed her one. She sat with her slender legs tucked under her, her skirt riding up high, revealing the beautiful, seductive curve of her hip.
  
  
  
  “Very good,” I commented, gesturing with my glass. She didn't move, just nodded in agreement.
  
  
  
  “Señor von Schlegel,” she began, and I immediately interrupted her.
  
  
  
  “Nick,” I said. “Our last conversation ended with an opportunity to get to know each other better, remember?”
  
  
  
  Warmth flashed in his dark brown eyes. My eyes ran over her in admiration, from her beautiful legs to the long, pointed fingers holding the glass.
  
  
  
  “I tried to contact you several times yesterday...Nick,” she said, emphasizing my name. "You were nowhere to be found."
  
  
  
  The last question was unasked.
  
  
  
  “I was visiting an old friend who lives in Sucre,” I said. "She asked me to stay the night."
  
  
  
  "She?" Her eyebrows rose. "Do you have a girlfriend here in Bolivia?"
  
  
  
  “I met her when she was in Europe,” I said, finishing my glass. Teresina finished hers and I poured us another drink.
  
  
  
  “I guess the trip was worth it,” she said caustically. It was hard not to smile. All women are alike; they quickly experience jealousy even without any reason.
  
  
  
  It is always there, right on the surface.
  
  
  
  “Very,” I said. “But then she is not a typical Bolivian girl. She is half German and very warm and affectionate.”
  
  
  
  "What does it mean?" - Teresina barked.
  
  
  
  “I've been told that Bolivian girls are pretty anemic in everything they do,” I said casually. “Altitude, I’m told, thins the blood, curbs their... uh... passions.”
  
  
  
  "What nonsense!" Her eyes lit up and this time I smiled. The answer was automatic, caused by the indignation of the school graduate. Even after smiling, I thought about this “peasant girl” again.
  
  
  
  Her anger subsided as quickly as it had flared, and I saw that she was studying me carefully.
  
  
  
  "You said that to see my reaction, didn't you?" She said.
  
  
  
  “I wouldn’t do that,” I objected. She raised her glass to her lips, and my gaze fell again on the beautiful curve of her thigh exposed. I wondered what this strange, smart girl would be like in bed. Somehow I couldn't imagine her wandering the hills with Che Guevara or El Garfio or whoever he was. However, she was here as an emissary of the guerrilla leader.
  
  
  
  She moved and her breasts stretched over her blouse. My relaxing jacket opened and I saw her look at my bare chest, tanned like her own olive skin, the muscles taut and hard.
  
  
  
  I decided to give it a push and see what happened. There were things I wanted to learn, and a woman in bed lacks more than her clothes. Properly aroused, driven by desire to the climax of ecstasy, a woman in bed, like a matador in the arena, has moments of truth.
  
  
  
  “What if I told you that Major Andreola made me a very tempting offer?” - I said, sitting next to her.
  
  
  
  She shrugged. "That's to be expected."
  
  
  
  “What if I told you that I could be convinced to sell El Garfio?” I pressed her. “But I had to be convinced by more than money.”
  
  
  
  “Why would you sell El Garfio if the government’s offer is so attractive?” she asked. “For a person like you, money is everything.”
  
  
  
  I grinned at her. “And girls are girls,” I said.
  
  
  
  "You're afraid the Bolivian government will find out about this," she said, ignoring the last remark.
  
  
  
  “No, I said. “I just think El Garfio needs my goods more than the government. He would be a definite buyer for more, while the government can buy them from many sources.”
  
  
  
  I saw anger in her eyes. “You don’t like it,” I said. "Why not? All you have to do is sell to your leader. My reasons are not important."
  
  
  
  “Reasons are always important,” she retorted.
  
  
  
  “With my weapon, El Garfio can really make a revolution,” I said. “And I have many other weapons available - at a price. I am ready to cooperate with you."
  
  
  
  I carefully, slowly ran my hand down her arm, through her blouse to her shoulder. I stroked her hand. She didn't answer, but I saw that it was a struggle.
  
  
  
  “I could sell it to El Garfio and the government,” I said.
  
  
  
  “If you sell El Garfio, you will not sell to anyone in Bolivia, I promise you that,” she said coldly. I continued to rub her hand with my palm, slowly, gently.
  
  
  
  “I'm fine,” I said. “If he buys, it doesn’t matter to anyone else. But during the delivery, I have to meet El Garfio.”
  
  
  
  She pulled her hand back and looked at me in surprise. "Meet El Garfio?" she gasped. “I... I don’t think I can arrange this.”
  
  
  
  I asked. "Why not?"
  
  
  
  “This... this can't be done,” she stammered. "He doesn't allow others to meet him."
  
  
  
  I stood up and stood looking at her. “Then I’ll have to find another way to get to El Garfio,” I said sharply. I was surprised to see sudden fear in her eyes, fear mixed with anger.
  
  
  
  “Why would you do that when I’m here to arrange the sale, if that’s what you’re going to do?” - she said, almost slurring her words in excitement.
  
  
  
  “But you say you can’t help me meet El Garfio,” I said. "And that's the condition if I'm going to sell him guns."
  
  
  
  “I said it would be very difficult,” she said more calmly. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. If you agree to sell, I will take the next step. But first I need to know what you will sell him.”
  
  
  
  "Is it important that I deal with you if I deal with El Garfio?" I asked.
  
  
  
  “Very,” she said, and there was not the slightest mistake in this one-word answer. I wondered why this was so important. Did El Garfio give her this task as a test? Perhaps she needed to prove herself somehow. Or maybe she wanted to prove herself on her own. All I was sure of was that she clearly wanted to be involved if I decided to sell her to El Garfio.
  
  
  
  Why, I thought; this intrigued me.
  
  
  
  I wanted to find out and I knew the only chance I had was in bed. I made a quick, selfless decision. Making love to Teresina would be a legitimate activity on my part while on duty. I chuckled to myself, knowing that Hawk would like this reasoning. In truth, the dark-eyed, strange, fragile creature sitting next to me could have seduced a stone statue, but I was far from it. I changed gears.
  
  
  
  “Tell me about yourself, Teresina,” I said, placing my hand on her shiny black hair. “How does such a sweet girl end up in a partisan detachment?”
  
  
  
  She smiled and looked at me. “How can such a handsome man become such an unscrupulous ammunition salesman?” - she objected.
  
  
  
  I realized again that she was very smart.
  
  
  
  “I asked you first,” I said.
  
  
  
  She shrugged. “There is nothing exciting about my story. I was born on a farm in the mountains. Like all the others, it was a poor farm, and it is from people like my people that El Garfio recruits his followers. These peasants take care of the animals, cultivate the soil, and sometimes collect coca leaves.”
  
  
  
  I maintained my expression as I watched her sip her drink. If these hands ever worked on a farm, I would be ready to eat a haystack. My warning system began to buzz insistently.
  
  
  
  "What kind of animals are on your farm?" I asked.
  
  
  
  “Sheep,” she said and quickly added, “goats and pigs too.”
  
  
  
  I asked. “What do you feed them here in Bolivia?”
  
  
  
  “Oh, as usual,” she said. “The same way you feed them anywhere else.”
  
  
  
  “Nice try, doll,” I thought gloomily, “but it’s not enough. It was a smooth evasion, but a farm girl would have told not only what kind of feed, but also how much of it was needed. But as we talked, I kept my eyes on her, allowing the feeling I was experiencing to express itself. Now I walked up to her with my jacket unbuttoned and cupped her chin with my hand.
  
  
  
  “I think you would really like me, Teresina,” I said, “if I weren’t so “unprincipled.”
  
  
  
  Her eyes glowed with dark fire. “You are a very attractive man,” she admitted.
  
  
  
  “And you are too full of idealistic thoughts,” I said. "But I can make you forget about them, at least for a while."
  
  
  
  "Can you?" she said, and in her eyes there was an unspoken word: try.
  
  
  
  I leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, and then pressed my lips to hers. My tongue slid over her parted lips and into her mouth. She tried to push me away, but I held her too tightly. I pressed my bare chest against her tense breasts until she finally pulled away.
  
  
  
  “No,” she said. "No, I... I won't."
  
  
  
  “Terezina, what kind of farmer are you?” - I said, putting my hand on her neck. It was a deliberate low blow. “I never knew a farm girl who didn’t believe in doing things naturally.”
  
  
  
  I kissed her again, harder this time, letting my tongue play in her mouth as I held her head tightly. She tried to resist, but her hands were powerless, and her open mouth responded with its own desire. Now her hands were on my chest, clenching and unclenching as she fought against her own desire. I wanted this exciting girl, but I held back, determined to use every possible trick to bring her to the boiling point where open desire would sweep away all pretensions and precautions.
  
  
  
  I pulled away and pressed her face to my chest. “It's been a long time since you had a man,” I said, looking at her face, which was not completely in the dark. I felt hunger in her.
  
  
  
  "Why did you say that?" it flashed and I knew I was right on target.
  
  
  
  “Tell me I'm wrong,” I said.
  
  
  
  "I...I don't give up easily," she said defensively. "Perhaps I'm too picky."
  
  
  
  “And maybe for the wrong reasons,” I said, roughly, almost rudely, forcing her back onto the couch. I didn't give her time to respond as I slid my hand down the loose, open neck of her blouse and cupped one of her breasts. At the same moment, I pressed my mouth to hers, caressing her lips with my tongue. I pulled her soft breasts out of her tight blouse and she gasped. Her hands on my neck tightened uncontrollably.
  
  
  
  “No, no,” she breathed as her breasts responded to my touch, their soft tips rising in eager anticipation. I gently rubbed my thumb over my nipples and Teresina made little noises of protest that made no sense. Her closed eyes and pointed nipples, her feverish grip on my neck, her tense stomach - that's the real answer.
  
  
  
  With a quick movement, I took off her blouse and pulled it over her head. She opened her eyes and I saw mixed desire and fear in them. I suppressed my fear, leaving only desire as I leaned down and took her breast into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the soft tip.
  
  
  
  Teresina screamed with pleasure. She writhed and cried, and again her lips said one thing, but her body said another. Finally she stopped objecting and turned to me with amazing tenderness. She gently pressed my head to her chest.
  
  
  
  “Make love to me, Nick,” she said, closing her eyes.
  
  
  
  Now she was naked next to me, our bodies pressed against each other. She took my face in her hands for a moment, and then pressed them again to her chest, to the soft, sweet skin of her belly. There was grace in her movements and a gentle, tender sweetness as I caressed her thighs and found her warmth awaiting my touch. She sighed and a smile appeared on her face.
  
  
  
  I caressed her innermost being, listening to the tenderness of her pleading voice, watching the graceful, subtle movements of her hands, her hands. If Teresina was a peasant girl, she was unlike any peasant girl I had ever known. In this time of desire she was a gentle creature, a girl whose every gesture and movement spoke not of a farm, but of sophistication and culture. But when she lifted her legs for me, I put aside these calculated observations and became completely immersed in the pleasures of her body.
  
  
  
  Whoever Teresina was, I knew I would find out sooner or later. Right now she was a loving, passionate, intense girl, waiting to see what I could bring her, wanting to offer me her treasures. As I moved inside her, Teresina's impatient sighs became louder and longer, until she came to me with a shudder from the depths of her soul, and in a few moments we lay together in a world of sensual satisfaction.
  
  
  
  The things I had been thinking about came flooding back to me in the warm after-lovemaking. In those moments when passion reigned, Teresina revealed not only her body. She was passionate, energetic, but she had sophistication, an innate tenderness. A lady makes love differently than a whore. There was nothing down-to-earth about Terezin, typical of the girl she pretended to be. I was convinced; she was not a peasant wench or a simple village girl. I didn't know what her game was, only that she was fake.
  
  
  
  I wasn't surprised then when her hand stroked my cheek and she said, her voice tinged with sadness, "You're wonderful," she said. “I wish we could stay like this and forget about the rest of the world.”
  
  
  
  I took the soft breast in my palm, and she pressed her palm against mine. “I know what you mean,” I said. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
  
  
  
  She rested her head in the curve of my shoulder and gently ran her hand up and down my body. She lay calmly next to me, moving her hand from time to time, her leg partially resting on my stomach. But the world could not be forgotten, neither for me nor for her, and finally she propped herself up on her elbow and modestly pulled the yellow blouse over her bare chest. She looked at me soberly.
  
  
  
  "Now will you sell El Garfio?" she asked.
  
  
  
  “You sound like you'd be sorry if I did that,” I said, surprised.
  
  
  
  “That’s a stupid thing to say,” she said quickly. "I just want to know, that's all, now that you got what you wanted."
  
  
  
  There was obvious bitterness in her voice. But I was damned if I could figure out why. It was a strange little dish.
  
  
  
  “Maybe I’d like more,” I said casually.
  
  
  
  Her eyes looked at me, and I saw anger in them with a tinge of sadness.
  
  
  
  “I'm sure you will,” she said. “It’s a shame you want it for the wrong reasons.”
  
  
  
  I grabbed her and pulled her towards me. “Desire is a reason in itself,” I said. “Didn’t you like it? Maybe I can do better.”
  
  
  
  I stroked her soft, full breasts again. Immediately her legs pressed against me, and she writhed and moaned, struggling with herself.
  
  
  
  "Stop!" she gasped. “Stop...please. Okay, I liked it...too much." She broke free. "I'm sorry this had to happen for the reasons it did."
  
  
  
  “It happened because we wanted each other,” I said.
  
  
  
  “Yes, but there were other reasons,” she answered, burying her face in my chest, with that strange sadness in her voice. “It’s very bad for other reasons. If not for this, it would have been the most fulfilling of my life.”
  
  
  
  I knew she meant that I wanted her as part of the price for selling El Garfio. She didn't understand that I wanted her to know things about her that she was now revealing again. The sensitivity she showed did not fit with her peasant background. More and more I began to think that she was a well-educated, dedicated revolutionary, perhaps an upper-class defector, probably exported to Bolivia, like Che Guevara. Che was a man of considerable worldly refinements; he probably reasoned that it would be in his nature to send her away as a simple peasant girl. I watched as she put on the rest of her clothes and knew one thing: whatever the reason for the masquerade, she was a pleasure to look at and to have.
  
  
  
  At the door she turned to me. "I'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps you will make your own decision."
  
  
  
  “Agree for me to meet with El Garfio, and then we’ll see,” I said. “You have a few days. I have to leave again tomorrow. Give me a place where I can contact you when I return.”
  
  
  
  "No." She shook her head. "This is impossible. I will contact you."
  
  
  
  She left, and I turned off the light and stretched out on the bed. What she said was very true: under other circumstances, what would have happened would have been truly complete...
  
  
  
  
  8.
  
  
  
  
  It was a gray dawn and it will be a gray day that I have seen. That beautiful Bolivian rain, chilcheo, was falling when I drove the beat-up old Ford back to Cochabamba and rolled the helicopter out of the warehouse.
  
  
  
  I looked around carefully before taking off, and in a moment I was safely in the air, heading towards the mountains. This time I had no problems finding the orange canister and the tiny clearing. I parked the helicopter and hurried along the narrow path to the inn.
  
  
  
  As I approached the cabin, Manuel came out with his carbine ready. When he saw it was me, he lowered the gun.
  
  
  
  “Good morning, Nick,” he said. "I wasn't sure it was you at first." No one else supported him, which surprised me.
  
  
  
  "You are alone?" I asked.
  
  
  
  “The rest are in the hut,” he said. “It's a bad morning. Cesare, Eduardo, Olo and Luis are all sick. We cooked some yuca last night and maybe it wasn't cooked well enough because they have a big sickness today. Only Antonio and I escaped.”
  
  
  
  He turned back to the tapper and I followed him. Inside, I found them all standing with rifles at the ready, looking haggard and sallow.
  
  
  
  I asked. "What are you doing?"
  
  
  
  "You come. We are coming with you,” Olo replied.
  
  
  
  “Nonsense,” I said. "I'll be back again."
  
  
  
  “No,” he said. “We are quite healthy now. Besides, killing the guerrillas will make us feel better.” I saw determination in his eyes.
  
  
  
  “We spotted another small squad of Che Guevara,” Olo continued, his voice becoming agitated. "This group spends its time raiding the gondolas that pass along the gorge road three times a week."
  
  
  
  I knew that gondola was the Bolivian idiom for a small bus. “They take money from passengers, but more than that, these raids spread rumors about their strength. This impresses the peasants and makes it easier for the bastard to recruit people.”
  
  
  
  “News travels fast in these mountains,” Louis interjected. “Rumors about our raid have already spread. We heard that the partisan leader is furious.”
  
  
  
  “We entered a village two kilometers away,” Cesare explained. “We went to scout and maybe find a Chaco with some food and a Choclo. An old woman told us that there were rumors about a fight between two partisan detachments.”
  
  
  
  I laughed. “Okay,” I said. "Did you find anything in the Chaco?" Vegetables and fruits were grown on Chaco land. "Jocos" was delicious winter squash and "choclos" was sweet corn on the cob.
  
  
  
  “We found both,” Olo said. “But now we've attacked this gondola raiding gang, haven't we? They had a camp about a day's travel from here, but they could move it."
  
  
  
  “Then we won’t look for them,” I said. “We will take a cue from the history of the American West.” I saw their eyes light up intently. “You say they are raiding the gondolas coming through the gorge. We'll hit them when they stop the next gondola. This will kill two birds with one stone. They will not be prepared for an attack, and passengers will be sure to tell people about our counterattack."
  
  
  
  "Magnifico!" - Olo exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his rough face. "We are going!"
  
  
  
  They handed me a rolled up poncho that could be used as a sleeping bag and we were on our way. We walked, led by Luis, until the light began to give way to darkness. When the night made the going too slow and difficult, we stopped.
  
  
  
  "We're almost there," Louis said. “Right over the little ridge ahead.” He pulled out chankaku, a raw sugar candy full of energy and natural sweetness. It was warm and we wrapped ourselves in ponchos, letting the light rain lull us to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  9.
  
  
  
  
  There was no sun in the morning, but the change in temperature was enough to wake us up.
  
  
  
  Louis was right. Just beyond a small ridge we came to the edge of a road leading through a ravine. We hunched over in the bushes by the road.
  
  
  
  “The guerrillas will come across the road,” Olo said. "We've watched them and they do the same thing every time."
  
  
  
  "How soon will the gondola arrive?" I asked.
  
  
  
  Olo chuckled softly. “Every time the driver feels the urge to drive the car, the bus feels the urge to drive,” he said.
  
  
  
  I settled down for what may have been a long wait, the poncho underneath me on the damp ground. We remained silent because on the road through the ravine we saw faint movement in the bushes, which meant that the partisans had arrived. I felt cramped, and several hours passed when I heard the faint sound of an engine chugging heavily. Finally a bus appeared, moving slowly through the ravine.
  
  
  
  It was a vintage school bus that had a tall roof rack built on it, now loaded with bags, suitcases and backpacks. He approached us, moving forward slowly when the partisans across the road struck. Two of them ran out in front of the bus, firing at the driver, who immediately stopped. The rest - about six people in all - lined up, aiming their rifles at the terrified passengers.
  
  
  
  Passengers began to exit the bus in single file, raising their hands in the air. I looked at Olo and nodded. Partisans stood next to the bus, pushing passengers with rifles towards the exit. They were easy prey for my good marksmen. All we had to do was shoot carefully so as not to kill the passengers.
  
  
  
  I raised my rifle, took aim and fired. The others shot almost like the man behind me. The partisans fell like toy soldiers run over by an angry child. We jumped out into the open. The doubly frightened passengers stood motionless. When we herded them back onto the bus, they still didn't know what exactly had happened before their stunned eyes.
  
  
  
  “El Garfio is a jerk,” I told the driver as the others listened. “Go back to your villages and tell them that you saw his people killed. Tell them that he will be hunted by those who will stop these robberies and murders once and for all. Tell everyone that joining him is certain death."
  
  
  
  We watched the gondola slowly chug along and then headed back. In our encounters with the partisans we had been lucky so far, although it was the kind of luck that comes with careful planning and experienced fighters. I knew that this would not always be the case, and I found myself thinking that then we would have big problems.
  
  
  
  It was dark when we arrived at the hut. Olo and the other patients seemed ready to collapse. They had exceeded their physical limits and were now overcome by fatigue.
  
  
  
  I shook hands with everyone and returned to the clearing to the helicopter, making my way alone in the darkness of the dense forest. Luckily, the path was pretty clearly marked and I managed to stay on it.
  
  
  
  The rain finally stopped when I took off for Cochabamba. I arrived there in the dead darkness of early morning, and by dawn I drove the old Ford into La Paz. In my hotel room, I stripped off my dirty clothes, took a quick shower, and fell back into bed as Nikolai von Schlegel, the arms dealer.
  
  
  
  
  10.
  
  
  
  
  Luckily I sleep soundly and my recovery is good. I say “fortunately” because my phone rang mid-morning to tell me that Señorita Yolanda Demas was going upstairs. I brushed my teeth and pulled up my pants when she knocked. So I opened the door, wearing only trousers, and saw with interest how she was looking at me. She was wearing her alpaca coat again, but underneath it was a simple burgundy dress with a zipper down the front. Her somewhat short figure was helped by the flowing length of the line, and her breasts fit snugly into the simple bodice I noticed. But mostly I was aware of full, sensual lips and smoldering eyes pointing to an inner volcano.
  
  
  
  The lips pouted in irritation.
  
  
  
  “I expected you to call me,” she said, throwing her coat on the chair. "Especially after what we talked about the last time I was here."
  
  
  
  I smiled. “You mean to enjoy each other? I haven't forgotten. I was busy".
  
  
  
  "Did you receive another offer?" she asked. “You told me you would give me a chance to offer you something better.”
  
  
  
  Now smiling internally, I thought about Terezin. I would be happy to give this curvaceous creature in front of me a chance to improve.
  
  
  
  “You’re very persistent, Yolanda,” I said teasingly. “In fact, you just woke me up. Yesterday I went to bed very late and worked.”
  
  
  
  “At St. Angela Academy we were taught to be assertive,” she said and ran her tongue across her lips. They sure as hell didn't teach you that at St. Angel's, I thought as I watched her.
  
  
  
  “I have received several attractive offers,” I said.
  
  
  
  She came and stood in front of me, placing her hands on my chest. They were hot on my bare skin. “I can offer you the same amount of money and something else,” she said, looking at me, and now her smoldering eyes lit up.
  
  
  
  “Prove it,” I said.
  
  
  
  She reached out and hugged my neck. She kissed me, but held back. I tugged at the zipper, pulling it all the way down. She stepped back as the dress fell open and I was surprised to see that she wasn't wearing a bra, just a pair of pink bikini panties. Her breasts were magnificent, standing up straight and sticking out, smoothing out at the underside of her nipples to create a round, raised line.
  
  
  
  She looked at me, her breathing quickened, her eyes darkening wildly. I slowly lifted the dress from her shoulders and let it fall. My hands slid over her beautiful shoulders to her breasts. She pressed my hands to them and pressed herself against me, her mouth open, her tongue like a furious snake darting in and out.
  
  
  
  She tore my pants until I was naked in front of her, then pulled down my bikini panties. She attacked me again, and I saw an almost wild light in her eyes, as if she was participating in a competition. She was aggressive, wild, almost cruel. She clung to me as I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
  
  
  
  On the bed she grabbed me with cries of pleasure, breaking away from my arms to explore my body with her hands and lips. Then she fell on top of me, her torso twisting and thrusting, riding, moaning and gasping in a sexual frenzy. I was caught up in her passion and matched her aggressiveness, correcting her a little as she cried out with intense desire.
  
  
  
  “More, damn,” she gasped. “More, more. Stronger...now." The harsher my caresses, the more she responded with wild zeal, comparing them with her own cruelty. The arrogant, cool façade came down. She was a mare in heat, fired with desire for a stallion, using tricks and a language no one had ever learned at St. Angela's Academy.
  
  
  
  I plunged into her, and she threw her body up in convulsions of frantic ecstasy, now moaning, now cursing. Suddenly I realized that this was a peasant girl - simple, unbridled, animalistic. When she came, her short legs tightened around my waist like a vice, and her smooth round belly rose like a piston at high speed.
  
  
  
  Like Teresina, Yolanda had a moment of truth, that moment when passion forces him to pretend. The imperious, decent heiress of the tin mines turned out to be an earthly primitive girl. Both women were fakes, pretending to be something they weren't. Why, I thought, lying next to Yolanda, admiring those magnificent breasts. Her curvaceous body was incredibly breathtaking, the rushing rapids and wild winds were breathtaking. Why double masquerade? I had to find out.
  
  
  
  I watched as Yolanda stood up, walked into the living room, and returned with the dress.
  
  
  
  "Pleased?" She said, kneeling down next to me to press her chest against my chest. She moved up and rubbed them on my face. When she came down and stopped, I saw that she wanted to start again. But I gave it up. I had a weird double play that I had to think about. I didn't want to see her covering those juicy breasts, but I just sat back and looked at her dress.
  
  
  
  "Fine?" - she demanded an answer, and the arrogance returned to its place. "Will I get guns?"
  
  
  
  “I have to wait for the government’s final proposal,” I stopped her. "When I have it, I'll call you and we can discuss it again."
  
  
  
  “The same discussion we just had?” - she asked, looking at me from under lowered eyelids.
  
  
  
  “Same thing,” I said, smiling. “I'm sure all I need is a little more convincing to help me make a decision. By the way, just for my own records, where is that tin mine of yours?”
  
  
  
  The pause was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. “East of El Puente,” she said easily. "Between Piray and Grande, in a small valley."
  
  
  
  I nodded, put on my pants and walked with her to the door. She kissed me with such a kiss that it is impossible to forget, and I watched as she walked along the corridor, paying attention to the very careful steps, the studied gestures.
  
  
  
  I closed the door and poured myself a drink. Teresina and Yolanda. They both tried to make me look like a loser. I finished my drink and laughed.
  
  
  
  
  eleven.
  
  
  
  
  I decided to get up early in the morning. The sun was bright and warm for a change as I drove the old Ford on the road to Cochabamba.
  
  
  
  Using a helicopter at this time of day would risk exposure and disaster, so I drove through Cochabamba, on the road past an old warehouse and on into the distant mountains.
  
  
  
  I was driving along one of the narrow mountain roads marked by the 30-foot Puya raimondii, the tallest grass in the world and a relative of the Andean pineapple, when I noticed an abandoned mission. I drove into the yard, got out of the car and entered the cool darkness of the old houses.
  
  
  
  Most of the main building and sanctuary were in good condition. I marked the spot in my mind and on the small map I carried. It could be a convenient meeting place or landmark in the mountains.
  
  
  
  The little Ford's engine began to strain and chug as I climbed higher into the thin air. Going downhill I found the Pirai River and then the Grande River. I explored first the west, then the east. I didn't find anything resembling a tin mine.
  
  
  
  To be thorough, I crossed the small bridge over the Grand and explored the other side. There was nothing there but dense wilderness, and I turned back. I approached what was thought to be a village, but was actually a group of old buildings leaning against each other for mutual support, like a bunch of drunks. An old woman was pushing two goats across the only street with a long stick. Since she had roots there, I stopped and called out to her.
  
  
  
  She listened to my question about the tin mine, watching me intently with small dark eyes so hidden under the folds of her wrinkled skin that they were barely noticeable. Turning around, she called out to one of the houses. A gray-haired old vaquero appeared with a barn on his shoulders and a tattered straw sombrero on his head. He walked up to the car and leaned against the door.
  
  
  
  “You are lost, senor,” he said. "There is no mine here."
  
  
  
  I asked. "Are you sure?" "I'm looking for a tin mine."
  
  
  
  “No tin mine,” he repeated. "Nothing".
  
  
  
  I insisted. "Perhaps in another valley nearby?"
  
  
  
  “There are no mines here,” he said, shaking his head. The woman came up to him and also shook her head. “Maybe two hundred, three hundred miles there’s a mine.” He shrugged. "Not here."
  
  
  
  I thanked them and turned the old car back towards Cochabamba. I wasn't really surprised, but I had to check out Yolanda's story. Hell, she could be the exception that proves the rule. She could have been kicked out of the dozens graduating from school for being hypersexual.
  
  
  
  A vague suspicion began to form in the depths of my soul. I decided it was time to act. I never liked being played like a sucker, ever. Beautiful, sexy ladies were no more crushing in this regard than anyone else.
  
  
  
  I drove to the outskirts of Cochabamba and parked under the trees. Cochabamba wasn't big enough for a stranger to hang around all day without arousing interest, so I avoided the city altogether. I stayed in the car, alternately dozing and watching the farmers drive their few pigs and goats to market. I wondered what they would say if they ever saw a huge herd of pigs on a Midwestern farm. They'll probably look incredulous.
  
  
  
  The day finally came to an end. I got out of the car and stretched my legs. Waiting gave me time to complete my plan. I was going to find out about my fake heiress and my fake peasant girl at the same time.
  
  
  
  When it got dark, I looked at the sky. The almost full moon hung large and round. I wanted that moon as much as any lover. I waited until almost midnight, then went to the warehouse and got a helicopter.
  
  
  
  The moon was a pale lantern, but still a lantern. As I glided low over the treetops, a faint light illuminated the trees. I stayed low, despite the risk of crashing into a hillside or an unusually tall tree. By the time I reached the clearing, my eyes had become accustomed to finding their way in the moonlight. I was proud of myself when I stopped at the tiny landing pad. As usual, I pulled several branches onto the helicopter and ran along the path to the tapera.
  
  
  
  I moved very carefully as I approached the hut. They weren’t expecting me, and I didn’t want bullets flying in my face. When I was within fifty feet, I whistled softly and lay down on the ground. I knew that six carbines were now pointed in my direction.
  
  
  
  “Olo,” I called softly. "It's me... Nick."
  
  
  
  There was silence. Finally a voice said from the darkness: “Come out into the open. Keep your hands up."
  
  
  
  I did. A few seconds later, the door of the inn swung open and a lamp inside came on.
  
  
  
  "Are you coming at this hour?" - asked Manuel. "Something big must be up there, right?"
  
  
  
  “It’s still something important,” I said, entering the hut where Louis was already setting up the kettle for tea.
  
  
  
  “I want to forcefully pierce El Garfio’s hand. They are playing games with me and I want to end it. We have to find a way to hit this El Garfio, whoever he is, hard enough to drive him into despair. Any ideas? "
  
  
  
  I saw them look at each other and grin. Olo threw back his head and roared with joy. “We have a way, Senor Nick,” he said. “We were looking forward to your next visit. In fact, we were wondering how we could contact you. We found a cave in which the bastard stores his main supplies of ammunition and weapons."
  
  
  
  "Magnifico!" - I exclaimed. "Where is it?"
  
  
  
  “Two days’ journey from here,” Olo said. “Cesare was alone, scouting the hills, when he appeared there. It's well guarded, Senor Nick, but we can take it."
  
  
  
  Two days, I thought. This would mean that I would be away from La Paz for at least four days. It wasn't too long to raise suspicions, but long enough to have Teresina and Yolanda biting their nails a little. I chuckled.
  
  
  
  “We're going in the morning,” I said, accepting the cup of tea that Louis offered me. "It will be wonderful".
  
  
  
  
  12.
  
  
  
  ;
  
  
  We set out at dawn across the dew-damp ground, Louis again leading the way. For provisions we took choclo - sweet corn on the cob - plus some charka and chancaca.
  
  
  
  I was excited. This was as close to direct action against Che or anyone else as I had gotten so far. The prospects were good. I never thought about failure. I realized a long time ago that even thinking about failure is the first step towards this.
  
  
  
  Looking at my comrades, at their ruthless and harsh expressions, I realized that they did not expect failure. Each person was a special machine dedicated to death and destruction. Each was a person possessed by personal demons. Olo's wrinkled face reflected him. The tension in Louis's pursed lips opened him up. Antonio, Cesare and others were all driven by their own thirst for revenge. A psychiatrist would call them possessed. I would call them what the doctor ordered, and Hawk delivered.
  
  
  
  I felt for the lighter in my pocket. The next time I use the pre-configured communication set, I will begin the third stage of my plan. When will depend on how well this raid goes. And about the reaction of two passionate scammers waiting for me in La Paz.
  
  
  
  Louis set a grueling pace that, with the exception of a couple of minor incidents, was uneventful. While crossing a small river we lost part of our raft when the logs we had crudely tied together parted at one end and Manuel was thrown into the water. We pulled him back on board and made it safely to the other side. We stopped only to eat and sleep at noon and as night fell. The darkness made the journey too slow to bother. During the day it was bad enough in the dense mountain forests. Exhausted by the fast pace, we all slept soundly, wrapped in ponchos.
  
  
  
  
  13.
  
  
  
  
  In the morning, immediately after we set up camp, we staged an unexpected battle. A pack of Boros descended on us and we were busy fighting them in our ponchos. A boros is a fly that, when bitten, deposits a larva under the skin, causing a painful infection. Cesare, Antonio and Eduardo were bitten and we had to treat the bites by immediately burning them with hot matches - a crude and painful but effective method.
  
  
  
  It was late evening when we reached solid ground, a place where the hill turned into level ground. Beyond the tree line I looked towards the open side of the mountain and the entrance to a large cave. A group of partisans, about fifteen people in total, was outside the cave. Three of them stood guard at the entrance to the cave, while the rest were roasting a wild pig on a spit over the fire. They stacked their rifles in order to grab them immediately.
  
  
  
  Olo touched my shoulder and pointed his head towards the hill directly above the cave. There were two more sentries there, barely visible, pressed against the dirt of the mountain.
  
  
  
  “We can shoot a lot of them with our first salvo,” Olo whispered. “But many are not enough. The rest will rush to the cave. Once inside, they can hold us for days, maybe weeks. Then others will come and our plan will fail.”
  
  
  
  “I can’t sit and shoot with them for days,” I said. "There's only one answer. We'll have to get most of them away from the cave. I can do that. When they come after me, give me enough time to get them away, then you'll hit the remaining guards. You should be able to kill them first gulp, get to the cave. The main group will return back when they hear the shots, and you will find yourself inside the cave, cutting them off from a protected position.
  
  
  
  "Excellente!" Olo grinned at me.
  
  
  
  "It's okay," I said.
  
  
  
  I stood up and moved carefully along the tree line until I found myself in a thicket of bushes directly opposite the cave. I picked up my rifle and decided to help the others as best I could by killing one of the sentries on the roof of the cave. I fired carefully, one shot. He fell from his place like a stone knocked from the side of a hill.
  
  
  
  There was silence for a moment, then I stood up and ran, allowing them to see me. All hell broke loose behind me as the partisans grabbed their rifles and rushed after me. I dove into the trees, turned and fired again, taking my time to take aim. Another one collapsed. I fired a few more shots at random and began to run in and out of the trees.
  
  
  
  Most of them chased after me, firing furiously as they ran. But, past or not, the bullets rang around me, and I fell to the ground. I lay quietly, listening to them wave their fans and shoot into the bushes behind me. I waited a moment, then stood up and ran again. A hail of lead rushed past my ears and hit the trees. I dived to the ground and through the bushes caught a glimpse of my two pursuers. I fired. This slowed them down a bit, but they continued to advance. They were getting damn close and I was wondering what the hell was keeping Olo and the others. I told him to give me enough time to get them away from the cave; I didn't expect them to give them time to kill me.
  
  
  
  At that moment I heard shots fired so close to each other that they almost sounded like one. The shooting was repeated, and my pursuers turned, as I had hoped, and ran back towards the cave, shouting and cursing.
  
  
  
  I stood up, then fell back as a gash appeared on my scalp. One of the partisans remained; I heard him running towards me as I lay on the ground. I lay on my back with my eyes closed and let him think he had me. I felt him standing over me.
  
  
  
  When he reached out with a rifle to pierce my corpse, I grabbed the barrel and rolled, yanking the rifle out of his hands. He dived after me, but I raised the rifle, holding it with both hands, and his face crashed into the barrel. He groaned in pain and fell to the side. I shot him point-blank as he tried to roll away and saw part of his head disappear.
  
  
  
  I kept his rifle and moved back to the cave, running with carbines in each hand.
  
  
  
  When I approached the battle site and from the rear I saw the partisans who were hiding behind trees and stones, exchanging fire with Olo and the others inside the cave. I also saw something else that Olo and I, in our eagerness, hadn't thought of.
  
  
  
  Although those in the cave had the most protected positions and it was impossible to rush at them without being killed, they were also pinned down. The partisans also understood this. As I crouched low, I saw that one of them had been sent for help. He ran, crouched, first returned to the place where I was hiding, and then crossed, escaping into the surrounding trees.
  
  
  
  I could have easily shot him down, but then the others would have known that their messenger had been intercepted. I decided to let them think he was safely gone and slipped through the trees after him. I dropped the gun of a dead partisan - one carbine is enough - while I followed the running man through the forest. He was about to go get help and didn't hear me following him.
  
  
  
  I didn't want to use a rifle; the sound of the shot would have been easily heard. But he took me into the wild, where I could have been lost for several days. He knew the territory, but to me it was a maze of trees and bushes. I had to get him before he went much further. I quickened my pace to catch up with him, risking that he would hear me.
  
  
  
  He was on top of a small ridge visible through the curved tree trunk when he stopped and turned. He heard me making my way through the bushes, approaching him. I fell to the ground.
  
  
  
  I lay still and looked at him through the curtain of leaves in front of my face. He lowered his rifle and moved cautiously towards me, searching the bushes, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for some movement, some sign of his pursuer. I watched as he walked closer, rifle at the ready. If I get up, he'll shoot.
  
  
  
  I dropped Hugo into my palm. The cool stiletto touched my skin. I was lying almost prone. It was a hell of a position to throw a knife. In fact, I realized this is impossible. I had to stand on at least one elbow and he would have sent a bullet into me before I could throw the knife. Suddenly Mother Nature came to my rescue, bless her unpredictable heart. She's played dirty with me many times in the past, so it's time for a good deed on her part.
  
  
  
  The anaconda, small, no more than six feet long, moved in the grass,
  
  
  
  and the man turned around a split second before the shot was fired. He saw a constrictor gliding next to him. A split second was all I needed. I propped myself up on my elbow and threw Hugo as hard as I could. The partisan saw me, but the stiletto hit him deep in the chest before he could turn back. He staggered and the rifle fell from his hands. He grabbed the handle of the stiletto in a futile attempt to pull it out, staggered again and fell backwards. I heard his last breath leave him as I walked over to pick up Hugo.
  
  
  
  Careful not to get lost in the rapidly fading light, I walked back down the mountainside. The sound of gunfire in the cave was my best guide, and soon I was back behind the guerrillas as they exchanged fire with Olo and the others.
  
  
  
  Olo did a good job. There were no more than six or seven enemies left alive. I settled down in the bushes, took aim at the nearest one and fired. I didn't wait to see him fall, but immediately turned my gaze to the next man and sent a bullet through him.
  
  
  
  By the time I settled on number three, the three survivors realized what was happening. Thinking they were caught in crossfire between two groups, they ran towards him, hastily abandoning their rifles. I killed one more before the last two disappeared into the forest. I knew they wouldn't stop until they reached El Garfio.
  
  
  
  I screamed and saw Luis, and then Manuel came out of the cave. Olo and Eduardo came out to support Cesare. He was shot in the forearm, a painful but not serious wound. While Manuel and Luis dressed the wound, Olo and I opened a box of rifle cartridges and poured gunpowder from them along the path leading into the cave, where about fifty boxes of ammunition were hidden and perhaps as many rifles. We sprinkled some more gunpowder on the boxes and left the cave. Outside, they set fire to a trail of gunpowder, then ran into the forest.
  
  
  
  The explosion inside the cave was muffled, but the ground shook and rocks and dirt slid down the mountainside. Olo stood next to me, grinning. “Ready, amigo,” he said happily.
  
  
  
  “That part,” I agreed. "Let's start again."
  
  
  
  The day was short, and we had to stop when the darkness deepened. But that night we slept the sleep of satisfied, triumphant people.
  
  
  
  
  14.
  
  
  
  
  The return journey was not too slow, considering that Cesare was wounded. By the evening of the next day we reached the hut. But this time I will not return to La Paz alone.
  
  
  
  “If everything goes as I expect,” I told them, “I will meet El Garfio soon. If he really is Che Guevara, my job will be to catch him or kill him. I'll go to the lion's area. You can tell he'll have the upper hand when we meet, and no one knows what could go wrong. I want to set this up so you can strike at the right moment. So, I'll take Manuel back to La Paz with me. As soon as I know the exact details of the meeting, I will inform him and he will bring you my instructions."
  
  
  
  “I agree,” Olo grumbled. "We will await your word."
  
  
  
  With Manuel next to me, I left after a few handshakes and returned to the helicopter. Although it was a solo model, Manuel managed to squeeze in and we took off. Back in Cochabamba again, we parked the helicopter in storage for what I hoped would be the last time.
  
  
  
  "Are you driving, Manuel?" - I asked as we got into the old Ford.
  
  
  
  “Si,” he nodded.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. "You'll probably have to take that old car as far into the mountains as possible, and then move on from there when you get back."
  
  
  
  At a hotel in La Paz, I rented a small room for Manuel and ordered him to remain there, out of sight, until he heard from me. He had to take all the food to his room and not go out anywhere. I didn't want any slip-ups at this crucial time.
  
  
  
  I managed to get a few hours of sleep between early dawn and mid-morning when the phone rang. For the second time, the imminent arrival of Senorita Yolanda Demas was announced. It was to be almost a repeat of her last visit - with a few important variations.
  
  
  
  
  VI
  
  
  
  
  15.
  
  
  
  
  I was putting on my trousers and unbuttoned shirt when she knocked. I opened the door. She wore the same burgundy dress, but there was no arrogance. Instead, I felt tension in her as she entered the room.
  
  
  
  “I had to see you,” she said, her eyes flashing, her lips glistening as she wet them with her tongue, this time nervously, to seduce me.
  
  
  
  I walked up to her and kissed her, letting my tongue find her in an erotic duel. I felt her relax for a moment, but then she pulled her mouth away from mine.
  
  
  
  “Stop,” she said. "Later please. Now I need these pistols."
  
  
  
  "Do you need a weapon?" - I said, raising my eyebrows.
  
  
  
  “Yesterday my mine was attacked by El Garfio’s men,” she said. "I can't wait any longer, can I?"
  
  
  
  “I see, dear,” I thought. I see a lot. Rumors had no time to spread the news of our raid on the cave arsenal. Soon the only person who will find out about this is someone directly involved, someone who is in radio contact with Yolanda Demas.
  
  
  
  "El Garfio, huh?" - I said lazily. "You mean Che Guevara, don't you?"
  
  
  
  I fired the last shot and saw her eyes widen in confusion and surprise. She tried to hide it, muttered nervously: “I... I don’t understand. It was El Garfio... I told you so.”
  
  
  
  I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her forward. “Get off, you little bitch,” I said sharply. "This is Che Guevara, and you work for him."
  
  
  
  “No, no,” she screamed wildly. “You are making a mistake. I don't understand what you're talking about."
  
  
  
  I twisted her hair and pulled, and she fell to her knees with a cry of pain. I screamed at her. "Stop lying!" “I went looking for your tin mine.” I thought this would be a good place to start and explain that I know she is a fraud.
  
  
  
  It worked. She rose to her knees with difficulty. Her hand came towards me, her claws dug into my face. I dodged, but she attacked me like a tigress. I grabbed her hand and spun her around, forcing her to turn her back to me. With my other hand I unbuttoned her dress and grabbed one of her breasts. I pulled her towards me, my hand pressed to her chest, kneading it. I saw her eyes darken with desire. I kissed her and she grabbed me, half crying, half cursing. I forced her back onto the sofa, keeping my hand on her chest.
  
  
  
  “I don’t like being lied to,” I said. “It would be better if you told me the truth at all.”
  
  
  
  She frowned and pouted like a child, looking at me. "Are you telling me the truth?"
  
  
  
  “More than you told me,” I replied. “I will sell my weapons to Che Guevara. It would be an honor for me. After all, this kind of deal will help me when I get home. The East German government, after all, ideologically supports your cause. Why didn't you just do it? come to me and tell me who you really were? "
  
  
  
  "Oh no!" she gasped. “That would be against all my instructions. It was better to buy a gun like someone else... much safer. There are spies and those who will betray us.”
  
  
  
  She pressed her hand against mine and rubbed her breasts on my chest.
  
  
  
  “Oh God, if only I had time to be here with you this morning,” she moaned.
  
  
  
  I asked. "Why is there such a big fuss today?"
  
  
  
  “I can’t tell you,” she said, “but I must offer you twice as much as others have offered.”
  
  
  
  “I’ll do better for you, Yolanda,” I said, rubbing my thumb over her nipple and feeling it instantly erect. I leaned in to kiss her, letting my tongue run across her lips. She shuddered.
  
  
  
  “You know, I really like you,” I said. “I want this to be a big deal for both of us. I will give Che Guevara everything he needs if I am sure that he is really alive, that I will meet him and see him with my own eyes.”
  
  
  
  “I think I can arrange it,” she said slowly. “I can let you know in maybe a few hours.”
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “Set up a time for me to meet him and I will take him to where the weapons are kept. Naturally, this is my secret and must remain so until delivery.”
  
  
  
  She stood up, buttoned her dress and walked to the door. “I'll be back,” she said.
  
  
  
  I waited ten minutes after she left, then took out the cigarette lighter. I turned it on and off and waited. I heard static and then Hawk's voice, sharp but a little weak. I swore. This was no time for the damn thing!
  
  
  
  “Says Nick,” I said. "I can not hear you."
  
  
  
  “Move on to stage three,” I said. “Continue stage three. I will probably not be able to establish further radio contact. Let your people act according to plan. Follow the signal from the bay above Kuya. Tomorrow night or the day after tomorrow."
  
  
  
  “Will do,” Hawk replied. “Immediate implementation of the third phase. Good luck".
  
  
  
  I turned off the lighter and put it in my pocket. Now the leadership was mine. I stretched out on the bed to get some sleep. I knew there would be little sleep and a lot of stress for the next 48 hours. Besides, Yolanda will return, and if I knew my women, with certain ideas. But I also had a few for her.
  
  
  
  It was the night before she returned to the hotel, which was good because I had a chance to get some sleep.
  
  
  
  She said simply. "It's arranged", .
  
  
  “I will take you to where you will meet, at the ranch west of Tarata. Che is coming here to meet you because he wants to take up arms himself.”
  
  
  
  Tarata! I mentally pictured a map of Bolivia. Tarata was located south of Cochabamba. I figured it out. He entered, his people descended from the mountains. From Tarata he could strike in any direction and, if necessary, retreat again into the mountains.
  
  
  
  “I wanted to stay here with you tonight,” Yolanda pouted. “But I must report your answer. Do you agree with the agreement?
  
  
  
  “Of course I agree,” I said, hugging her. “And I want you too tonight. But I have a better plan. Will you come with us to get weapons?
  
  
  
  “No,” she said quickly. “I just have to direct you to the ranch.”
  
  
  
  “Okay, then here's what I want you to do,” I said, trying to make it sound very secretive and exciting. “On the road beyond El Puente there is a giant puya that marks a small mountain road.”
  
  
  
  "Si". She nodded. "I know this place"
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “Right down the road is an abandoned mission. When it's all over, when Che has a weapon, I want you to meet me there."
  
  
  
  I pulled her towards me and quickly ran my hands over her body. She reacted immediately with the ferocious, animalistic earthiness that was her nature, and it was harder for me to turn her off than to turn her on.
  
  
  
  "I guess I'll meet Che tomorrow night?" - I said in a casual tone. I knew damn well he wouldn't get that close to Cochabamba with his men in daylight.
  
  
  
  “Si,” she said. "At nine o'clock." I quickly did the math. I could have had a gun in his hands within four hours if we had traveled by car or truck. Four hours before returning brought us closer to five o'clock in the morning.
  
  
  
  “Meet me at the old mission an hour after dawn,” I told her. “Wait there until I arrive. There may be delays. Then we can be there alone, just the two of us.”
  
  
  
  She nodded impatiently. If she realized that the only reason I wanted her on this mission was to pick her up and turn her over to the authorities, she would be trying to kill me by now. Earthy, exciting little creature that she was, she was still part of Guevara's merciless operation.
  
  
  
  "How do I get to the ranch?" - I asked, hugging her to me and gently stroking her back.
  
  
  
  “Go south from Tarata,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by my chest. “There is only one road. You will see a ranch on the right. The house is old, with a red roof.”
  
  
  
  She quickly kissed me and left.
  
  
  
  Then I went to Manuel's room and told him what was planned for the third stage. When I finished, he looked at me with wide, round eyes. "It's fantastic," he said. “But I think a lot of big things depend on a lot of little things.”
  
  
  
  “It’s always like that in this business,” I said, but I knew he was right. The success of this mission depended on many loosely connected pieces and pieces. Each one had to line up correctly, otherwise everything would fall apart and I would deal with it. First there was the meeting with Guevara, and the moment when I find out whether it is really Che or some kind of impostor. Then I had to take it to where the gun was and hand it to him. Then I had to go back to the ranch with him. Only then will I have a chance to strike. At any of these points something can go wrong. Che could smell an ambush or some unexpected event might throw me off. But of all the points, the last one was the most important.
  
  
  
  “You and the others must be ready to strike when we return to the ranch,” I told Manuel. "If you don't keep his men at gunpoint, I won't have any chance of catching him."
  
  
  
  “We’ll be there, Nick,” Manuel promised. "You can be sure of that."
  
  
  
  “I will need a car to get to Tarata,” I said. “So you need to find another way to get back to Cochabamba and go to the mountains.”
  
  
  
  “There is a bus to Cochabamba,” he replied. “I’ll get in it in the morning and be in the camp, there’s plenty of time for that. Vaya con Dios, Nick.” We shook hands solemnly and he left.
  
  
  
  I returned to my room, a feeling of anticipation growing within me. I knew this feeling well. I've always had it when I knew I was going to take on something that I needed to do. By tomorrow night I will know whether the legend is alive or not.
  
  
  
  One thing bothered me: Terezina. Why was she posing as El Garfio's agent? Who the hell was she really? I figured she would show up sometime tomorrow and decided to wait as long as possible before leaving the hotel. I wanted to see her again; I didn't want to leave any loose ends.
  
  
  
  
  16.
  
  
  
  
  My first phone call this morning was from Major Andreola.
  
  
  
  
  He proceeded to tell me how the guerrillas had been hit hard by some armed group led by an American soldier of fortune.
  
  
  
  "Have you decided on my proposal?" - he finally asked.
  
  
  
  “Not yet,” I said. "But I'll let you know soon, Major."
  
  
  
  “I hope so,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want your product to fall into the wrong hands.”
  
  
  
  It was a thinly veiled threat and I smiled as I hung up. I was still smiling when someone knocked on the door. I opened it and saw Teresina.
  
  
  
  She was wearing a white frilly blouse and a dark blue skirt. Her eyes were shining, and I felt that she was somehow unsure of herself, but she defiantly raised her chin and stood in front of me in the old position, with her hands on her hips.
  
  
  
  "Did you miss me?" - I asked playfully. This took her by surprise; I saw her eyelids flicker.
  
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” she shrugged.
  
  
  
  I reached out and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. “This is very important,” I said, holding her tightly as she turned her head. “Very, very important.”
  
  
  
  I turned her head to kiss her. She kept her mouth closed and did not answer. I forced her lips open and let my tongue caress her mouth. I felt her body go limp and then she kissed me back, struggling to hold back something that couldn't be held back. My hand touched her breast. With a suppressed cry, she pulled away from me.
  
  
  
  "No, stop it!" she shouted. "I have to learn about guns."
  
  
  
  I said. "And then will you make love to me?"
  
  
  
  Her face was serious, without a smile, her eyes were clouded. “We’ll see,” was all she said. "Have you decided to sell El Garfio or not?"
  
  
  
  “I’ll sell it to him,” I said, and looking at her I saw her biting her lower lip. “You seem disappointed. Isn't this what you wanted? Unfortunately, I made contact through other channels.”
  
  
  
  Her eyebrows shot up. “But you said you would work through me! That's why he sent me to you.
  
  
  
  "And he?" I said. “But you said you couldn’t make an appointment with him, which is what I wanted.”
  
  
  
  "Have you made the delivery yet?" - she said, gloomily pursing her lips.
  
  
  
  “Not yet,” I said, smiling pleasantly at her. Then, without changing my expression, I reached out, grabbed her by the neck and pushed her forward. "Who the hell are you and what's your little game?"
  
  
  
  “I... I don’t have a game,” she gasped. “I was sent to contact you regarding weapons for El Garfio.”
  
  
  
  “Yes, you were sent for this, but not El Garfio,” I said. "Who do you work for?"
  
  
  
  Her eyes were burning, but she did not answer me. Suddenly she hit my foot hard with her heel. I screamed and loosened my grip. She pulled away, but I grabbed onto her, catching the billowing back of her blouse.
  
  
  
  The fabric tore and I was left with a piece of my blouse as Teresina fell forward, rolled across the floor and landed on the base of the sofa. I immediately chased after her. I bent down, picked her up with one hand, and slapped her in the face with the other. She floated halfway across the room and landed on her butt.
  
  
  
  “Now let’s talk,” I demanded. "You've lied long enough."
  
  
  
  She sat there, looking at me, her eyes burning with black fire. Her right hand reached into her full skirt, and when she pulled it out again, she was holding a small silver object, which she brought to her lips and blew. The whistle was damn loud, a high-pitched, high-pitched screech. I rushed towards her to grab it when I heard running in the hall. The door burst open and half a dozen Bolivian soldiers burst into the room.
  
  
  
  “Take it,” Teresina said, pointing at me. Six carbines were pointed at me. She was on her feet now, her dark eyes serious as they met mine.
  
  
  
  "You are a government agent!" - I said with sincere surprise. That was the only thing I didn't realize. "Major Andreola sent you to stay on my tail?"
  
  
  
  “No, he doesn’t know anything about me,” she said. “Our intelligence sent me. If you were going to sell to the partisans, we should have known and stopped you. If not, I would find out.”
  
  
  
  "And now?" I asked.
  
  
  
  “You will go to jail,” she said. “You said that I was alarmed by your decision. You were right. I hoped that you would refuse to deal with me as El Garfio's emissary."
  
  
  
  She turned away and quickly spoke to the soldiers. "Search him and then take him away."
  
  
  
  I decided to try again in my role as Nikolai von Schlegel.
  
  
  
  "You can't do this," I said. “I am a citizen of the East German People's Republic. I demand a meeting with a lawyer. I demand to call my consul. You have no charges on which to hold me captive.”
  
  
  
  "Working with enemies of the state"
  
  
  
  - she said gloomily. “Sale of weapons and ammunition to unauthorized persons. Reluctance to report your transactions to authorities. Aiding and inciting a revolutionary movement. Will these charges fit?”
  
  
  
  The soldiers found Wilhelmina, but did not notice Hugo, hidden in the scabbard against my forearm. But I was, to put it mildly, in a hopeless situation. I was strangely glad to find out that Teresina really is one of the good guys. But she was going to deprive me of the opportunity to meet Che Guevara, and this was something that I could not allow. However, I hesitated to tell her who I really was. She insisted on testing me and it took several days. However, I saw no other option than to talk to her. This led to complications that I did not expect.
  
  
  
  “Listen, everyone,” I said. “Listen, I'll tell you the truth. I knew you were fake a few days ago, but I'm not who you think I am. I'm Nick Carter, Agent N3, AX. I am an American who leads a countergroup against El Garfio."
  
  
  
  She looked at me and smiled, shaking her head in surprise. "I'm impressed. I am positively amazed by your imagination and your obvious lies. I don't know what more. Do you think I would believe such a wild story?”
  
  
  
  “You better believe it,” I said angrily. "This is true. Besides, we know that El Garfio is actually Che Guevara."
  
  
  
  She threw back her head and laughed. "You're really funny now," she said. "Guevara is dead. The whole world knows this."
  
  
  
  “Let me go and I will prove you wrong,” I begged.
  
  
  
  She turned her back. It was useless to argue with her further. Above all, she was a woman who had given herself to a man and now regretted it. It was a deadly combination. She hated me both as a duty and as a woman. I had as much chance of her cooperation as the proverbial snowball in hell.
  
  
  
  The carbine poked me in the back, and I left the room, accompanied by soldiers. Teresina walked downstairs to a long limousine with nine passengers parked at the curb. I had to take a break and this was the best time that could have come my way.
  
  
  
  Teresina was the first to get into the car. The soldier urged me to follow her. I felt him lower the rifle as I began to get into the car. I was halfway there when I hit back with all my might. My foot went into his stomach and I heard him gasp as he collapsed. In a second, Hugo was in my hand, and I was holding Teresina's hand, the stiletto at her throat. I pushed her to the other side of the car, held one hand behind her back and held the blade to her throat as I turned with her towards the soldiers.
  
  
  
  "One wrong move and she'll get it," I said, hoping they would understand. They stopped, frozen. “Get in the car and drive away,” I ordered. "And don't try to turn around and come back to me."
  
  
  
  They quickly moved and left. Everything happened so quickly that several people passing by did not understand what was happening. I removed the knife from Teresina's throat and pressed it to the small of her back.
  
  
  
  "See that blue Ford across the street?" I said. “Go to him. Remember, one wrong move and I’ll stick it right through that beautiful back and come out the other side.”
  
  
  
  My tone was enough for her. She walked quietly ahead of me. I opened the door, pushed her in and followed her. I had nothing to tie her to and I couldn't drive the car and look after her at the same time. She turned in her seat and I delivered a short, hard blow right to the tip of her beautiful jaw. She fell unconscious against the door as I pulled the old Ford away from the curb.
  
  
  
  I quickly got out of La Paz and headed onto the road to Cochabamba, looking for somewhere to stop and grab a rope. I noticed a small farm when Teresina moaned and began to stir. I stopped, got out of the car and came back with a washing line. Teresina came to her senses just as I was tying her wrists in front of her so she could sit with her hands on her knees.
  
  
  
  I drove the car again. We had covered a couple more miles when I glanced at Teresina and saw her looking at me.
  
  
  
  “I apologize for the blow to the jaw,” I said, “but it was necessary.”
  
  
  
  "Where are you taking me?" she demanded. "To your new friends?"
  
  
  
  “Hell no,” I said. “They would all like to rape you, but I want you all to myself.” I grinned at her. She stared back coldly.
  
  
  
  “I will take you to some place where you will be sheltered and safe until I return,” I said. “Then we can make love as often as I want. How about this?
  
  
  
  “You're crazy,” she said, puzzled.
  
  
  
  "Who knows?" I told her. “You might even be able to help.”
  
  
  
  "Help you against my country?" - she was indignant. "You're crazy."
  
  
  
  I sighed. “Then we’ll have to do it the hard way,” I said. “But do me a favor. Be nice and quiet and you'll feel better. Don't force me to do something I don't want to do."
  
  
  
  "I'll stop you if I can," she said grimly. I looked at her admiringly. She had courage.
  
  
  
  "At least you're not a fake now," I said.
  
  
  
  She looked at me. “How did you know I was lying to you about being from El Garfio?” she asked. "How do you know?"
  
  
  
  “This is my secret,” I said. "Maybe I'll tell you someday."
  
  
  
  We overcame a slight rise in the road, and I saw two cars ahead, standing across the road, with soldiers standing next to them. Roadblock. They were just passing a sedan, and the next in line was a pickup truck. I looked at Teresina. There was a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
  
  
  
  “Don’t rejoice in advance,” I said angrily. “I'm not finished yet. If I were you, I'd be prepared to dodge, unless you want to stop a stray bullet."
  
  
  
  I slowed down, keeping some distance from me, slowly creeping up to give the pickup enough time to pass. When he cleared the space left in the middle of the checkpoint, I slowly moved forward. One of the soldiers waved me forward, and I sped up a little. As we got closer, I slowed down. Then, almost there, I pressed my foot on the gas pedal.
  
  
  
  The old car shuddered and wheezed like a bronze car, but rushed forward. The nearest soldier ducked to the side to avoid being hit. I saw others begin to raise their rifles as I sent the machine through the L-shaped hole. I was bent low behind the wheel when the shots rang out.
  
  
  
  "Damn you!" - Teresina shouted, hitting the seat.
  
  
  
  “I told you not to be happy,” I said, giving the old car all it could take. In the rearview mirror I saw soldiers driving behind me. I knew that on this straight road I would be caught in a matter of minutes. My Ford is already starting to smell like burning bearings.
  
  
  
  I drove through the first intersection on two wheels. Teresina fell on me, hit her head on the steering wheel and screamed in pain. I pushed her with one hand. “Not now, honey,” I said. "Later."
  
  
  
  She looked at me in rage. I followed a road that turned up a steep mountainside. Sharp turns would slow my pursuers a little. In desperation, I looked for some place to take a shortcut or some ravine to hide. There was nothing. The road narrowed, then a straight section appeared, and I clung to the car, feeling that it was difficult for it to climb the steep slope.
  
  
  
  At the end of the straight section there was a sharp turn. I started to turn, and suddenly the wheel was torn out of my hands. Teresina leaned down to grab him with her bound hands. I pushed her away, but it was too late. A tree loomed in front of us and we crashed into it. The car crumpled and I heard an explosion before I felt the heat of the flames shoot up, beginning to engulf the car in blazing fury. I forced open the jammed door using all my strength. Half a second later the car turned into an oven.
  
  
  
  Teresina, stunned by the accident, leaned against the dashboard. I reached in and pulled her out, falling to the ground with her. I dragged her into the thick bushes lining the road and lay on top of her, pulling her blouse over her mouth and pulling hard to form a gag.
  
  
  
  Her eyes were open, she was looking at me, and, like me, she was listening to the sound of two cars stopping on the road. The old Ford was a flaming mass of twisted metal, the intense heat almost burning my face as we lay in the bushes. The soldiers could not approach the burning car and would not be able to for some time. I relied on human nature and I was right. They watched for a while and then I heard them get back into their cars and slowly drive down the road. I knew they would return later with their bosses. But by then we will no longer be there.
  
  
  
  I pulled Teresina's torn blouse out of her mouth and let her sit up.
  
  
  
  “I should have left you there,” I said. "You can be a real little bitch, can't you?"
  
  
  
  “I guess I should thank you for saving my life,” she said. "But by the time you're done with me, I'll probably wish you had left me there."
  
  
  
  “Without a doubt,” I said, lifting her to her feet. We walked back down the road and I held her in front of me. After seeing the tricks she was capable of, I didn't take any more risks. I looked at her long beautiful legs as she walked along the rugged rocky road. In a way, she was lucky that I had to be in Tarat by nine o'clock. I was mad enough at her to pick her up on the road, and I knew that, unlike Yolanda, she would hate me for it.
  
  
  
  We continued walking until we finally reached the main road leading to Cochabamba. By now the troops would have removed all the checkpoints.
  
  
  
  When they return to the charred car and find no bodies in it, they will block the roads again as a first step. But by then I would be far enough away - I hoped to be out of reach.
  
  
  
  We stood on the side of the road and looked for cars. There weren't many of them, and when I saw the truck approaching, I turned to Terezina.
  
  
  
  “Since cooperation is not what I get from you,” I said, “we will have to do it our way.”
  
  
  
  I placed my hand just under the pressure point on the back of her jaw and squeezed, making sure to apply just the right amount of force. Too much would be fatal. She screamed and fell into my arms. I put it on the side of the road and hid behind a tree.
  
  
  
  The truck stopped and an old farmer got out of the cab. He leaned over the girl when I gave him a short blow to the back of his neck. I caught him as he fell forward, almost onto Terezina. Taking him aside and leaning him against a tree, I patted his gray cheek.
  
  
  
  “Thanks, old man,” I said. "They'll find a truck for you." He didn't hear me, of course, but it was true. AX will take care of getting his truck back or something similar.
  
  
  
  I picked up Teresina, put her in the car next to me and drove off. After a while she woke up and sat silently. I drove the truck as hard as I could. I had to go to El Puente and then return to Tarata, and I didn't have any extra time.
  
  
  
  More than two hours had passed when I reached the small road that led to the abandoned mission. When I drove into the yard, it was already starting to get dark.
  
  
  
  “Last stop,” I shouted. "For you, that is." When I brought Teresina to the ancient sanctuary, I saw fear in her eyes. “Nothing will happen to you,” I assured her. “Here you will be protected from the night winds, and I will return for you in the morning.”
  
  
  
  I sat her down, pulled out the last rope and tied her ankles. Looking into her eyes, I said seriously: “I told you the truth about me,” I said. “I'm going to meet Che Guevara. If you work with these ropes - and I know you will - I believe you will be free at dawn. Another girl will come here shortly after dawn. She is my real contact with Guevara. If you're smart, you'll sit there and tell her that you don't know anything except that I left you here to wait for me. Maybe by the time I get back you'll realize that I told you the truth."
  
  
  
  She looked at me questioningly with dark eyes. “I... I wish I could believe you,” she said quietly.
  
  
  
  I leaned down and kissed her, and her lips opened for my tongue, soft and supple.
  
  
  
  “Don’t get carried away,” I said, standing up. "You haven't made a decision about me yet, remember?" I saw her lips purse angrily and I left her there. It will be a long lonely night for her, but she will get through it. I wish I was as confident in my chances. I returned to the truck and sent it towards Tarata.
  
  
  
  Finding the ranch was easy enough. As Yolanda said, this was the first road to the south. I drove up to a dark house with a flat roof. There were no signs of life, and I damn well wished Wilhelmina was with me.
  
  
  
  I put in a match and saw an oil lamp on a small table in the center of the room when I pushed the door. I put a match to the lamp and it came to life. The room had two or three chairs, a table and an old chest of drawers. I sat down on one of the chairs and waited in the soft light of the lamp.
  
  
  
  We didn't have to wait long. The sound of horses led me to the window, and I saw a group of people - some on horses, others on a troop of donkeys - filtering into the yard. I groaned. If we had to transport the weapons on donkeys, it would take several days.
  
  
  
  I returned to the chair and waited. Men began to slip into the room, silent, with gloomy faces, many of them with beards. They stood along the walls and looked at me. Then Yolanda walked in wearing an oversized sweater and pants. Her eyes sparkled with a private greeting.
  
  
  
  A moment later he entered with a beret on his head. I looked at his face. A thin beard turned into sideburns, a visible furrow on the forehead just above the nose. It was Che Guevara, really alive, and just as real. His right hand was a dangerous steel hook.
  
  
  
  He looked at me carefully as I stood up to greet him. He nodded quietly. "Where are the weapons, Senor von Schlegel?" He said. "I have money, but I won't pay until we have guns, until we come back here with them."
  
  
  
  “That's perfectly normal,” I said, thinking that he was exactly what I heard: quiet, steely, covered in velvet, insightful and very sharp. Looking at this man, it was obvious that he could be both ruthless and charming.
  
  
  
  “It will take a long time to get the guns if we have to ride a horse and donkey,” I said. He didn't change his facial expression.
  
  
  
  “We came from the mountains on horses and donkeys, and we will load the guns on the donkeys to return,” he said. “But we have four trucks in the barn to bring the weapons here.”
  
  
  
  I nodded. "Fine. The weapons will be delivered off the coast of Chile,” I said.
  
  
  
  His eyebrows rose. "You're really careful, aren't you," he said.
  
  
  
  “This is necessary,” I told him. “Many people would like to intercept and steal a shipment of this size. It's difficult to move weapons into a country without attracting a lot of attention. Our precautions are the result of many years of experience. It's especially important to be careful in this case, isn't it? "
  
  
  
  “Very important,” he agreed with a slow smile. “Come on. I will go with you in the lead truck, senor.”
  
  
  
  "I'm honored." I bowed to him in von Schlegel style. “Do you think it will be difficult for us to get through Chile?”
  
  
  
  “Not at this hour,” he said. "We'll stay on the mountain roads until we get closer to the coast."
  
  
  
  I went with him to the barn. The trucks were four used army vehicles. Their insignia had been removed, but they were still painted olive drab. I watched as people climbed into them, counting about twenty, a larger group than I expected. Yolanda waved to us as we walked out. Guevara was next to me and one of his men was driving the car.
  
  
  
  “There is a bay north of Kuya,” I told the driver. "Can you find it?"
  
  
  
  The man nodded.
  
  
  
  "Ricardo knows Chile, Peru and Bolivia better than any road map," Guevara said. He leaned back, the dangerous steel hook that was his hand resting lightly on my leg. It was midnight when we crossed into Chile. We were having a great time.
  
  
  
  
  VII
  
  
  
  
  17.
  
  
  
  
  The trip to the Chilean coast was mostly silent. Che asked several polite questions about the state of affairs in Europe and, in particular, in East Berlin.
  
  
  
  I answered him respectfully, trying to give the impression of reverence for the great revolutionary. It's hard to say how it all went. It was difficult to count him.
  
  
  
  “The world will be delighted when it finds out that you are still alive,” I ventured.
  
  
  
  “Someone from that world,” he corrected me with a cold smile. I had to agree with him.
  
  
  
  Roads through Chile mostly descended towards the coast. Having reached the sea, we set out like a convoy, past the city of Kuya to a small bay in the north.
  
  
  
  “Line up the trucks along the far end of the bay,” I said. "See where the rocks are right at the water's edge?"
  
  
  
  The driver did as I ordered. Che Guevara climbed down from the truck with me. I knew he was looking at me with mild amusement.
  
  
  
  I took a small flashlight from my pocket and knelt at the water's edge. I turned the flash on and off, on and off, constantly, without stopping. I blinked for five minutes, then stopped for five and started again.
  
  
  
  “You certainly have a ship,” Guevara said. “Very well planned. Very brilliant."
  
  
  
  “More than you think,” I said, looking at the surface of the water. Suddenly the water began to swirl and a dark mass emerged from the depths. I looked at Guevara and enjoyed the surprise on his face. The submarine rose slowly, the pitch-black lump taking shape as it approached.
  
  
  
  “German submarine,” Guevara exclaimed. "One of the largest submarines of World War II."
  
  
  
  “Converted to carry cargo,” I said.
  
  
  
  The submarine, painted dull black, made a deep-sea landing near the rocks. The crew had already gone on deck and thrown ropes ashore for us. We attached the fines to the trucks, and in a few moments the sub was secured and the ladder fell from the ship onto the shore.
  
  
  
  “Wilkommen, Kapitän,” I shouted to the skipper. "Alles geht gut?"
  
  
  
  "Ja wohl," he replied. "Wie lange haben wie hier aufenthalt?"
  
  
  
  "Do you understand German?" - I asked Guevara.
  
  
  
  “A little,” he said.
  
  
  
  “The captain asked how long he would have to wait here,” I translated for him. “Nur eine stunde? - I called back. - Kein mehr.”
  
  
  
  “Gut,” answered the skipper. "Ich bin unruhig."
  
  
  
  “He's glad I only told him an hour,” I said. “He says it’s not easy for him.”
  
  
  
  I stood nearby while the crew, chatting in German, carried boxes of rifles and ammunition from the submarine to waiting trucks. When two men were carrying a particularly large box, I stopped them.
  
  
  
  “Eine minuten, bitte,” I said. I opened the box and showed Guevara the neat rows of tin cans inside.
  
  
  
  “Gunpowder,” I said. "It is very comfortable. It can be used for more than just dynamite for explosions.”
  
  
  
  He nodded and looked pleased. Closing the box, I reached into it and felt a protruding pin in the corner. My groping fingers finally found it and I slowly turned it one full turn to the right. I then motioned for the men to move the box to the lead truck. I set a timer that now turned the box of gunpowder into one huge bomb that would explode in 24 hours if the lid was removed first.
  
  
  
  I watched as people carefully placed boxes into the truck. They came back chatting in German as they passed us and I smiled to myself. Everyone did a great job. From the captain to the last crewman, they were all members of Uncle Sam's fleet, specially selected for the job because they could speak German. I stood next to Guevara while the captain directed the unloading with typical Teutonic efficiency and generously issued sharp commands.
  
  
  
  Once the trucks were loaded, the captain clicked his heels and saluted from the deck of the submarine. “Gute reise,” he snapped.
  
  
  
  “Danke schön,” I replied. "Leben sie wohl."
  
  
  
  Guevara waited and watched as the submarine slowly moved away from the shore and plunged back into the water. He then climbed back into the truck with me and we began the drive back through Chile. I knew that if we were stopped, the whole scheme would go up in smoke. Guevara could have escaped, and my carefully planned coup would come to nothing. Things were going so well that I started to worry.
  
  
  
  “I’m glad you didn’t try anything tricky, Señor von Schlegel,” Guevara said as we drove. "In our situation, we must take every precaution. One of my men has been instructed to point his pistol at you every second until the weapon is in our possession. There are so many people waiting to get to us that we suspect everyone and everything. "When we received word that you were willing to negotiate with us, we tested you in every way possible. We might do a small guerrilla operation here in Bolivia, but we need connections all over the world."
  
  
  
  I looked impressed. And I was damn glad that AX took precautions.
  
  
  
  “We even checked your flight from Germany, Señor von Schlegel,” Che said smugly. I would say it's because Hawke was concerned with the details.
  
  
  
  I was just congratulating myself again on how well everything had gone when our headlights illuminated a line of police cars, three of which were parked along the road. Two policemen waved flashlights at us.
  
  
  
  “Stop,” Guevara commanded his driver. “You all know what to do. We repeat this over and over again."
  
  
  
  The trucks stopped and each driver got out. Guevara and I did the same.
  
  
  
  “Your documents, senors, please,” said the policeman. “This is a routine check. Lately we have been concerned about the large amount of smuggling along this road.”
  
  
  
  “Don't move,” Guevara said quietly.
  
  
  
  The officer frowned. "A?" he grumbled.
  
  
  
  “You and all your men are under fire,” said the guerrilla boss. I followed the policeman's gaze to the trucks and saw gun barrels sticking out of them. Guevara took the officer's gun and motioned for him to stand next to the patrol cars. The partisans climbed out of the trucks, aiming their carbines at the six policemen. After Che had disarmed all the cops, one of his men took the pistols and carried them back to the truck.
  
  
  
  “Turn around,” Guevara told the officers. "Look at your cars." They did as they were told. I saw Guevara nod. Another burst of shots split the night, and it was all over. Six policemen lay dead. Guevara looked innocent, as if he had just completed a peaceful walk in the forest.
  
  
  
  Everyone got back into the trucks and we drove on. When we crossed the border into Bolivia, I breathed a sigh of relief. It would all be quite confusing if I didn't have to explain why I took a small army of Bolivian guerrillas into a friendly country. The incident with the Chilean police left a cold knot of hatred in my stomach. If the world could recognize this man for what he was, a cold-blooded, murderous fanatic with no regard for human life, the charm of the legend would quickly fade. The modern Robin Hood, friend of the poor and oppressed, was very different. Like all who are confident that they know the truth, he was indifferent to human life and absorbed in abstract ideas.
  
  
  
  We arrived in Bolivia almost an hour later. We were climbing a steep mountain road near Par when we saw a yellow bus at the side of the road, its front wheels protruding grotesquely from under the engine, a clear sign of a broken axle. A woman ran out of the bus to stop us. I went out; Guevara and his driver came out with me.
  
  
  
  “Oh, thank God, someone finally showed up,” the woman said. “We've been here for several hours. We despaired that anyone would follow this road until morning.”
  
  
  
  I looked into the bus and saw only young girls. They started to come out and gather around us. "Where is your driver?" - I asked the woman.
  
  
  
  “Let's go find help if possible. We chartered a bus for a dance at the Palacio Hotel in Oruru,” she explained. "I'm Mrs. Corduro, headmaster of Donaz Girls' School."
  
  
  
  “Donaz School,” Guevara said, rolling the name on his tongue. “One of the most exclusive schools for girls in Bolivia. Only the daughters of rich and foreigners study at the school.”
  
  
  
  “This is an expensive school,” the woman agreed. “But we have some girls on scholarships from less privileged backgrounds.”
  
  
  
  Guevara smiled at her, turned and shouted to his men as they climbed out of the trucks. He turned to the woman. “A broken axle is nothing,” he said. “This is a minor lesson in life. We are going to show your exclusive young ladies what life is really about. My men are left without women too often. They will be good teachers."
  
  
  
  The partisans rushed to the girls screaming. I couldn't stop it. I stood next to Guevara and looked at his face as the frightened screams of the girls filled the air. The headmistress was not spared either. I saw two partisans screaming and dragging her into the bushes.
  
  
  
  "You don't approve, amigo?" - Guevara asked me sharply.
  
  
  
  I shrugged. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. I wanted to punch that smug, satisfied, arrogant face, but the time had not yet come. I was one man, alone, and I would have been dead if I tried anything. But no matter where I looked, the same scene was happening. The young girl looked at me, her eyes silently pleading as she was dragged away, her clothes torn off. Most of the girls weren't screaming anymore; they uttered hoarse cries of pain and agony.
  
  
  
  I walked along the road, trying to get away from what was happening, but I couldn’t get the look of that girl out of my head. I finally turned and stopped to kneel next to the sobbing naked figure. I gathered up the girl's torn dress and threw it over her shoulders. She looked at me. Her eyes were shocked. There was no hatred or even fear in them, only a huge emptiness. I wonder how long it will take her to forget this?
  
  
  
  Che called his men back into the trucks and I climbed into the lead next to him.
  
  
  
  “You must understand, my dear von Schlegel,” he said. “When men are forced to live like animals, they act like animals. These girls were only physically raped. The poor have been raped of their honor, their dignity, their rights. It's all a matter of perspective."
  
  
  
  “Not really,” I thought. Not if I can help it.
  
  
  
  The column moved on, and finally I saw the long, low ranch buildings in the first rays of dawn. We got out and people started loading guns from trucks into the backs of donkeys for the ride back to the mountains where the trucks couldn't go.
  
  
  
  Yolanda was not there, and I hoped that she was on a mission, intending to conclude one last romance before returning to the partisan camp. I scanned the surroundings. There was plenty of good cover at the back of the barns, where the ground sloped into the mountains. I assumed that Olo and the others would be hiding there.
  
  
  
  “Money, Señor Guevara,” I said, playing my role to the end. “You have a weapon. Now our deal can be completed."
  
  
  
  “Ready, von Schlegel,” he said softly. “I'm afraid I must kill you. No one knows that Che Guevara is still alive, and no one should know about it except my people. I agreed to meet with you to get the weapon. Unfortunately, this was a suicidal request on your part. As for the payment, it will be of no use to you dead, so I will keep it for myself.”
  
  
  
  “Great,” I thought. He had everything calculated precisely.
  
  
  
  “I won’t tell anyone that you’re alive,” I begged, stalling for time. He smiled at me as if I were a mentally retarded child.
  
  
  
  “Don’t be a fool, my dear von Schlegel,” he said. “That would be the first thing you boasted about in East Germany - that you saw me alive. No, I'm afraid your career has come to an abrupt end. Once the last box is attached to the last donkey, you will die."
  
  
  
  I looked at the boxes. There are only three left.
  
  
  
  
  VIII
  
  
  
  
  Where the hell were Olo and the others? I didn't even have a gun to defend myself with, but I knew one thing: I wouldn't die without taking Guevara with me. I wasn't planning on doing this double ceremony, but I sure as hell wasn't going to go to it alone. They carried the last
  
  
  
  boxes to the donkeys, and I watched them with gloomy despair. I couldn't understand why Olo and the others didn't show up.
  
  
  
  “Seeing that I am going to die,” I said to Che, “I am interested in something. Are these people with you, are they all the ones you have?”
  
  
  
  “No,” he said. “In the hills behind you, overlooking the ranch, I have fifteen more watching with binoculars in case I need help. You see, I've learned a lot since my last campaign. Basically I learned that you can't be too careful. "
  
  
  
  My lips pursed darkly at this; now I knew what happened to Olo and the others. Either they were unable to outflank the partisans in the hills, or their advance was greatly delayed. Everything that was going so well was about to go wrong.
  
  
  
  The men signaled that the last box was securely fastened, and Guevara turned to me. He pulled a revolver from his belt and smiled politely, almost shyly.
  
  
  
  Shots rang out and four of Che's men fell. He turned in the direction of the shots. He shouted. "Ambush!" "Take cover!"
  
  
  
  For a moment he forgot about me. I reminded him of this by striking him straight from the ground and hitting him in the head. He ran across the yard, the revolver fell from his hand. I rushed after him and saw the shocked surprise on his face. Suddenly everything became clear to him, and I saw the rage rise in his eyes.
  
  
  
  Taking advantage of surprise, Olo and the others dealt a serious blow to the guerrillas in this initial attack, but the guerrillas now counterattacked. Guevara met my attack with a furious swing of the hook. I turned back and the front of my shirt tore. He picked up a rusty pitchfork and threw it at me from close range. I had to fall flat to avoid being pierced by the prongs.
  
  
  
  I looked up and saw him rushing towards the barn. He quickly assessed the situation as bad. It was an ambush, and he didn't know how many were in the attacking group. If he stays, his people may or may not win. But under the cover of the battle he could hide. Self-preservation was his first concern, a fanatic willing to do anything to survive and continue the fight.
  
  
  
  I read his mind as soon as I saw him running towards the barn. I ran after him only to be grabbed by two of his men as I turned the corner. They knocked me down, but they weren't that bad. I immediately freed one leg, hit the closest one in the face and heard his scream. Another attacked me with a knife. I rolled away from his blow, wrapped my leg around his ankle and pulled. He fell and I went up to him, hitting his Adam's apple. He gurgled, his eyes bulged, then he lay down motionless.
  
  
  
  I stood up and ran back to the barn. I met Guevara jumping out on one of the horses. I jumped on him to pull him out of the saddle and felt a sharp pain as the hook cut into my shoulder. I was thrown back, managed to avoid being hit in the stomach by a hoof and rolled over onto the ground.
  
  
  
  The bastard was leaving. The rage inside me was drowned out by the pain in my shoulder. I rushed into the barn and jumped on the horse. I saw Che rushing up the steep mountainside. I looked back and saw that his men were advancing. This quick glance showed me that where before there were twenty people against six, there were now about twelve against six. I assumed that Olo and his group remained intact. Otherwise the odds were even worse. But this was their fight. I needed to finish mine.
  
  
  
  The horse was strong and fast, and while I didn’t catch up with Che Guevara, he didn’t break away either. The path up the mountain was uneven, rocky and winding. After a while my horse walked and jumped more than it ran, and from the rattling of stones ahead I realized that Guevara had the same problem.
  
  
  
  I spurred the animal and, turning the bend, I saw Guevara's horse standing with an empty saddle. I jumped off mine and listened. I heard him making his way through the bushes along the steep hillside. I followed him, rage and anger making me move faster than I normally could. Now he was not far ahead and I could see that he was slowing down.
  
  
  
  "I will kill you, Guevara!" I shouted.
  
  
  
  He quickened his pace, but I was too close. He turned right. He knew where he was going, and after a moment I saw it too. He stopped at the edge of the rapids that rushed down the slope with an angry roar, then stepped into them. On the other side, a dugout canoe lay on the shore. Soon Che found himself waist-deep in water, struggling with the fast current, making his way to the canoe.
  
  
  
  I dived after him and felt the water lashing my body. He was in the middle of the stream when I caught up with him. He turned and viciously hit me with his hook.
  
  
  
  It was one hell of a weapon, like fighting a man with a spear and a machete combined.
  
  
  
  The swing made me step back and I lost my balance. I felt the water pulling me down and down. I managed to grab one of the stones and hold on to it until I was back on my feet. Fighting the swirling current, I struggled back to where I was and continued on to the other side.
  
  
  
  But Guevara knew the crossing and reached the boat. He pushed her into the water, and I was still far from him. As soon as he got into it, I knew he would be gone for good. The rapids would carry him down and away as if he had caught an express train.
  
  
  
  He pushed off at an angle. I did a quick calculation and a quick prayer. I let the water grab me, knock me off my feet, and carry me downstream. I was carried away at an angle as Guevara and his canoe were carried away from the shore. If I counted correctly, our paths would have crossed in an instant. He grabbed the oar from the bottom of the canoe and tried to turn, but the current was too strong.
  
  
  
  I crashed into the side of the canoe, grabbed the gunwale, and she went, crossing the rapids with me. Now, wherever it takes him, it will take me too. The stormy, rushing water now grabbed us, and although we struggled with all our might, we were carried along the rapid rapids. I hit one rock and thought that all my bones had shattered. We were heading towards an area of whitewater, which meant a lot of rocks, when we were caught in an oncoming current and swept to the right. I found support in the shallow water and saw Guevara struggle to his feet.
  
  
  
  I attacked him, ducking under his hook as he approached me. I grabbed his knees and he fell into the rushing, bouncing water. I hit him hard in the face and he fell back. I followed him again. This time the hook came just enough to tear my groin. I broke free and kicked him from below, and he fell to one knee. I swung, hitting him in the jaw.
  
  
  
  He tumbled backwards, hitting the water with a loud splash. I was right on top of him, and now I felt that damn hook cutting into my leg. I had to let him go in pain. He was on his feet again, chopping me. I dodged one blow, then tripped and fell waist-deep into the water. He walked towards me and I managed to lift one hand and grab his shirt. I jerked and slipped in the water as he delivered the killing blow with his hook.
  
  
  
  The hook hit the rock right behind me. I pulled his legs. Only my wild rage did not allow me to fall. I was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, struggling against the onslaught of the rapids and Guevara's deadly hook.
  
  
  
  I stood up and pushed his hand away as he tried to squeeze the hook between my legs. I grabbed his head and slammed it against one of the rocks protruding from the water. I hit it again and again until the water around me turned red. Then I pushed his body into the center of the stream and watched as it sank into the churning water, falling from rock to rock, breaking against the rocks until not a single bone remained intact.
  
  
  
  I climbed out of the water and lay panting, exhausted, letting my body find its way back to gain the strength to move. Finally, I rose to my feet and, almost falling, trudged through the forest to the rocky path. The horse was still standing. I gratefully climbed into the saddle and pushed her once, just enough to get her to follow the path.
  
  
  
  
  IX
  
  
  
  
  By the time I reached the end of the road, I had regained my strength, or at least part of it. I returned to the ranch. There was silence, complete and utter silence, as I walked slowly and carefully on my horse, skirting the bodies of the partisans stretched grotesquely on the ground.
  
  
  
  I dismounted and walked into the midst of the carnage. Louis lay near the tree, dead, in one hand still clutching the knife stuck in the partisan's throat. I found Eduardo next, then Manuel. I knelt down next to them, but there was no life there. Cesare was next, still clutching the carbine that lay peacefully next to the dead partisan. Antonio stood dead, leaning against a tree, with a red mark on his chest. The last one I found was Olo, surrounded by the bodies of four partisans.
  
  
  
  I stood up and entered the barn. Missing donkeys and all that. I could easily imagine what happened. Some of Guevara's men survived and fled into the mountains with weapons and ammunition. No doubt they had a vision of continuing the battle and gathering new recruits. A surprise awaited them.
  
  
  
  I wrapped my wounds in rags and bandages to at least slow the flow of blood.
  
  
  
  Then I left the ranch. I headed north towards El Puente. Dawn gave way to day and I drove the truck as fast as I could. Finally, the puya appeared, and I turned onto the road to the abandoned mission. As I drove into the yard, I heard a scream, then another. I jumped out of the cabin, crawled to the open arched window and looked into the sanctuary. I saw two figures rolling on the ground, scratching, fighting and screaming. Yolanda and Teresina were in a fight. While I was watching, Teresina broke away, leaving her entire already torn blouse in Yolanda's hands, grabbed the peasant girl's leg and tried to apply a lock. I chuckled. Bolivian intelligence apparently trained her in combat school.
  
  
  
  But Yolanda went through another school, and it taught her lessons Teresina had never even heard of. She grabbed Teresina's breasts, raking them with her nails. Teresina screamed in pain and let go. Yolanda instantly rushed towards her, pushing and scratching. Teresina tried to fight her off with a half-delivered karate chop, and I winced at its inadequacy. This really helped Yolanda take Teresina back a step and calm her down a bit.
  
  
  
  Teresina grabbed the girl by the hair, spun her around and punched her hard in the stomach. I almost applauded. Yolanda doubled over and Teresina held her head up. If she were stronger, it might work. Or if Yolanda wasn't such a fierce fighter. I saw Yolanda lift Teresina's skirt and the girl screamed in pain. Yolanda broke free and leapt at her opponent, biting, sinking her teeth deep into Teresina's leg, her hands like eagle talons, tearing and clawing.
  
  
  
  I climbed over the window sill into the room. I couldn't let this go on any longer. I grabbed Yolanda and pulled her away, throwing her halfway across the room. When she saw me, her rage reached new heights. She jumped at me, but I caught her with one hand, twisted her and forced her to stretch again. She rushed to the corner of the abandoned shrine and approached with a broken bottle in her hand and pure hatred in her eyes.
  
  
  
  “First you,” she hissed, “and then your bitch. I'll kill you. And I’ll just cut off her breasts.”
  
  
  
  “Stop it, Yolanda,” I said. "Everything is over. It's finished. He is dead. They're all dead."
  
  
  
  I thought the sobering news might stop her. Instead, she screamed unintelligibly at me. Even a child with a broken bottle can be dangerous, and this was not a child, but a mad tigress. She moved towards me. I didn't move until she hit me in the face with the bottle, then I dove to the right and tried to grab her arm, but she was as fast as a cobra. She attacked me again, and this time I circled until her back was to Terezina.
  
  
  
  “Now, Teresina,” I shouted. Teresina, standing at the far wall, looked at me blankly, but Yolanda turned around. I jumped forward, grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. The bottle broke and she gasped in pain. I pressed her to my neck and she fell. Teresina was in my arms before I could turn to her.
  
  
  
  "What's happened?" I said. "You didn't do what I told you to do, right?"
  
  
  
  “Not really,” she admitted, pressing her face to my chest. “I thought about you and decided to believe you. I was just distracted when this girl came. We started talking and we both got angry at each other. Suddenly she came at me.”
  
  
  
  “Use the rope I had to tie her up,” I said. “I think we both need to get a little better.” I saw her shocked face when she noticed the red stains on my shirt and pants.
  
  
  
  “Let me see,” she said, trying to unbutton my shirt.
  
  
  
  I pushed her away. “Later,” I said. “I've lasted this long, I can last a little longer. Just tie her up and go back to La Paz with her.”
  
  
  
  
  18th
  
  
  
  
  Bolivian authorities refused to believe that the guerrilla leader El Garfio was actually Che Guevara. Perhaps they couldn't bring themselves to admit that they didn't kill him the first time. Teresina confirmed everything I said - and the aftermath of the battle on the ranch was convincing - but she did not see Guevara himself. Only the girls at the school in Chile knew what happened. They didn't know who these men were. Only I saw Che face to face. Only I knew that this was not the first time the legend had died. Major Andreola was frank with me, and I almost understood his position.
  
  
  
  "A year ago Guevara was killed by our troops in the mountains," he said. “This man, this El Garfio, was an impostor. We will insist on this, my friend. I can’t help it, we have to.”
  
  
  
  “So be it, Major,” I said. “I will tell it my way, and the world will judge for itself.”
  
  
  
  I went outside where Terezina was waiting. We were both treated in an army hospital.
  
  
  
  There we heard rumors that the day after the battle there was a terrible explosion at a ranch in the mountains.
  
  
  
  "Do you need to leave, Nick?" - she asked when we returned to my hotel.
  
  
  
  “I'm afraid so,” I said. “But not until tomorrow. I have plans for the evening."
  
  
  
  She smiled and laid her head on my shoulder. I had dinner and wine was brought, and when darkness fell I took her in my arms. I undid the side buttons of her dress without saying anything. Then I leaned back.
  
  
  
  I asked. "Aren't you going to take it off?"
  
  
  
  “No,” she said. "You'll take it off."
  
  
  
  I smiled and carefully removed it from her as she raised her hands. The deep scratches on her beautiful breasts turned red and I gently rubbed them with my finger as I unclasped her bra. She sat motionless, holding herself together with a determined effort.
  
  
  
  "I won't make love to you until you tell me one thing," she said.
  
  
  
  "Which one?" - I was surprised.
  
  
  
  “How did you know that I was, as you said, a fake peasant girl?” she asked. “I thought I played the role very well.”
  
  
  
  I winced. “I don’t know how to express this,” I said. "Or even if I say it at all."
  
  
  
  She reached for her dress and I stopped her: “Okay, I'll tell you if you're so damn insistent on knowing. I knew it when you went to bed with me."
  
  
  
  I saw her eyes darken and then a hot fire flare up in them.
  
  
  
  “Are you saying I wasn’t good enough in bed?” she flushed. I winced. I was afraid there would be a reaction.
  
  
  
  “No, no, nothing like that.”
  
  
  
  "Then what are you saying?"
  
  
  
  "It's just that a girl like Yolanda, well, she makes love differently."
  
  
  
  "Is she hotter than me?" - Terezina demanded an answer. "Did you like her better?"
  
  
  
  "No, I'm telling you!" I said. "You're being stupid."
  
  
  
  "I?" - she objected. "What about you? Don't you think you're stupid? You think you can tell a girl's background by the way she makes love. Well, I'm going to show you who's stupid."
  
  
  
  She turned to me and pressed her lips to mine. She rushed at me with the fury of an avenging angel, a passionate, hungry, thirsty avenging angel. She took off my clothes and then covered my body with kisses. I fell on the carpet with her and we made love. Teresina was a charged being of fire, her legs wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly inside her.
  
  
  
  When she reached the heights of her ecstasy, she retreated, but only for a few moments. As I lay next to her, I felt her lips nipping at my chest, my belly, my belly. Her hands were soft messengers of desire, and she crawled on top of me to rub her body against mine. I took her breasts in my hands and caressed them until she was sobbing and gasping with desire again, and we were united in that moment when the whole world became one.
  
  
  
  We spent the whole night together. She was passionate, insatiable, everything a girl can be when she lets her inhibitions go. When morning came and I got dressed to leave, she remained in bed.
  
  
  
  "I'm going to stay here for a while, Nick," she said. “I’d like to think you’re by my side on the flight back to America.” She pulled the sheets off, revealing her slender body and soft, full breasts.
  
  
  
  “Come back,” she said, her eyes deep and dark. "Try to come back."
  
  
  
  I kissed her and left her there. The picture is still clear in my memory.
  
  
  
  Another picture is also clear. This is Che Guevara. Maybe he's still alive. The human body is known to withstand fantastic tests.
  
  
  
  But I told you how it happened. The world must read and judge, reject truth as fiction or accept fiction as truth. Che Guevara lives like a legend, a romantic one for some. I can tell you that he was an unprincipled fanatic, a man obsessed with dreams of greatness. Some say the world is a better place because he was here. I say it's better if he doesn't exist.
  
  
  
  Look, I've spent my whole life fighting, killing, and blood. I say that the world does not need murderers and fanatics obsessed with their own ideas of glory. It will be better when my work is no longer needed. Unfortunately, I think I still have a lot of work to do.
  
  
  
  I still like what Boileau said. “The truth can be incredible sometimes.” True, sometimes it can.
  
  
  
  
  
  End.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Doomsday formula
  
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  
  
  Original title: The Doomsday Formula
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The American Museum of Natural History is a colossal building in Central Park. It was originally built in a neo-Gothic style, but later Romanesque elements were added, giving a strange architectural result. But once inside, you will find a fantastic overview of all natural phenomena in our and other worlds, evidence of man's many attempts to know and understand himself and his environment, a catalog of the world since its beginning. Passing through the lofty halls, I remembered the many pleasant hours I had spent here as a child, and decided to return here soon to take another look at everything at my leisure.
  
  
  
  My gaze fell on a pair of curvy legs under a miniskirt that hugged the seductive curves of a firm ass. Unfortunately, the legs disappeared in the direction of the Department of Mammals as I headed to the Historical and Geographical Institute on the fourth floor. This was the place where I met him.
  
  
  
  I walked past the display cases in the Geographic History Hall. Ahead, in the corner of the room, I saw a tall, thin man. He stood in front of one of the geological objects. His dark face with a thin, pointed nose turned momentarily as I approached, only to immediately return to the object he was observing. He could easily pass for a geologist or physicist doing research. The only difference is that it wasn't him. He was Hawk, head of the AX organization, the most secretive counterintelligence unit in the United States. He was cunning, rock-solid, polymath. He was a gourmet, a cigar lover, a gardener in his spare time, and my boss. He studied a large structure that illustrates the different stages of volcano formation. When I approached him, he began to speak without looking at me, without taking his eyes off the structure.
  
  
  
  “Did you know,” he began, “that there are permanent volcanic stations in some areas, just as there are earthquake stations everywhere, where they keep a close watch on all physical development?” He continued talking without waiting for an answer. “Many experts are convinced that a dead volcano does not exist. Our fiftieth state, Hawaii, is actually a collection of volcanoes that rose from the sea after enormous volcanic activity."
  
  
  
  “Very interesting,” I said when he fell silent for a moment. I tried not to rush him. He tended to approach the essence of the matter in various roundabout ways.
  
  
  
  He asked. - "Do you really know what a splash cone is?" I tried to remember. - “New stain remover?” He looked at me worriedly.
  
  
  
  “This is a small hole near the volcano crater. Something like a valve from which drops of lava burst out, which fall, harden and form small stone anthills.
  
  
  
  “I'll remember,” I said.
  
  
  
  “Major eruptions occur every three to four years in Hawaii,” Hawk continued. “Over the past six months, there have been six eruptions of small craters that were long considered dead. This is unprecedented and unexpected volcanic activity. What do you think about it?'
  
  
  
  I asked. - "You don't really expect me to answer that question, do you?"
  
  
  
  “No,” he said with a weak smile, “but I hope you find the answer.”
  
  
  
  I knew this comment meant something, but I decided to wait and see.
  
  
  
  “Since when are you so interested in geology?” - I asked kindly, trying not to sound suspicious.
  
  
  
  “I’ve always been like this, kid,” Hawk said. 'But I have a few more things I'm thinking about. The plane leaves for San Francisco at seven tonight. I have reserved a seat for you. In San Francisco you have a connection with flight 667 to Hawaii."
  
  
  
  “Hawaii,” I exclaimed. “But I have a date with a girl today. It took me eight months to get it to this point. Can't I leave tomorrow morning?
  
  
  
  “The road is long, but time flies,” he replied. “Longfellow once wrote this.”
  
  
  
  I frowned. Hawk didn't like to say "no" outright. Instead, he preferred to resort to such ambiguous philosophical quotations. But in the end it all came down to the same thing: no.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I sighed. “What brought me to the land of blasphemy? What is this volcano thing and since when did I become a geologist? »
  
  
  
  “No, but the activity of these volcanoes is really very strange,” he said. “I've been talking to geologists at the museum all morning, trying to find a convincing explanation, but they don't understand either. Upon arrival on the island, it is worth seeing Dr. John Planck, the observatory's chief volcanologist.
  
  
  
  I've worked for Hawk too long not to know right away when he only told me half the story. "Who else should I look for?" I asked. “All this geological information may be interesting, but what does AX have to do with it?” This is not at all in our domain, is it?
  
  
  
  "Kato Inura," he said. I raised my eyebrows. "Head of the Japanese Secret Service?" I asked. "Is this Cato Inura?"
  
  
  
  Hawk nodded. “We had a phone call yesterday,” he answered. 'He called me. Of course, we can't say much over an open line, but he's concerned. He told me in a veiled way that he suspected Japanese terrorists were planning a major strike."
  
  
  
  I knew something about Japanese terrorists. It was quite a large group and they managed to cause quite a bit of trouble on several occasions. They deftly touched upon three themes: international communism and its benefits, the latent anti-Americanism still widespread in Japan, and the frustration of the disaffected and the poor.
  
  
  
  "These Japanese terrorists have been hiding for years," Hawk said. “They may want to make greater efforts to gain the attention and approval of the Japanese people. Recently, rumors have been spreading that they will force the United States to withdraw from the South Pacific. They implied, in a thinly veiled way, that they were capable of doing what the Emperor's armies had never been able to do. And they seem to want to start with Hawaii. As crazy as it sounds, they claim they will sink the island!
  
  
  
  I asked. - “And what is the connection with these volcanic eruptions?”
  
  
  
  "Maybe there's no connection at all," Hawk said. “But they may have discovered some geological secrets that we don't yet know and are planning to exploit them. Either way, Inura was worried. And if he's worried, so am I. Moreover, there is something to pay attention to if someone threatens to sink one of the American states."
  
  
  
  I had never met Kato Inura, but he had an excellent reputation and was considered one of the best professionals in our field. In addition, he, of course, knew better than anyone the psychology and tactics of Japanese terrorists.
  
  
  
  "Well, what are you waiting for?" - Hawk asked. - Better not miss the plane. I'll stay here for a little while until they close. I find it very interesting here.”
  
  
  
  I turned and asked. - "Anything else from your service?"
  
  
  
  "Can you bring me some volcanic ash?" “This is a great fertilizer for my garden.”
  
  
  
  I left with a growl. I knew Hawke would never send a top agent unless he was sure the situation was serious. After all, I was his main agent. There may be no time for modesty, but that’s how it is. Hawk knew it, and I knew it too, and it made our relationship what it was, a mutual respect that we usually hide behind all sorts of intellectual and sarcastic nonsense. He had an unerring radar for trouble, and when real problems arose, he knew he could count on me to expose them and deal with them not only in life but in death.
  
  
  
  I walked through the museum without paying much attention to the many valuable and interesting artifacts. When I came out, the sky was gloomy and I felt the first drops of rain on my face. A taxi arrived and I quickly got in. The weather didn't help improve my mood.
  
  
  
  I gave my address and the taxi sped off. I closed my eyes and thought about Dottie Thompson, the blonde who was supposed to come with me tonight. I didn't really want to cancel this meeting.
  
  
  
  The taxi was one of those big old fashioned cars. I stretched my legs in front of me and sank deeper into the soft pillows. One of the wheels hit a pothole and my head suddenly flew forward. I looked at the car door and suddenly noticed that the door handle on my side was missing. I looked around. All buttons have disappeared: both on the doors and on the windows.
  
  
  
  Suddenly I woke up. Perhaps it was just an old, rickety taxi, and no one bothered to repair it in a timely manner. But I didn't like the idea of ​​not being able to get out of the car on my own. I grabbed the revolver and leaned over to say something to the driver, but the glass partition that had recently been installed in all taxis to reduce the risk of robbery made this impossible.
  
  
  
  I tapped on the glass, but the man seemed to completely ignore me. He turned again, and now I saw where he was going: a deserted stretch of road near the Hudson.
  
  
  
  I smelled a strange, pungent odor and noticed that the car was accelerating. I didn't see or hear anything, but the strange smell became stronger. I felt slightly dizzy and my eyelids became leaden; I couldn't keep them open any longer.
  
  
  
  I fired at my captor's thick neck, but the bullet bounced off the bulletproof glass wall without causing any damage. And more and more strange, caustic gas was blown into the compartment. My head was spinning and I could barely see the red light in front of us. The taxi drove along it at top speed, and far behind me I suddenly heard the sound of a siren. I struggled to turn around and saw what looked like a police car following us. I tried to smile, but my muscles no longer obeyed. I thought the bastard had run a red light, half asleep, and now the NYPD was coming to nab him and free me.
  
  
  
  The taxi tilted sharply and the driver gave full throttle as a police car approached. I was too weak and sleepy to follow events further, but a moment later the sharp whistle of a revolver shot brought me to my senses. A ruddy face looked at me, and strong hands unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt. "What? What happened?" - I asked the agent who tried to help me. “We’d like to know that too,” he replied. "Why was that taxi going so fast?"
  
  
  
  I shook my head, trying to come to my senses. "Are you all right, boy?" - asked the agent. “I think my friend needs help finding this car. I can leave you here for a while, can't I? But make sure you stay here. We'd like to talk to you a little."
  
  
  
  I nodded and waited for him to disappear. Then I struggled to my feet and disappeared in the opposite direction. A few blocks later I took another taxi that took me home.
  
  
  
  I hadn't been inside a minute when the blue phone in my desk drawer rang. I picked up the phone and listened to Hawk's voice.
  
  
  
  “I haven’t told you where to find Inuru yet,” he said curtly. “I was thinking about something else,” I replied sharply. Hawk was silent. He knew that I rarely lost my cool and he knew that something had to happen.
  
  
  
  "What happened, Nick?" he asked. “I was in bad company after I left the museum,” I said, describing my unusual taxi ride. “I think you're going to have to explain something to the NYPD,” I told Hawk.
  
  
  
  “We'll take care of it,” he replied. “For now, you’d better focus on Inura.” You can find it in a small country house in Waikiki; house number twelve. Understood?'
  
  
  
  I understood and hung up. I changed, put Wilhelmina, my trusty 9mm Luger, back in her shoulder holster and put on my jacket. Wilhelmina belonged to me like my own skin; She didn't help me much in the taxi, but she couldn't work miracles, although she saved my life many times. Her only competition was Hugo, who was attached to my forearm in a thin sheath. The stiletto was a perfectly balanced, razor-sharp, silent and deadly weapon. Together they were more valuable to me than six bodyguards.
  
  
  
  I stopped thinking about the taxi incident and wondering how they knew I was in the museum and if they had anything to do with my new assignment. The AX officers will figure it out for me. I needed all my energy for the future, not the past. You will soon learn not to dwell on the past in this profession.
  
  
  
  I called Dottie Thompson from the airport, hoping that the sound of planes taking off and announcements of departing flights in the background would give my announcement some extra urgency. She heard my deep apologies and quickly replied, “Don’t be in a hurry to come back.” I removed her name from my little black book.
  
  
  
  The flight to San Francisco went smoothly, but I had to wait a while for my connection there. When I looked out the windows of the waiting area, I saw that the fog had thickened, so that one by one the airport hangars disappeared from view. Finally, it was announced that Flight 667 would not depart for two hours.
  
  
  
  Two hours? Nonsense! There was no sign of wind and this fog will clear in two hours? This seemed unlikely to me. I really hate waiting in the airport lobby, so I decided to take a walk outside. I turned up the collar of my coat and walked along the edge of the airport. In the fog, the bright fluorescent lights of the runway looked like huge blue-gray mushrooms. As I walked past one of the scattered lights, I suddenly saw a girl appear on the other side of the world. I couldn't see her face, but it was immediately clear to me that she was in trouble.
  
  
  
  She ran like a frightened deer, occasionally casting a frightened glance behind her. Then I saw the shadows of some other figures chasing her in the fog, and at the same time she saw me. She ran towards me. She was wearing a raincoat and a baggy hat, otherwise all I could see was dark hair that fell to her shoulders. “Please,” she breathed. 'Will you help me! I need flight 667."
  
  
  
  I caught a glimpse of a pair of wide eyes and a pretty nose, but the gaudy hat cast a wide shadow over her face. Behind her, two men appeared in the blue-gray light of the runway, then a third. She looked around, saw the men and looked at me. “Please help me,” she said. “I'll explain later. Here you go!'
  
  
  
  Two men caught up with her, and one of them grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. She leaned over and bit his hand. He let out a cry of pain and let her go. She tried to run away, but the second one hit her hard in the face. “Dirty whore,” he snapped. "Stop it or we'll hurt you."
  
  
  
  “Let me go,” she screamed, kicking him in the shin. "I'll take this plane."
  
  
  
  I thought I had seen enough and took a step forward. “Leave her alone,” I said indifferently. "What does all of this mean?" The first of the three looked at me coldly. I quickly assessed the trio. They had a sharp, indifferent look, like typical mercenaries. “Go away,” said the closest one. He moved forward threateningly.
  
  
  
  “Why are you trying to stop a girl from getting on a plane she wants to go on?” - I asked politely.
  
  
  
  “Don't interfere, fool. It's none of your business.'
  
  
  
  "I've decided that this is really bothering me," I said in a flat tone. "My knightly feelings... do you understand?"
  
  
  
  The first frowned in confusion. “Don’t waste your time on this idiot,” said the second one. “Better make it safe.”
  
  
  
  But the girl took advantage of their weak attention and hit the guard hard with the heel of her shoe on the instep of his foot. He screamed in pain and the girl pulled away and ran towards the runway. I watched her figure disappear into the fog, towards the red and yellow flashing lights of the plane. Looking closely, I saw the lights moving. The large plane taxied slowly across the field, and I could clearly hear the engine noise. It was a propeller engine, and the propellers were spinning, of course, not at maximum speed, but fast enough to tear a person in half. Or four, or much smaller fragments. I ran after her, three paces almost keeping up. She was swallowing in a haze, but I could hear the click of her heels on the runway. She ran straight to the plane, no doubt hoping to find help. I tried to go faster. I quickly caught up with her and saw the flapping wings of her cloak. But the plane was almost above her. It slowly rolled towards her, the piercing beams of the searchlights barely breaking through the fog. They couldn't see her. By the way, they could not imagine that, especially in this fog, someone was walking along the runway. A thick fog enveloped us when I caught up with her and pulled her by the hand.
  
  
  
  I screamed to the screeching sound of the propellers. - "Stop, damn it!" 'It's me.'
  
  
  
  She turned around and I saw relief in her eyes. I couldn't see the plane's wing, but I was already beginning to feel the suction in the air.
  
  
  
  'To the ground!' - I screamed, allowing myself to fall. With one hand I pulled her so that she was on top of me, and I felt the huge wing slowly slide over us. The fog cleared a little due to the force of the blowing of the propellers, so that I caught a glimpse of the rapidly spinning propeller blades in the huge engine. I did not hear the footsteps of our pursuers, but suddenly a piercing scream was heard, just half a second. Then he was swallowed up by the screeching sound of the engine. I pulled the girl away from me and covered her mouth with my hand to ask her to be silent. She lay there without making a sound. The plane disappeared into the fog, and the noise of the engines was quickly absorbed by the thick atmosphere. Suddenly I heard a scream of horror.
  
  
  
  “Jesus,” came the voice of one of our pursuers. “It was Charlie. He got hit by a propeller."
  
  
  
  'Where is he?' - another frightened voice rang out.
  
  
  
  "I don't know, but let's find this little bitch," another replied. "We have to find her for Charlie."
  
  
  
  I saw the fog rise. It only took a moment, but it was enough. We noticed each other at the same time. I didn’t look for the third one, or rather what was left of it.
  
  
  
  “Here they are,” one of them shouted. - “Get out!” They ran towards us. I remained on one knee and looked at the girl, who stood on her elbow and looked anxiously at the two approaching men.
  
  
  
  - Shut up. Don’t try to run away again,” I growled at her. I waited until they got closer and dived, not upward as they expected, but straight ahead. I slammed into them knee-deep, grabbed one of their knees, and dove forward. They both fell to the ground. I rolled to the right and threw the first karate chop, which missed the mark but was enough to see him squirm in pain. The other fumbled a little at his hip, presumably to pull out a weapon. I hit him with my right hand and he fell into the concrete floor a meter away from me. The revolver clattered onto the concrete a few yards away. I followed him and dodged a blow to the stomach. He stood up and rushed towards me like a bull. I stopped him with a quick, short uppercut, followed by a powerful left hook that caught him in the face after he was two feet in the air. I looked at the girl and saw her eyes widen. I quickly turned around, but missed a blow to my temple. He recovered faster than I thought.
  
  
  
  I fell and rolled to the left. He kicked me hard on the thigh and I immediately straightened up. I let him pounce a few times, pretended to be scared and continued to dodge. As he confidently prepared for a powerful right hand, I suddenly crouched down, driving my fist into his soft stomach. He made a sound like a deflating balloon. When he doubled over, I finished him off with a sharp short right hand.
  
  
  
  I turned to the girl and saw that she was watching the fog close in on us again.
  
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said.
  
  
  
  “Come with me,” I replied. 'Let's get out of here. There is no need to rush, the plane will not take off in such fog. And don't look so scared anymore. These two will be offline for a while.
  
  
  
  “That's not true,” she said. I felt her body tremble as my hand touched her shoulder. “I was thinking about this... about that other person. If it weren't for you... this would have happened to me."
  
  
  
  “Maybe,” I said. "As far as he is concerned, I don't think it's a great loss to humanity." She frowned. - "You're cool. But I think I owe you an explanation. I'll give it to you. But first I want to book a ticket.”
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I agreed. "I will go with you. I'm flying on this plane."
  
  
  
  We walked back together through the fog, and I could barely see her. She had a soft voice, a voice with a velvety undertone. As we approached the building, an oasis of light appeared in front of us. She took off her baggy hat and cloak, and the change was more than astonishing. She shook off the moisture of the fog, and I saw a cascade of shiny black curls. When she looked at me, I saw a pair of beautiful, deep brown eyes and a thin, narrow nose. The eyebrows, slightly arched at the ends, gave her face an elfin expression. Her beauty was enhanced by her copper satin skin. I suspected she was from Hawaii. She had the typical mixture of races that produces monumentally beautiful women. She wore a simple white dress with a loose brass hoop belt. The dress covered her like a leaf covering a tree branch, covering her but inviting her at the same time.
  
  
  
  “I feel much better,” she said as she returned from the ticket counter where she had booked the flight. She smiled divinely at me. Her next sentence was interrupted by the PA system. “Attention, please,” came the announcer’s voice. “We regret to inform you that due to bad weather, flight 667 will not depart until 7:30 tomorrow morning.” All available rooms at the Airport Motel are reserved for you. Please go to the motel to pick up your room keys. Thank you.'
  
  
  
  The girl's expression immediately changed.
  
  
  
  I asked. - “Are you afraid of these people?”
  
  
  
  "They'll try to stop me again," she whispered. Her hand, which she placed on my shoulder, began to tremble.
  
  
  
  “Calm down,” I said. “Better give me the explanation you promised me. Let's go to the motel together. There you can explain everything to me.”
  
  
  
  When we left again, she put on a baggy hat and a raincoat. “My name is Iolana Camu,” she said, holding out her hand to me. "I'm going to the islands... home."
  
  
  
  "Looks like someone wants to prevent this from happening."
  
  
  
  “My father,” she said with anger in her voice. “I would like to know why. I know what he told me and what we argued about, but I think there’s more to it.”
  
  
  
  I asked. - “What did he tell you, and what did you disagree with?”
  
  
  
  “I studied on the mainland,” she began. “But I want to teach in the islands. There is a huge need for education. Dad thinks it's better for me to teach here. He told me so, but that's why we always fought. He owns a large pineapple plantation and it produces a good income, but he lives entirely in the past. He has many objections to everything that happens on the island. He told me not to return until he gave me permission. I told him he could go to hell and I would come back. He hired these... bandits to stop me.
  
  
  
  "Pretty radical, isn't it?" - I commented. “Not if you know my father,” she said. “He's stubborn. No one dares to contradict him."
  
  
  
  “Except you,” I chuckled.
  
  
  
  “Except me,” she said. "That's why we've had disagreements since I was old enough to make my own decisions."
  
  
  
  I asked. - “Are you really afraid that they will try again?”
  
  
  
  “I'm very afraid of it,” she replied.
  
  
  
  “I have a proposal,” I said. “We can share my room. I can sleep on the sofa if there is a sofa. Or on the ground. It doesn't really matter. This way at least you won't be alone." She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. I mentally chuckled and looked back without flinching. I didn't want to resolve her doubts.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” she said finally. "Please, help".
  
  
  
  I asked. - 'Are you sure?' “Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease. This could be one of those times."
  
  
  
  She looked straight at me. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly.
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “My name is Nick... Nick Carter. And I'm going to Hawaii to meet someone from Japan."
  
  
  
  “Very interesting,” she said, looking sideways at me. "But that doesn't tell me what you're doing."
  
  
  
  'I'm an amateur geologist,' I said. It seemed like a nice cover.
  
  
  
  “You’re not an amateur at anything, Nick,” she replied.
  
  
  
  I suggested we go have another drink at the motel bar. When I walked in with Iolana, almost everyone took notice. Even the women looked up and stared at us with a mixture of jealousy and envy.
  
  
  
  "Do you think they'll try again?" - Iolana asked after the first sip. - “I mean these bandits.”
  
  
  
  “Maybe,” I answered calmly. “It won’t be difficult for them to find us. The airport does not hide where its guests are accommodated. But honestly, I don't think they'll bother us anymore."
  
  
  
  Her face relaxed. “You said that you suspected that your father had other reasons for banning you from the island,” I noted.
  
  
  
  She looked at me seriously. I noticed that there was a certain natural attractiveness about her, a combination of innocence and sophistication.
  
  
  
  "I don't know," she replied. “Maybe he would rather have me around. Sometimes he is like this. Or maybe someone else talked him into keeping me close."
  
  
  
  She didn't finish that last comment and I thought it best not to force anything. So I didn't go into detail. I asked. - 'Do you want to dance?' There was a jukebox in the corner of the bar and I threw a coin into it. She danced lightly in front of me, and I felt the two soft tops of her breasts on my shirt. I put my hand on her back and she moved even closer to me. She danced with natural flexibility and sometimes smiled at me from under slightly raised eyebrows. I wonder how she will be in bed, innocent or sophisticated? Maybe together? It was late and we faced an early and uncertain morning. We went to our room and Iolana tried to hide a little uncertainty. She wasn't coping very well.
  
  
  
  “I usually sleep in underpants or naked,” I told her. “Since I always behave well in the company of women, I will wear panties tonight. Do you want to take off your clothes first? '
  
  
  
  "No... I'll wait," she said calmly. I turned off the light so that the room was illuminated only by the yellow beam of light coming from the bathroom. When I was in my shorts, I walked over to the sofa with a blanket. I noticed Iolana watching me, and I thought I saw approval in her eyes, although it was hard to tell in the dim light.
  
  
  
  “You are beautiful,” she suddenly said. This surprised me a little. “You have a beautiful body,” she muttered. “In Hawaii, where we never wore much clothing before, we began to appreciate the beauty of the body as an entity in its own right. And you have a Hawaiian body."
  
  
  
  “Whatever that means,” I laughed.
  
  
  
  “In the United States, I saw a lot of men with strong bodies, huge muscles that were built through strength training,” she said.
  
  
  
  But mainly this concerned developed muscle clusters. In Hawaii, our strong Kanakas have slender, wiry bodies like yours, with the strength of a panther, not a bulldozer.
  
  
  
  She turned abruptly, as if afraid to continue, and hurried to the bathroom. When she returned, she turned off the bathroom light, but the neon sign outside the room penetrated the room to show me that she was only wearing panties. She paused for a moment, looking at me.
  
  
  
  “Come here,” I said from the couch. She silently walked up to me barefoot and looked at me. I could see her breasts rising and falling regularly. I saw that her nipples were hard. She kept her eyes half closed and her lips parted. I sat up, grabbed her and pulled her down. My hand found her left breast. She pushed my hand away, but did not try to get up, and her eyes glowed with a warm, penetrating light even in the darkness.
  
  
  
  “No,” she muttered. "Please do not." She struggled to get the words out of her mouth.
  
  
  
  I let her go. “Go to sleep, Iolana,” I said, smiling at her. She leaned over and kissed me lightly. She ran her fingertips over my face, then walked over to the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When we left the motel the next morning, the sun was dissolving the last of the fog. I got up early, quickly dressed, and installed Hugo and Wilhelmina in their places. When Iolana came out of the bathroom, I was ready to leave. She was wearing a dark red sweater that hugged her chest tightly and a short skirt. She came up to me and hugged my neck. Her eyes looked at me with a promising gleam. “Thank you for yesterday, for everything you did for me,” she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whatever, honey,” I chuckled. “I didn’t like this knight nonsense last night. This makes me very upset. From now on, the hunting season is open."
  
  
  
  
  “As you wish,” she said, reaching for her small bag. As we crossed the street leading to the airport, I felt her hand on mine suddenly tighten. I followed her gaze and saw three men standing by the car. They looked at us. One of them, as I noticed with a smile, had his arm in a sling. I looked at the trio. There was a sincere invitation in my gaze, and I had no idea that they would accept it. They looked at each other nervously, chatted, and stopped by the car as we passed by. Like most mercenaries, they were reluctant to risk their own skin if the risk seemed too great.
  
  
  
  
  We sat on the plane in silence, but as we got closer to Hawaii, Iolana became more and more worried. As the plane slowly but surely began to descend, I looked at the points of land in the blue ocean. I thought about how many misconceptions there were about our fiftieth state. Many people don't know that Hawaii is made up of eight separate islands, seven of which are inhabited. They lie in a slightly curved line. Hawaii is the largest island, but not the hub of all the activity as most Americans think. When people talk about Hawaii, most people mean the island of Oahu, where we would land. Oahu is home to the archipelago's largest city, Honolulu. This is Oahu, where the sleek cruise ships dock. Waikiki Beach is on the island of Oahu, as are Pearl Harbor, Kaena Space Research Station and the University of Hawaii. As the plane slowly came to a stop on the main runway, I looked out at the crowd outside and was immediately reminded of the racing melting pot that Hawaii truly was. Thirty-two percent of the islanders were Japanese, twenty-nine percent were Caucasian. Filipinos made up 11 percent of the population, and 6 percent were Chinese. Only two percent were Polynesians.
  
  
  
  
  When we got off the plane, I had to promise Iolana that I would visit her at her father's plantation in the mountains. Not knowing what lay ahead, I told her I was staying at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. She quickly kissed my cheeks and disappeared. When she got into the taxi, I caught a last glimpse of her slender hips.
  
  
  
  
  After booking a room at the Royal Hawaiian, I took a taxi to Waikiki Beach to cottage number twelve, where I was to meet Kato Inura. Most likely, on vacation he will present himself as a Japanese businessman. The houses stood along the road that ran parallel to the beach. I got out of the taxi, found number 12 and knocked on the door. Only after I knocked a second time did the door open. I encountered a rather thin, serious-looking man in a white suit with an open shirt.
  
  
  
  ;
  
  
  "I asked. - Kato Inura?" He didn't say anything, but looked at me with a piercing gaze.
  
  
  
  
  “Nick Carter...AHHH,” I said. I showed my documents and he took enough time to study them. Finally he opened the door wider.
  
  
  
  
  “Please come in,” he said. He looked completely different from what I had imagined. For a Japanese he seemed very tall. Besides, to me he looked more like an islander than a Japanese. His appearance bore the typical features of a mixed marriage. His body was thin and angular, and his face was narrow with sunken cheeks. A small scar ran above his right eyebrow and his mouth was grim.
  
  
  
  
  “I'm very sorry,” he said. "But I'm surprised to see you here in Hawaii."
  
  
  
  
  "Didn't Hawk say he'd send me?"
  
  
  
  
  Kato Inura shook his head. “No, he didn’t tell me. I even wonder why he came up with the idea of sending you.”
  
  
  
  
  "But what about the phone call?" - I was surprised. “He got the strong impression that you were in for trouble and asked to see one of AX's top agents. He told me that's the reason you came to Hawaii."
  
  
  
  
  Inura laughed. “My visit here is a regular occurrence,” he said. "I'm afraid Hawk misinterpreted our phone call."
  
  
  
  
  I asked. - "But what about this unexpected volcanic activity?" “He advised you to tell me about this, and also that you are very worried about this.”
  
  
  
  
  “No, I was just joking about it,” Inura said with a strange smile. “Perhaps this activity so suddenly does seem a little strange, but otherwise I don’t understand what it has to do with me. This is a problem for geologists and other scientists. I'm afraid Hawk is starting to get scary.
  
  
  
  
  I frowned. In any case, one of the things that couldn't be said about Hawk was that he ever worried too much. And he is in no hurry to misinterpret the message. I didn't understand anything anymore. Inura stood up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If my phone conversation with your boss truly caused so much misunderstanding,” he said, “I hope you accept my sincere apology. I can only recommend that you have a little fun while you're still here and head back when it's convenient for you. I will notify Hawk in writing myself.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “He told me in detail that you told him about your suspicions about possible attacks by Japanese terrorists.”
  
  
  
  
  Inura pursed his lips. “We actually talked about it,” he said. “But I only had in mind possible actions in Japan. That was my intention anyway. I apologize if I was wrong. In any case, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Carter. I've heard a lot about you.
  
  
  
  
  A few moments later I walked down the boulevard, muttering to myself. If Hawk actually misinterpreted the phone conversation with Kato Inura, it would be the first time in his life. He was the most cunning organizer I have ever encountered. Even if he worked only on intuition, he was almost always right. He was supremely capable of revealing the truth behind the message given in a veiled form. Hawk said that his conversation with Inura was in a veiled form, and of course, it could theoretically be possible that he misunderstood, but I still had a hard time doing it. I finally decided to call a taxi and visit Johnny Kai. I have a habit of forgetting about unclear things for a few hours only to clarify them with a new look.
  
  
  
  
  In the low building of the Oahu Police Department, I discovered that Lieutenant Kai had meanwhile been promoted to Captain Kai. I told the chubby white guy in the waiting room my name, and within seconds the door leading to the offices swung open. I heard his loud voice before I saw him.
  
  
  
  
  “This is impossible,” he shouted. "Old man!" A strongly built, energetic guy ran up to me and grabbed me in a bear hug. It has hardly changed, small, but in excellent condition. He was of Japanese descent and excelled in swimming and baseball at the University of Southern California. "Why didn't you warn me you were coming?" - he roared.
  
  
  
  
  “I barely had time to warn myself that I was about to see you,” I replied. “By the way, you could write to me that you have been made captain, you little bastard! Or do postal services no longer work here?
  
  
  
  
  He grinned. "I've been busy," he said.
  
  
  
  
  “I was in New York for a week and tried to call you, but you weren’t there. I was told that you were in some damn place on vacation.
  
  
  
  
  “Impossible,” I interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  He asked. - 'What are you doing here?' I bet it's business. Is this an official visit?
  
  
  
  
  “No,” I laughed. “What am I doing here, I myself would like to know. I thought I knew, but after speaking with one Kato Inura from the Japanese Secret Service a few minutes ago, I am not sure of anything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  "Kato Inura?" - Johnny Kai frowned. - So this is in Hawaii? I didn't know anything about it. This scumbag spy just infiltrates the country and leaves without them coming to say hello to us. How's that old slime doing? Still the same fat and chubby?
  
  
  
  
  "Fat and plump?" - I asked, contracting all my muscles. "Do you know Kato Inura?"
  
  
  
  
  “For years,” Johnny Kai replied. “He always struggled with his weight. Sometimes he appears fatter than he is tall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I remembered the man I was talking to at the beach house. No matter how much this guy eats, he will never become fat and bloated. The whole structure of the body made this impossible. He had a slender, almost skinny body. 'Oh my God!' - I exclaimed, rushing to the door. “You’ll see me,” I shouted to a stunned Johnny Kai. I nearly tripped over two of his men as I ran through the building. I hailed a taxi passing by the headquarters and jumped inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Waikiki,” I called to the driver. “And keep the gas on the limit. You work for the American government." The driver looked around in surprise and did as he was told. "Damn damn damn!" I cursed out loud. I didn't know who I was most angry at, the guy at the beach house or myself. Lots of things can drive me crazy, and the first thing to worry about is being scammed. But not only was I furious, I was also extremely worried. This guy was definitely not Inura. I surprised him, whoever he was, and he took advantage of it. He made sure that I led the conversation while remaining in the shadows. In this way he received important information while he could remain ignorant. As the taxi approached the house, I leaned forward and looked into the distance. I saw two figures running out of the cottage towards an old Hudson sedan waiting on the sidewalk. I immediately recognized one of the two figures as the man who had so skillfully deceived me. A third person was driving the Hudson. The speed of the approaching taxi let them know what was happening, and I saw the man in the Hudson start the car.
  
  
  
  
  I shouted to the taxi driver. - 'Stop!' The taxi stopped with a screech of tires and I jumped out with Wilhelmina in my hand. An old Hudson pulled up and drove straight towards me. I shot the driver. I immediately knew I was too late when I saw him hiding behind the dashboard. The shot shattered the windshield, but the driver managed to keep the car on course and hold on tightly to the steering wheel from his awkward position. I was forced to jump away to avoid the car and crashed into the pavement. I half-straightened up and fired again, but the Hudson had already passed me and disappeared into the nearest corner when my shots hit the rear fender and simply missed the tire.
  
  
  
  
  I looked back at the taxi and wondered if I should chase it down the Hudson. The driver sat behind the wheel, gray with fear. He looked like a corpse. I put the Luger in my shoulder holster. By the time the taxi turned, they were too far away to find their trail. It made absolutely no sense. I tipped the taxi driver generously and walked to the beach house. Kato Inura was still missing, but the place was a huge mess. They didn't miss a single corner. They tore all the books from the bookcase. Clothes were scattered on the floor, and in the center of the room lay a suitcase torn to pieces. The man I assumed to be Inuru had probably begun his investigation when I arrived. If I had come in a few minutes, I would have known what was happening. If I had arrived a few minutes earlier, I might have met the real Kato Inura.
  
  
  
  
  Two questions immediately came to mind. Where was the real Cato Inura and what were the invaders looking for? Whatever it was, I didn't think they found it, judging by the mess they made. But of course I couldn't be sure. If they hadn't found him, so much the better if they had just returned. As for Inura, perhaps he knew he would have visitors and disappeared temporarily. I called Johnny Kai on the phone from the room and told him what happened. I asked him to leave everything as I found it until Kato Inura appears again or until I have new clues.
  
  
  
  
  “As you wish, Nick,” he replied. “I will guard the house twenty-four hours a day and give orders so that no one but you is allowed in.” We don't touch anything. In addition, I will order my men to take care of Kato Inura.
  
  
  
  
  Perhaps he was forced into hiding."
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe,” I said. - “But this is not so. I'm sure he'll try to contact me then. No, I think it's more likely that they have him somewhere and haven't been able to get him to talk yet."
  
  
  
  
  “Keep me posted as much as possible, Nick,” Johnny said.
  
  
  
  
  I returned to my hotel in another taxi. When I arrived there, I discovered that I had an unexpected visitor. It was Iolana, and she captivated with her copper skin and beautiful black hair.
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve come to invite you to lunch,” she announced, supporting me. “I hope you can be there tonight. Father would really like to meet you. I told him how you dealt with his mercenaries at the airport.
  
  
  
  
  "And he wants to meet me?" - I said with disbelief in my voice. “Even now that he knows I foiled his plans for you?”
  
  
  
  
  Iolana laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she replied. “Dad is not like that. I'm here. He knows he lost that round and won't complain about it."
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d like to freshen up and change clothes first,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll wait,” she replied, and I went to my room. When I came out of the bathroom a little later, still topless, I saw Iolana sitting on the couch. She looked at my breasts in admiration.
  
  
  
  
  “Here, let me help you,” she said as I pulled a clean shirt out of my suitcase. I picked up Hugo and sheathed the stiletto on my right forearm. Her eyes watched what was happening with more than usual interest.
  
  
  
  
  “Do all amateur geologists have such tools?” - she asked almost indifferently. - I smiled.
  
  
  
  
  “I really don’t know,” I said. "Of course I know. Sometimes this can be very useful, like digging out small items under rocks and such.”
  
  
  
  
  I was sure she didn't believe a word of it, but she didn't go any further. She ran her fingers over my shoulders, light and quick, but with an exciting power. Her hands slid over my shoulder blades and back.
  
  
  
  
  “You better stop this or you'll forget about lunch at your dad's,” I warned her. She stopped and stood in front of me so she could look directly at me.
  
  
  
  
  “I just wanted to know if your skin is as good as it seems. Here's your shirt.
  
  
  
  
  She helped me button my shirt. When she didn't look for a while, I put Wilhelmina in the holster and put on my jacket. Then we went to the parking lot where her car, a small Toyota, was parked.
  
  
  
  
  I wondered what kind of dinner this would be as I looked at the girl next to me. She was very feminine, almost fragile, but at the same time she seemed to have great stubborn strength. Sure, she had a strange, tumultuous relationship with her father, but I had a strong feeling that there was something else she hadn't mentioned until now. It just didn't seem like a case of stubborn old father and stubborn young girl. I was almost sure there was more to come. I'll find out soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Iolana was an excellent driver. She had no problem maneuvering the small, lightweight Toyota along steep, winding mountain roads. Soon the paved roads turned into narrower, dusty paths. After we made a sharp turn, I saw a large, flat field at the base of the ridge. I recognized the pineapple by its sharp, prickly leaves. On the other side of the field there was a large house with a low roof. Iolana walked along the path that ran along the field to the house. An open truck arrived, filled with people leaning over the edges and waving to Iolana.
  
  
  
  
  “These are pickers who have just come from the field.” - Iolana explained, steering the Toyota as close to the edge as possible. Pineapple pickers were very similar to the seasonal workers in the American West and South. In the cab of the truck next to the driver, I saw a thin man in an unbuttoned shirt. I saw that he had a horizontal scar above his right eyebrow. I looked at Iolana. She walked carefree.
  
  
  
  
  "Who were those two in the cabin?" - I asked, trying my best to make my voice sound as indifferent as possible. - “I thought I had seen one of these two somewhere before.”
  
  
  
  
  “Next to the driver is one of my father’s masters,” she answered immediately. “I believe his name is Jimono. I don't know him very well. He came here the year I left for the United States. The other is one of the drivers."
  
  
  
  
  I looked at her searchingly. Her face showed only honesty and carelessness. She didn't know anything or was one of the best actresses I've ever met. The guy in the truck was a bastard who I thought was Inura. The truck passed us in the blink of an eye, but I was sure of it. I decided to play it cool and unobtrusively. Things started to get more complex and there were countless interesting possibilities. If he worked for Iolana's father, does that mean her father had something to do with the case? Not necessary. He must be able to work independently under good cover. Or they all had something to do with it. Hawk once said that I would have suspected even my own mother, and he was probably right. When I work, I discard all trust based on nothing more than feelings. If you can't do that, you won't have a long life in this business. Any agent who lets his feelings play a role is bound to have a short career. And death is very unsentimental. In any case, if they were all involved on this plantation, it would mean that the entire game was planned in advance to prevent me from coming to Hawaii. The taxi incident in New York and the hassle at the airport could have been staged just to get me here. Of course, this meant that Iolana was an accomplice, which somehow didn't seem right. After several years of service, any good cop can smell a "doppelganger" from ten yards away, but Iolana had no such scent.
  
  
  
  
  We drove along the circular driveway to the front of the house. I decided to cast aside my suspicions and accept everything as it is. But I could not forget the danger signal that my constantly functioning physical antenna had picked up. The house was a beautiful architectural structure, combining the best elements of Hawaiian and American architecture. There was a beautiful garden in front of the house. We first entered a spacious, high hall with several ferns and fuchsias in bloom.
  
  
  
  
  “Dad is very old-fashioned,” Iolana warned me. “You have to be prepared for him to give a sermon from time to time about this or that.” As we walked further into the house, past the bowing servant, Iolana's father came out of the room to greet us. He was a gigantic man, taller than me, with broad shoulders. Despite his gray hair, he looked very strong and healthy. He was wearing loose-fitting white trousers and his chest was exposed under his unbuttoned vest. He had a wreath of flowers around his neck. His eyes were steel blue and contrasted brightly with his copper-brown skin. The flower garland gave his appearance something festive, which softened his natural severity.
  
  
  
  
  "Welcome, Mr. Carter," he said.
  
  
  
  
  I returned his formal bow. A servant appeared with a silver bowl containing four glasses filled with a delicious mixture of rum, brandy and pineapple juice. We each took one, and I was already wondering who this fourth glass was for, when I heard a clear voice behind me.
  
  
  
  
  "May I join you?" - asked the voice, and I turned around. I saw that the voice belonged to a girl, slightly taller than Iolana and wearing a long red robe with a low cut in the front. She looked at me with dark brown, slightly almond-shaped eyes, and I held my breath for a moment. She had nothing in common with Iolana, other than her copper smooth skin, except that she was no less attractive. She was slimmer, but with fuller breasts and an animalistic appeal.
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, Kani,” said Iolana’s father. "Mr. Carter, this is my other daughter, Kani."
  
  
  
  
  Kani held my hand a little longer than necessary, and I tried not to show my surprise. I was wondering why Iolana didn't say anything about her sister. Maybe it has something to do with rivalry? This, of course, did not seem out of the question to me. This girl was at least as beautiful as Iolana.
  
  
  
  
  "Why don't we sit in the garden?" - Iolana's father suggested. I noticed that the sentence sounded like an order. He led us to a rock garden so lush that it almost physically affected my senses. The beautiful tropical vegetation showed all shades of green. Large birds nested on the huge leaves, and a small fountain roared in the middle. Iolana intervened in the conversation, but only glanced at me briefly. She noticed my surprise when I was introduced to Kani.
  
  
  
  
  "I hear you like to act, Mr. Carter." Kani laughed, and her eyes looked defiant. “I hope you’ll be there if I ever need rescuing.”
  
  
  
  
  I had the feeling that she was making fun of me, but at first glance she was just friendly.
  
  
  
  
  “I must thank you for dealing with Iolana,” Kamu said, and I was again reminded that this man was not only a father, not only a plantation owner, but also a patriarch of sorts. "Of course you couldn't know that they were ordered not to harm her."
  
  
  
  
  I was going to tell him that his boys weren't the type to always follow orders, but I decided to shut up. “I'm glad I could do her a favor,” I remarked with a smile. We finished our glasses, and after a few seconds the servant announced that dinner was served. Kani led me to the dining room, and Iolana accompanied her father.
  
  
  
  
  The dining room was beautifully decorated, with a large teak dining table and sturdy chairs. I sat opposite Iolana's father and two girls sat next to me. Dinner was excellent: delicious ginger root soup, followed by hot Calcutta curry and sweetened duck, cooked Polynesian style in huge palm leaves. Iolana and Kani talked loudest of all, with fervent gaiety that had a special meaning. Sometimes they said something to each other in Polynesian. "What are you doing here, Mr. Carter?" - Kamu suddenly asked me.
  
  
  
  
  “I’m a geologist,” I answered instantly, quickly glancing at Iolana. She was sipping her glass, but I couldn't help but notice that she was looking at me through her glass. “Actually,” I added, “I came here because of rumors that there was unusual volcanic activity here. Can you think of an explanation for this, sir?
  
  
  
  
  Iolana's father laughed, throwing his head back sharply. "Pelé is letting us know she's not happy," he said mockingly. Pele is the goddess of volcanoes. According to Hawaiian legend, this causes volcanic eruptions and may even cause entire land masses to disappear into the sea. They say that she once lived in a crater on the islands. Many islanders sometimes sacrifice a black pig in one of the craters."
  
  
  
  
  “This is, of course, very beautiful and picturesque,” I remarked. "But since you obviously don't believe in ancient legends, I suppose you have another explanation."
  
  
  
  
  The Patriarch smiled again. “You jump to conclusions too quickly,” he said. “I have no other explanation. The explanation I have given is no worse than any other. After all, the functioning of volcanoes has not yet been fully scientifically explained."
  
  
  
  
  He stood up, clapped his hands, and the servants appeared and began to clean up. His gaze told me to follow him as he left the room. Iolana walked with me.
  
  
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me you had a sister,” I said. 'Why?'
  
  
  
  
  “It didn’t seem important to me,” she said. It was clear she didn't want to go into detail. The answer did not satisfy me, but I saw that her father was waiting for me and moved on. He led me into a large oval room with soft golden light and lots of decorations on the walls.
  
  
  
  
  Kamu motioned for me to sit down. “If you're really interested in exploring craters, Mr. Carter, you should visit our private mountaintop crater just behind the plantation... Mauna Waikama. I will provide guides and a horse."
  
  
  
  
  “I would really appreciate it,” I said. I couldn't think of an excuse to get rid of it in a convincing way. I pretended to be a geologist. Besides, I always wanted to look inside the crater.
  
  
  
  
  “Okay,” Kamu said. “If you're here by eight-thirty in the morning, I'll have everything ready for you. Better to leave early before the sun becomes unbearable.”
  
  
  
  
  The girls sat down with us to drink brandy, and the old man told them about my planned expedition the next morning. I immediately thought I saw disappointment in Iolana’s eyes. She made an appointment for the next morning in Honolulu. I looked at my watch. It was getting late and I wanted to get back early enough to call Johnny Kai. Maybe he'll have news for me.
  
  
  
  
  “If you come back in the morning,” Iolana said, “you can take my car and return it in the morning.”
  
  
  
  
  “Great idea,” I agreed.
  
  
  
  
  As Iolana went to get the car, her father bid me farewell with a formal bow. Kani kissed her father good night. Then he slowly but surely walked away. Kani gave me her hand and looked at me with a blinding smile. I felt her left breast on my body as she leaned against me, and I couldn't help but sneak a glance at her carnal pleasures that profusely showed off her dress.
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll walk with you to the driveway,” she chirped. “I'm really glad you came, Nick. I would like to get to know you better. Can't we go to Honolulu together someday?
  
  
  
  
  I smiled at her. She stuck out her tentacles, not for a second thinking about Iolana's possible feelings. I had no idea that the two sisters were inseparable friends. But I decided to play with her. Perhaps she will learn a little more about this taskmaster, Jimono. But something warned me not to start gathering intelligence too early.
  
  
  
  
  “I think we can figure this out,” I said, letting my eyes tell a different story. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a Toyota approaching.
  
  
  
  
  Kani continued to hold my hand until I pushed her away, her dark eyes looking challenging and promising. She was as beautiful as Iolana, but in a different way. She was flexible and dangerously cocky. As I walked to the car, Iolana stood with her arms crossed and looked at me. She looked at me, pouting. ;
  
  
  
  
  "I'm really sorry it took so long," she said sharply. "Or should it have taken longer?" I didn't pay attention to the last comment. “I would still like to know why you never told me you had a sister,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  “She’s just a stepsister,” Iolana snapped. “We had different mothers, and we are completely different.”
  
  
  
  
  “I like to believe it,” I chuckled. I looked into the garden and saw that Kani had disappeared. I kissed Iolana long and passionately, running my tongue over her lips and teeth. A shiver ran through her body, and she almost pressed her nails against my shoulders. When I let her go and walked towards the Toyota, she looked at me with wide eyes. I got behind the wheel of a small car, waved to Iolana and drove off. I pulled out of the driveway and onto a winding, hilly road. I quickly drove along a narrow path, making a sharp turn to the right. Suddenly I slammed on the brakes as the headlights illuminated an old Buick car stopped in the middle of the road. When the Toyota stopped, I looked out the windshield and found that there was no one in the car. I turned the ignition key and got out. As I moved toward the Buick, I heard a noise, the sound of sand and rocks falling down the hill. I looked up and saw that the falling mass was threatening to crush me. I ran to the other side of the Toyota in search of protection. It was pointless. Rocks and sand rumbled, and I felt the car rolling over me. Dirt, small stones and boulders hit me and I tried to protect my head with my hands. I felt excruciating pain in my shoulders and back, and I could not stop myself from falling off the side of the road. I fell lower and lower, hitting a steep ridge. My head hit the rock hard. I began to slowly lose consciousness. Everything around me was mud, sand and rocks, and I felt like I was swimming in mud. I hit another rock and everything went black. I just felt like I hit something sharp that hit me before the black curtain closed completely.
  
  
  
  
  
  My closed eyes reacted to the beam of light. The black mist turned dark purple, then red and finally yellow. I opened my eyes. There were sharp points on my back and arms and a beam of light was shining into my face.
  
  
  
  
  I slowly began to regain my vision and saw a man, Japanese, with two others behind him. My arms were outstretched, and when I looked down, I saw that I was in a pineapple grove. The sharp, thorny plants had caught me and were now pricking my hands, arms and body.
  
  
  
  
  'Where is he located?' - the man clicked his flashlight. It didn't take me long to figure out the situation. They believed that the fall almost killed me and that they would no longer have problems with me. They were wrong. I took a few hits, but I was lucky and could take a lot more. But more importantly, their question spoke volumes to me. They apparently did not find what they were looking for in the cottage. They thought I had it. - I thought. I felt Wilhelmina and Hugo next to my body, but because of my outstretched arms, I could not do anything with either of them. My hand opened and closed around something sharp. I felt it with my fingers and found that it was pineapple. I slowly squeezed it with my hand. The Japanese man with the lantern leaned forward to lift my face. That's all I needed. I rushed forward with the pineapple and hit him in the face. Sharp thorns pierced his skin and he screamed in pain. He dropped the flashlight and grabbed his twisted face with both hands.
  
  
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, I freed Wilhelmina from her shoulder holster and fired twice. The first shot hit a guy who I hit in the face with a pineapple. The shots also frightened the other two, who recoiled. The second bullet hit one of his friends, who was trying to pull out a revolver. He growled, but it was more like a dull groan, and fell on his side, clutching his stomach with his hands. The third tried to escape. I let go of Wilhelmina and followed him. By now I had several questions that needed answering. The pineapples rubbed against my clothes and hands, and although I was not walking very fast, it hurt. I was covered in cuts and bruises. The man was just climbing a gentle slope when I overtook him. He tried to kick me, but I kicked him, causing him to fall. He instantly straightened up and stunned me. When he started running, I thought he didn't have a revolver. However, a flash of blue-yellow flame showed otherwise, and the bullet pierced the shoulder portion of my jacket. I felt a hot, burning pain and thought it was a grazing wound. I fell to the ground and returned fire, but he was already ready. He got down on one knee again to shoot, but I anticipated his move and had him in my sights. The Luger's heavy bullets hit him as if he had been hit with a crowbar. He shot back, but his body jerked for a moment, then he fell and lay motionless. I didn't check to see if he was alive. I knew better. All three were Japanese, or at least of Japanese descent. Looking at them more closely, I noticed that Jimono was not there.
  
  
  
  
  
  The climb was very painful, but I took it calmly. The Toyota lay crumpled at the bottom of the hill, but the old Buick was still intact. I got on and drove to Honolulu. I wondered if she would be against trading the new Toyota for the old Buick. I hope the car was insured.
  
  
  
  
  When I arrived in Honolulu, I immediately called Johnny Kai and told him that he could pick up three bodies from the site where the collapse had just occurred. The news he gave me was not very encouraging.
  
  
  
  
  "They found Inura, Nick," he said. “His body was carried out several hours ago. They killed him and threw him somewhere into the sea."
  
  
  
  
  I hung up and poured myself a glass of whiskey. The three guys who attacked me wanted something they thought Kato Inura had. Since they didn't find it, I still had a chance to get it. I had a strong suspicion that it must still be at the beach house. I can take a look tomorrow. Johnny kept him under constant surveillance, as promised.
  
  
  
  
  I needed a hot bath to ease the pain in my bruised limbs. Lying in the soothing water, I paid no attention to past events. My attackers must have been warned and followed me from the plantation. They might have followed me when I left with Iolana earlier, but I doubted it. Jimono, the foreman, may have spotted me as I drove past the truck with Iolana and set a trap. This possibility seemed most likely to me. And if Iolana's father had been involved, he could have prepared everything much earlier. I dropped that thought, at least for now. I couldn't think of a compelling motive. Why would an old man get involved with Japanese terrorists? And yet the whole story was as prickly as a pineapple peel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning my body was still sore and bruised. I decided to call Hawk because I wanted to know more about Jimono and his importance in the Japanese terrorist group. After a short conversation with Washington, I took a bath. I was hoping that AX's microfilm department would provide information quickly. While I was combing my hair, the phone rang.
  
  
  
  
  “Jimono,” came the dry voice on the other end of the line, “45 years old, holds a high position in the Japanese group.” His presence means that important events should be expected. Jimono always works with a female partner, sometimes two or three. He reports directly to the team leader, indicating unusual trust."
  
  
  
  
  Thanked him for the information and hung up. I thought for a moment about Boss Jimono, the strange old man behind the Japanese organization that Jimono reported to. According to our best informants, he was an elderly, almost decrepit man who demanded
  
  
  and received insane devotion from his subordinates. There were rumors that he was hiding somewhere in his room, even talking to his associates through a closed door. He isolated himself from the world in order to devote himself entirely to the cause of anarchism or whatever its ideals may be. Personally, I thought he was just crazy, an opinion shared by many of my colleagues at AX. He only occasionally appeared in public at night to meditate under the stars. AX once had a contact in the highest circles of the Japanese group. But something or someone intervened and he mysteriously committed suicide. We still had sources of information, but not as reliable and not as close to the top. So now we had to rely more on our own intuition, and I thought again about that crazy old man who was hiding in his room in Tokyo and planning to make Hawaii disappear to the bottom of the ocean. If this was really Jimono's task, I would be in a fairy tale. Science had indeed reached unprecedented heights, but I couldn't fathom the possibility of a huge land mass like Hawaii sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
  
  
  
  
  But if Jimono's presence meant that important things were about to happen, I needed to at least know what he was up to. I decided that Camu Plantation was a good place to look for evidence and went to the garage to get my car.
  
  
  
  
  I drove an old Buick to Camu Plantation. Johnny Kai told me I could take the car because the previous owners probably wouldn't use it anymore. I saw that he had thoroughly cleaned the area where I had been attacked. “Very effective, Johnny,” I muttered. So something big was about to happen. Otherwise, they would never have risked killing Kato Inura. But did this mean that they could sink the islands of Hawaii? I shook my head. Inura was worried about Japanese terrorists, and that was enough for me. I still didn't understand what volcanic activity might have to do with this, but as Hawke said, they might have gained new scientific knowledge about volcanoes and might want to use that knowledge for their own purposes. If so, I needed to find out as soon as possible what kind of science was involved. After visiting the crater, I decided to give the beach house another thorough comb.
  
  
  
  
  Kani and her father were waiting for me with three guides and the shiny black gelding they had chosen for me. Iolana was nowhere to be seen, and when I asked about her, I was told that she had already left. This surprised me a little, and I was actually a little disappointed, but I didn't say anything about it.
  
  
  
  
  “Have a nice ride, Mr. Carter,” Kamu called as I mounted my horse. “Pay special attention to the amazing variety of lava that can be seen in the crater itself. When you return, we must drink another glass of brandy together. Kani looked at me questioningly, and as I was about to leave, I saw something respectful in her eyes. She was wearing a baggy jumpsuit, but even in that she looked dangerously attractive.
  
  
  
  
  I followed the guides; they were three gray men dressed in baggy trousers and long shirts. They didn't say a word more than was necessary. Suddenly our path climbed steeply. The horses tried to get up. When we reached a small plateau, where we rested for a while, another horseman suddenly appeared from a wide cleft between the rocks. When I looked more closely, I was surprised to find that it was Iolana, wearing a tight yellow sweater that hugged her chest and worn jeans. She approached me with a sly smile on her lips.
  
  
  
  
  “Iolana!” - I exclaimed. Two cheerful eyes flashed under slightly arched eyebrows. “What a surprise,” I said. “I thought you were in Honolulu.”
  
  
  
  
  
  "Actually here." - She was laughing. But I found it much nicer.
  
  
  
  
  “Your father and sister think you’re going to town,” I said as we drove side by side. 'I know it.' She giggled. "That way, I don't have to explain."
  
  
  
  
  As we climbed to the top, we passed a surprising array of tropical plants, including taro, which is used as a form of food in Hawaii, and kukui, which is used to extract lamp oil. When we reached the top of the mountain, I imagined myself in a lunar landscape. It looked deserted and burnt out, but still had vibrant colors. I dismounted and walked to the edge of the crater. Plumes of smoke rose from cracks in the crater wall, and I could smell sulfur.
  
  
  
  
  “I thought it was a sleeping crater,” I told Iolana.
  
  
  
  
  She laughed and took my hand. “Even dormant craters have cracks that allow sulfur vapor to escape,” she said. "Come on, let's go downstairs."
  
  
  
  
  Following Iolana's lead, I descended into the crater, carefully walking along the rough, rocky interior wall.
  
  
  
  
  “This black basalt may look very hard, but sometimes it is as fragile as glass, so be careful when you put your feet on it,” Iolana warned.
  
  
  
  
  As we got deeper into the crater, I noticed that the vents of some of the ash geysers were still red due to the air cooling the original volcanic minerals. The bottom of the crater is strewn with sulfur crystals that look like yellow snowflakes. Iolana stopped and looked at me, her brows furrowed.
  
  
  
  
  “Sera,” she said. “I’ve never felt her here so much.” I smelled it too, but didn't know if it was normal. We were about a quarter of the way around the inner circle when suddenly we heard a low rumble, like an approaching train that you can't see yet. Iolana looked at me, her eyes wide with fear. The noise quickly intensified; it was like an ever-increasing underground thunderstorm.
  
  
  
  
  "Something's going on, Nick," she gasped. "Let's get out of here." I took her hand and we ran, but I tripped and fell on the sharp basalt. A sharp piece of basalt pierced my knee, and I winced in pain. The roar suddenly ended with a terrifying, deafening shock, and a fountain of burning dirt and hissing gases rose from the main crater. The smell of sulfur intensified. The whole earth shook under us, and we began to crawl on all fours. I looked around to see where our escorts had gone, but they were nowhere to be found. They probably fled at the first sign of distress.
  
  
  
  
  “This way,” I shouted to Iolana. I saw a crevice in which we could hide. We ran along a narrow area. When another shock shook the ground under our feet, I looked back. Long tongues of fire and molten lava burst out from the crater, along with smoking and glowing clouds of dust. We reached the end of the crack, but Iolana could not get out. Jumping past her, I stood up on the sharp, hard lava, tearing my hands until they bled, grabbed her and pulled her out. Her sweater was torn by sharp stones, and I immediately realized that her breasts were hidden from view only by her bra. I still noticed it, even despite the riot of molten lava. Suddenly we felt a blinding gust of hot air and simultaneously fell to the ground. I had never seen a volcano erupt before and it was a terrifying sight. Lumps of molten lava fell to the bottom around us, and I knew that one lump would be enough to cripple or kill us both. The rim of the main crater was directly in front of us. “Hurry,” I shouted to Iolana, picking her up. “We have to run. This is the only chance we have." I ran, dragging the gasping, stumbling girl behind me. When we reached the edge of the crater, we dove over it and fell to the ground on the other side. We lay motionless, still impressed by what had happened. I crawled over and looked over the edge. Only the center of the crater began to work, but I could see the hole expanding. Molten lava made its own way out. If this continues, the entire crater will soon erupt in full force. Chunks of glowing dirt had already begun to fall from the side walls. “Come on,” I said. "Let's go further away." Half walking, half sliding through the lush foliage, we made our way down the hill. Behind us we could see and hear the continuous eruptions, which now produced almost one loud roar. When we were halfway up the hill, we discovered a small stream. We stopped and I washed the dirt and blood from my hands. Iolana's blouse was torn and covered in red marks from scratches on her chest. I dabbed her scratches with a palm leaf soaked in water. She trembled and put her hands on my shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  “We're lucky,” I said. “If we had been any deeper in the crater, we would never have made it out alive.”
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. "I don't understand," she said. “Looks like he was waiting for us.” I smiled. This thought came to my mind too. But it was too funny. Volcanoes cannot erupt on command. I wanted to learn about extraordinary volcanic activity and I couldn't say I didn't learn almost everything. The crater was still rumbling, and Iolana pressed herself so close to me that I felt her soft breasts against my body. I noticed that my blood pressure had increased. We sat together in the thick bush by the stream, cut off from the world. Only the roar of the volcano reminded us that there is another world.
  
  
  
  
  I asked. - “Can I rest a little here?” She nodded. “It takes hours for it to reach full capacity,” she said. “And sometimes they calm down without emitting a significant amount of lava.”
  
  
  
  
  She hugged me and held me tighter than necessary. I felt her begin to move her body against mine, up and down, in weak but regular movements.
  
  
  
  
  She raised her head so that her lips were just inches from mine. Although it is not very common, I have experienced before that strong feelings of fear stimulate sexual desire. This was clearly the case with Iolana. She looked at me almost pleadingly with her deep brown eyes. I unclasped her bra and grabbed her breasts with both hands. I started massaging them in light circular motions. Her soft brown nipples immediately hardened and she pressed her lower belly against me. We lay on the floor in the soft leaves, and she began to caress my entire body with her fingers. Then I lay down on her and took one of her breasts with my lips. She screamed in pleasure and began to twist her hips wildly.
  
  
  
  
  “Slowly, Nick,” she breathed. "Slow... don't stop." She pressed her breasts into my mouth. I did everything she wanted and more, and she moaned and writhed under me. When I entered her a little later, I experienced a sensation that I rarely experience. Iolana opened her eyes wide, but she didn’t see me. It seemed that she was looking into another reality, a film about sweets, marzipan and warm stoves. Suddenly she began to jerk wildly beneath me in an orgasmic fury, uttering soft, breathless screams.
  
  
  
  
  Finally she fell and I lay down next to her, resting my head on one of her warm breasts. She lay still for a while, then knelt down and began massaging my entire body, first soft and gentle, then more intense and hard. When she stopped, she laid her whole weight on me, and again I felt the touch of her warm belly and her full breasts as a sensation of pleasure.
  
  
  
  
  Finally, I carefully set it aside. She smiled at me from under her shiny black hair.
  
  
  
  
  “I never want to leave here,” she said.
  
  
  
  
  Now I was sure that the guides had escaped. Of course they released the horses. I wonder if they have reached the plantation and will organize a search for us.
  
  
  
  
  “They must be hiding somewhere,” Iolana said. “I know people like that. They don't show up until someone tells them it's safe. Hopefully there won't be a big eruption that would knock them off the mountain."
  
  
  
  
  She pulled me back up and started stroking me again. I was amazed at the strange excitement that her touch caused me. We started making love again, and at the moment of orgasm, the explosion of the crater seemed just an echo of the climax of our lovemaking. After a while we got up. She put on a torn blouse like a bikini, and we walked down the hill in silence, holding hands. Sometimes we stopped to watch the smoke and lava still rising from the crater. They didn't get any more intense. It even seemed like they were getting a little weaker. When we arrived at the house, Kani had just arrived with cut flowers from the garden. She froze when she saw us coming.
  
  
  
  
  “Father,” she called. A big man immediately appeared. His gaze slid from me to Iolana, and his copper face turned ashen gray.
  
  
  
  
  “I thought you should go to Honolulu,” he said. His voice shook with what seemed to be a combination of horror and anger.
  
  
  
  
  “I changed my mind,” Iolana replied.
  
  
  
  
  He turned his gaze to me. “We were very worried,” he said. “We have already organized a search expedition.”
  
  
  
  
  “We managed to get out of the dangerous place, but it was already close,” I said. “I'm starting to believe that there really is some unusual volcanic activity. The only question is what caused it.”
  
  
  
  
  Kamu extended his hands to the sky. “Thank God you’re still alive,” he said. “That's enough for me. I leave it to geologists to determine the reasons. Our crater has been dormant for a hundred years. I would never have sent you there if I knew there might be some risk involved."
  
  
  
  
  I wanted to believe him, and in a sense I did. As I told myself before, no one can command a volcano to erupt. But all this was a coincidence. And I could not forget his ashen color when he saw that Iolana was with me. Perhaps it was just normal parental anxiety, but it left me with an uneasy feeling.
  
  
  
  
  “I have to leave,” he said suddenly and, without waiting for comment, disappeared inside. I looked at Kani, who looked at both of us curiously. She smiled and squeezed my hand in a knowing gesture.
  
  
  
  
  “Dad is terribly upset,” she said. “The thought of him advising you to go to the crater touched him deeply, considering what had happened. Iolana's appearance only made the situation worse."
  
  
  
  
  She smiled again, turned and walked into the house, and Iolana walked me to the Buick.
  
  
  
  
  "I hope there won't be a volcanic eruption next time," she said.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” I replied, and then suddenly I realized that I had something to tell her.
  
  
  
  
  “I hate to break bad news,” I began, “but your Toyota is nothing more than a pile of scrap metal.” I briefly told her what happened, imagining that they were three ordinary robbers. She shrugged her shoulders resignedly.
  
  
  
  
  “The car was insured,” she said. “I'll go to the dealer and get it replaced. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you weren't hurt.
  
  
  
  
  “They won't turn me into a pile of scrap metal that easily,” I chuckled, then kissed her and got into the car. By the time I reached the narrow path, I had put it out of my mind. There was work to be done, and Iolana's tender flesh could only distract me from it. Dr. Plank was the name of the volcanologist that Hawk gave me, but on reflection I decided to postpone this visit for the time being. First, I needed to find what Kato Inura was trying to hide from his attackers. My work visit to the beach house in Waikiki could not tolerate any further delays.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The beach house puzzled me as much as it did the Japanese. I examined everything carefully, not missing the slightest object, as the Japanese did. Every piece of clothing, every inch of battered suitcase, cabinets and desk - I didn't miss a single corner of the building, hoping that the Japanese had missed something. I saw the fan grill and took out a screwdriver to disassemble it. My only reward was the dust on my face. However, I knew that the object that Inura hid must be somewhere in the cottage. It was more than a feeling of hope. I just felt it in my bones. And this was more than a subjective opinion about the facts. When they got Inura, he wasn't with them. They were still looking for him. And I didn't even know what the hell it was. I think it was at the beach house. But if I thought logically, I had to admit that he might as well have hidden it somewhere else where no one could find it now. I went out, closed the door behind me and nodded to the officer guarding the entrance. Back at the hotel, I took a hot bath to help heal the scrapes on my knees and body, painful memories of the sharp rocks and glassy lava of the volcano. I had other memories of the volcano, of gentle caressing fingers sliding over my body. If the eruption had been accidental, and I still couldn't imagine anything else, I wouldn't know anything about Iolana. But if some madman had caused the eruption, her behavior proved that Iolana had nothing to do with it. She went down into the crater as deep as I did. I quickly dried myself off, got dressed and went to the dining room to have lunch at my leisure. I watched couples dance, young lovers talk sincerely to each other, and older people enjoy fine wine and good food. I wonder how they would react if they knew what was looming over them? Have the forces of nature fallen into the hands of the enemies of the free world? It would be ironic, to put it mildly. I was chewing a piece of meat when a thought suddenly occurred to me. I pushed back my chair and quickly walked into the garage. These beach houses had a landlord. This homeowner had an office, and in that office there was undoubtedly a safe. I drove like crazy to the beach huts and discovered that my first three guesses were correct and my fourth was wrong. Inura left nothing in the safe. For a moment I thought my last hope was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  I returned to my room. Once I got there, I decided to visit the beach house again, maybe I missed something. It didn't do anything. This place has become an obsession for me. Like a Geiger counter, I was drawn to it again and again.
  
  
  
  
  The next morning, I was about to pick up the phone to call Dr. John Plank at the observatory when the phone rang under my hand. The voice on the other end of the line seemed clear and cheerful, and I recognized it immediately.
  
  
  
  
  “Hi Kani,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  "I'm in Honolulu," she said. “I thought to myself that I would really like to go swimming and show you the beauty of our beaches and the surf at the same time.”
  
  
  
  
  The hair on my neck instantly stood on end. These days it was very simple. I suspected her a little.
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t tell me you have to work,” she continued. “Then I would be terribly disappointed, and you don’t want to disappoint your friends, do you?” I'll be at the far end of Waikiki on the edge of Kapioni Park in 15 minutes. It's much quieter there. See you later.'
  
  
  
  
  No doubt she wanted more than just to show me the beauty of beach life. But what? Was she just targeting me or was there something else going on? Did she just do this to bother her sister? Thinking about Yolan made me feel a little guilty. But I couldn't afford that luxury yet. In Kani's voice I recognized the same quality that I had already sensed in her eyes when I had watched her in the garden the night before - an unshakable insistence, an abnormally strong desire to get to me. If she plays the game, she will soon discover that she is not the only one who can play it.
  
  
  
  
  When I arrived at the appointed place, she was already waiting on the beach. She was wearing a tiny bikini that struggled to keep her ass and breasts under control; Only a girl with a perfect body would dare to wear such a bikini. Kani wore the outfit with confidence and I had to admit she looked great. I saw her smile faintly when she saw my approving look.
  
  
  
  
  “You know that you are too attractive to spend so much time studying stones,” Kani said, looking at me defiantly. I chuckled. “Sometimes I study other things,” I said. “Girls, for example.”
  
  
  
  
  “Ha, that already seems true,” she laughed, tickling my palm with her fingers. She had a convincing method to get her way. We entered the clear, cool waters of the ocean. As we went deeper, the water reached her breasts, pushing them up and washing away her bikini top. She was swimming bare-breasted. We paddled over the towering waves to a quieter area behind the surf. She swam with the ease and confidence of a mermaid. She dove, surfaced, swam around me and under me, sliding her body over mine. Finally, when she came to the surface and we remained in one place, treading water, she pressed her body against mine. I grabbed her, pressing my hand against the round, firm flesh of her left breast. She slipped out of my hands like an eel and laughed.
  
  
  
  
  “Let's dry off in the sun,” she said and swam to the shore. I followed her and suddenly saw how far we were from the shore. The heads of other swimmers became more visible as we approached the surf. I was suddenly lifted by a huge wave. I relaxed and allowed myself to be carried away until the wave broke and threw me into the deep trough of the wave. When I came back to breathe, I looked around to see where Kani was. She was nowhere to be seen, and I let the new wave carry me upward. Then I saw that she was swimming somewhere far away from me. And I saw something else - three surfers,
  
  
  who followed me. I frowned. Surfing is strictly prohibited in the swimming area. They should know it here in the birthplace of surfing. A surfboard caught in a high wave can reach the speed of a car. And the edge of the board can crush a swimmer's head like an egg. I looked again to see where Kani was and saw that luckily she was far enough away to be in danger.
  
  
  
  
  The surfers glided in each other's tracks, barely audibly moving from right to left, and then back again. I allowed myself to be carried away by their movements and then began to swim to the left. After a few moments I looked back at the surfers. Coincidentally, they had changed direction so much that they were now heading straight towards me again. I instantly turned around and swam back. I figured I could dodge the first of the three before the wave he was riding reached me. To my surprise, I saw that he tilted the surfboard so that it was heading straight towards me again. I looked at the man on the first surfboard. He was a big, tanned Hawaiian and knew exactly what he was going to do: hit me. The surfboard flew towards my body like a deadly weapon.
  
  
  
  
  I realized that they expected the wave to lift me so that the surfboard would hit me exactly. The other two were slightly to the side of the first one, so they could hit me if the first one missed. These were not ordinary daring surfers, but cunning killers wielding cunning and insidious weapons. I turned on the water, struggling against the waves. I felt the lift, but still kept my movements under control. If I make a wrong move now, I might write myself off. The large surfboard was quite wide and attacked me with such force that even a slight pressure would be enough to almost achieve its goal. The wave rose to the skies, dragging me upward. I saw a surfboard appear above my head and descend like a high-speed train. I started counting down, four, three, two... and then dove diagonally into the wall of water. I felt the resistance of the water against the muscles of my shoulders, fought against it and gave all my strength to my blows. I felt the surfboard sliding over me, felt the keel scrape my back.
  
  
  
  
  I surfaced and saw that the surfer had passed me. He slid onto the beach. I caught a glimpse of Kani swimming towards me. She was still far enough away that she was out of danger. I had just enough time to surface, inhale, and dive into the next wave before the next two attacked me. The wave grabbed me and pulled me along while I waved my arms and legs with all my might. The first surfboard passed over me without touching me, but the second one scraped my leg as the wave lifted me up. But I managed to save my head. I dived into the valley of the waves and drank in water. When I returned, it felt like I had swallowed half the ocean. Now I was carried far enough to the shore to have solid ground under my feet, and I stood up. The surfers had already run out onto the beach and left their surfboards on the beach. By the time I get out of the water, they will be long gone from sight. Behind me, I heard Kani call my name, and then she stood next to me. She grabbed my hand and looked at me with wide dark eyes.
  
  
  
  
  "Idiots!" she exclaimed. “They seemed crazy. It could have killed you."
  
  
  
  
  “I think that was the intention,” I said grimly.
  
  
  
  
  
  She frowned. “How terrible it is to say that!” - she exclaimed. "Why would anyone need this?"
  
  
  
  
  “It’s a long story,” I said. “I have to drink something first. Why don't you come with me to my room and keep me company? »
  
  
  
  
  'Fine.' She laughed and gave me her hand. “We can take my car. I parked it there, near the trees."
  
  
  
  
  She had an orange dress in the car that she put on over her bikini. As she walked back to the hotel, I was still thinking about the three surfers. They must have been waiting for us to return to the surf. We, this word suddenly struck me like lightning. Kani was always with me... until they started attacking. She chose the right moment to swim away. I remembered how relieved I was to see that she was out of danger, but now I couldn't help but wonder.
  
  
  
  
  It could have been one of those coincidences that life is so full of, but I've already seen too many of them in this case. It may be a coincidence that Jimono worked for her father. And that he always worked with a partner. Maybe it was just a coincidence that these three guys knew I was going to visit the plantation the night they tried to kill me. And maybe it was just a coincidence that that volcano erupted right after I went down into it. Maybe, maybe not. When we arrived at the hotel, I changed my pants and put on a light shirt. When I left the bedroom, I saw that Kani had taken off her orange dress again. She sat with her legs crossed on the couch and looked at me with wet eyes. I made two whiskey sodas. I've already swam, and now I decided to go fishing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your father has a foreman named Jimono. At least that’s what Iolana told me,” I began indifferently. “I think I met this man in Hong Kong a few years ago. Don't you know anything about him?
  
  
  
  
  She answered me without looking up and raised the glass to her mouth.
  
  
  
  
  "I'm not interested in my father's employees," she said. “I don’t really know who works for him, and I’m not interested in them either.” This sounded like a clear departure from the topic. Quite a harsh rejection actually. Perhaps too harsh. I was thinking about going for it when Kani stretched her legs and came closer to me. She had plans and I decided to wait and see what she wanted. As she leaned towards me, her bikini bra moved so that I could see the purple-brown circles on her nipples.
  
  
  
  
  "Who do you like better, Iolana or me?" she asked.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s the right question,” I chuckled. "You both look good."
  
  
  
  
  "How well do you really know Iolana?" - It was not easy for Kani to give up her topic. I knew where she was going, but I wasn't going to give her a straight answer.
  
  
  
  
  “Not as well as I would like to know her,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  “Iolana has very old-fashioned ideas about sex,” Kani said firmly.
  
  
  
  
  I asked. - 'In fact?' I completely disagreed with her. "Are you sure?"
  
  
  
  
  “Pretty sure,” she said, emptying her glass. I deliberately looked at her breasts for a long time. When I looked into her eyes again, I put my hand under her bra and the other under her ass.
  
  
  
  
  I asked. - "Should we look into this?" She nodded with her eyes closed. She took a short breath and her lips were parted. I stuck my tongue in her mouth and tore off her skimpy clothes. I licked her belly, running my tongue over her body until I touched the hard nipples of her breasts with my teeth. She opened her eyes and looked almost surprised, as if she couldn't believe the depth of ecstasy she was experiencing. Then she grabbed me tightly and pulled away. Her lips were thirsty and thirsty, and her tongue was the sharp, trembling sign of hunger.
  
  
  
  
  I straightened up for a moment to look at her; her face, closed eyes and intense expression told me that she was overcome with passion. There were no intentions or games behind it, just naked flesh and primitive desire.
  
  
  
  
  Kani moved beneath me, her legs spreading with a primitive feminine invitation that had not changed since time immemorial. I accepted the invitation, and together we discovered that special world in which only two people can live, that ephemeral planet that all lovers discover, which is always different, but always the same. At the moment when our planet exploded, never to appear in the same form again, Kani let out several short sighs, one deeper than the other. Finally she allowed herself to fall limply onto me.
  
  
  
  
  She lay on top of me, her long legs touching my lower body, and was silent. I already realized that she was hot. But I was sure that she still wanted something from me. And my hopes that it wasn’t so fast were dashed. She sat down, pressed her large breasts against me and looked at me.
  
  
  
  
  “It would be a shame to leave things as they are,” she said, sounding almost indifferent. “I want to spend days, maybe weeks, in bed with you. I want somewhere to wait until you get home, a place just for you and me, Nick. Let's go to the mainland."
  
  
  
  
  My antenna immediately buzzed. I asked. - “Why to the mainland?”
  
  
  
  
  "Because we can't do what we want here, at least I can't do it here," she replied. “My father or Iolana will always intervene. But on the mainland you can receive me as many times as you like. No worries or problems.'
  
  
  
  
  I smiled. - “I think this is a great idea.” She responded to the comment with even more enthusiasm than I expected.
  
  
  
  
  “Okay, let's go then,” she said. “They might bother me here. And I still have a house that I have to look into from time to time. Just imagine, Nick... together every morning, every night, every day.
  
  
  
  
  She hardly did it subtly. She simply offered me a large quantity of a product that she thought I would be happy to consume. And I had to admit that it was a tempting offer. Of course, she knew this too. But the fact that I knew that she knew made a little difference. To be precise, somewhat less attractive.
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, wait a minute,” I laughed. “I said I thought it was a good idea, but I wouldn’t do it. I'm afraid I can't. I must stay here a little longer."
  
  
  
  
  The expression in her eyes instantly changed. She stood up and took a few steps to get her most attractive limbs to move as advantageously as possible.
  
  
  
  
  “You can’t say that, you can’t do that to me,” she retorted. “Not now, not after you made me feel all these emotions. You made me feel something I've never felt before. I am sure that no one else can satisfy my feelings better. Nobody but you, Nick. You're the only one who can help me, and I'm sure it won't work here. It just won't work."
  
  
  
  
  It appeals to my ego. This was usually an irresistible approach to a man; a beautiful woman who needed him at any cost. But unfortunately for Kani, my ego didn't need it at all.
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry, honey,” I said. - No. We can sleep together here on Oahu. I will sort out the problems so we won’t be disturbed.”
  
  
  
  
  “No,” she snapped at me, allowing her tone to immediately soften. She came forward and leaned her whole body against me, so that the soft skin sent electrical impulses through my body. “I always felt like I was doing something wrong if we stayed here. I will have to continue to think about my father and Iolan. They will always get in the way."
  
  
  
  
  “Then it’s a shame for both of us,” I replied. “But I’m not going back to the mainland just yet, darling.”
  
  
  
  
  She backed away, her eyes dark with anger. "What happened to you?" she shouted. “Am I not good enough in bed? Or do you only find me interesting in bed? You definitely don't want me to be seen with you in the States, do you? You're probably afraid that your friends will see you with a woman of color. Here in Hawaii I'm good enough, but on the mainland I'm not human! »
  
  
  
  
  I knew what was expected of me now. I had to exhaust myself with protests and apologies. Appealing to my male ego had failed, and now she wanted to make me feel guilty. Nobody likes to be called a racist, not even racists. I decided to overcome her apology one way, by doing things that would show her that she was wrong.
  
  
  
  
  “That’s not true,” I objected angrily. I would play this stupid game if she wanted. “I'll introduce you to some of my friends. This is an unfair accusation. Now I can’t leave at all.”
  
  
  
  
  “I'm really sorry,” she said with a note of remorse in her voice. “But you unleashed so much in me. I think I'm reacting too emotionally... as far as the two of us are concerned. You may change your mind." She made a twisting motion with her breasts, knowing full well that she was arousing me with them, and then suddenly pulled away from me. “You're still thinking about it, aren't you, Nick,” she asked, making sure I had to think about it a few minutes before. I nodded. “I promise,” I replied seriously. I'll think about it even more than she could have hoped.
  
  
  
  
  She put on a bikini and an orange dress and disappeared through the doorway after one last kiss. I went to the window to watch her drive away. She tried before my eyes to force me to leave the island. She did everything she could. She used both her head and her body well. It was only during the purely sexual part that she was completely herself. She did everything for her own pleasure. But the rest of the time she worked, and now I was beginning to doubt the coincidence of her sailing away just in time for the surfers to attack me. Someone was willing to pay a ton of money to get me off the island, which meant he expected me to cause some hiccup in his plans. But what exactly is Kani's role in this? Who did all these events ultimately lead to?
  
  
  
  
  More and more often, I was reminded of Hawk's suspicions that the Japanese had accidentally learned about new geological discoveries and intended to do something about it. A thought that brought me back to Kato Inura and the object he so fanatically wanted to hide. If only I knew more about how it usually works. Suddenly I sat up straight. I didn't know the man, but Hawk had worked with him, and I remembered something he once told me at a dinner party. I grabbed the phone to request a connection to AX headquarters. More than an hour passed before Hawk called back, and I heard the familiar steely tone of his voice.
  
  
  
  
  “I received news about Inura,” he said. 'Sorry. I'm really sorry. How are you?'
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know yet,” I replied. But I know one thing for sure. I need an advice. While you were working with Inura, he once had to hide microfilm. I remembered you talking about this once. He was afraid of an attempt on his life and hid it somewhere. Is it true?'
  
  
  
  
  There was a long silence, then Hawk answered me in a low tone. - Is there a radio or television in the cottage? “Most rental properties have it.”
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I said, imagining the room. “There was a TV in the corner and a small radio somewhere on the table.”
  
  
  
  
  “See if they're still working,” he said. I hung up the phone and arrived at the dacha in record time. The agent at the gate gradually became my good friend. I rushed inside and tried the TV. After a few seconds the image appeared. I turned on the radio and waited. Nothing! I unplugged the cord from the outlet and removed the back panel from the unit. It was still an old model with lamps. Four to be exact. I took them out one by one. The fourth one, which was in the far corner, looked unusual upon closer inspection. A small roll of paper was wrapped around the filament. When I carefully took it out, I saw how it was done. Using a small glass cutter, Inura cut the glass of the lamp exactly where it met the black plastic bottom where the contact points were. He attached a roll of paper and taped the glass in place with simple duct tape. He expected trouble and took every precaution. Nice guy who knew what to do.
  
  
  
  
  I opened the lamp and took out the roll. I was just rolling it out when a shot rang out outside, right in front of the door. I jumped to my feet, and almost at the same moment the door swung open and three Japanese men ran in. They came back and the timing was right. The first one had a pistol. He saw me, bent his finger on the trigger, and fired. But I saw him first, and that quarter-second advantage saved my life. I lay stretched out on the floor with Wilhelmina in my hand. Of course, I knew that I would lose if I tried to engage in a shootout with people with a pistol and two revolvers. Instead, I shot at the lamp and then immediately rolled to the side. It was a good decision, because an automatic pistol immediately sent several bullets towards where I was lying. The room was now shrouded in darkness, but I had been there so many times that I knew it like the back of my hand even in the dark. There was a window to the side, and I ran across the floor, throwing two dark shadows aside, and dived through it, taking with me shards of glass and wood. As I landed on the ground outside, I heard another gunshot to my right. Two more stood on the street, leaning towards the car. They fired again and I had to duck so they wouldn't hit me. I jumped to my feet and heard heavy Luger bullets crash into the trunk of the car. The two figures fell to the ground and were invisible in the darkness. I was about to jump to my feet when the other three ran out of the house. A Japanese with an automatic pistol fired another volley at me, and I fell to the ground. They had me in the crossfire. If I try to run away, they can shoot at me from both sides. If I started shooting at one group, I would get shots from others. The Jap with the pistol knew this too.
  
  
  
  
  “Throw away your gun,” he shouted. "If you have what we're looking for, we'll take it and let you go."
  
  
  
  
  I had no choice. I threw Wilhelmina away. They came up to me and roughly pulled me to my feet. The one with the gun was wiry and small, and he had a thin, angry mouth. “You have more people than I thought,” I said in my most pleasant tone.
  
  
  
  
  He growled. - “We already have three people less.” “Indeed,” I replied with the kindest smile. "But if you boys are looking for something, I don't believe I have it." I looked at the others. There were five of them, and they were all Japanese. I recognized one of them as the driver of an old Hudson sedan who wanted to stop me.
  
  
  
  
  “Search him,” said the thin-mouthed Japanese. They worked quickly and soon got what they were looking for. They were clearly relieved. I cursed under my breath. Well, I finally found it and didn't even have time to look at it. I felt a deadly, cold anger rise within me. “These Japs will regret this,” I decided. I still didn’t know what to do in this situation, but I was sure that I would take revenge. The little Japanese man with the gun looked at the paper and smiled broadly. He pointedly put it in his jacket pocket.
  
  
  
  
  "What should we do with him?" - asked one of the others, pointing at me. "Can we kill him and leave him here?"
  
  
  
  
  “No,” the leader answered with some irritation. “That dead cop is going to cause enough trouble. We'll take him to another place."
  
  
  
  
  'Where?' - the questioner insisted diligently.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know yet,” answered the thin mouth. "I'll think of something. At least put him in the car."
  
  
  
  
  “I have an idea,” suggested another. “Why don’t we throw him into the sea like Inuru. We will be able to use this lifeboat on the beach again.”
  
  
  
  
  I saw my chance and immediately grabbed it. “No, please,” I said. “I... I'm afraid of water. I can not swim.'
  
  
  
  
  I saw a sly smile appear on the leader’s lips. “So he can’t swim,” he told his comrades. 'Did you hear that? All we have to do is throw it far enough into the sea. If you leave it there, it will be like a normal drowning."
  
  
  
  
  Two pairs of arms grabbed me, and I struggled a little for show while they dragged me to the beach. The beach was deserted, and to the casual passerby they looked like a bunch of drunken revelers. When we got to the lifeboat, I sprang into action. “You said you would let me go,” I complained to the Japanese man with the gun. "Dirty liar!"
  
  
  
  
  He punched me in the face and I felt a trickle of blood flow from my nose. “I don’t want to endure insults from you,” he snapped at me. “You'll regret this, you little bastard,” I told myself. They pushed me into the boat and lowered me into the water. There were only two oars, and the boat was designed for no more than three people. She was so overloaded that she was only a few inches above the water. “It’s far enough here,” the leader finally said. “Now throw it away.”
  
  
  
  
  I resisted with all my might and then allowed myself to be pushed into the water. I demonstrated this perfectly. I screamed, gurgled, spat out water. I sank into the water and rose again three times. Those bastards loved it, especially the little one with the gun. He laughed loudest. Finally, panting and struggling, I sank under the water for the last time. I dove deep, swam a little to the left, and then surfaced again.
  
  
  
  
  I started swimming towards the beach as fast as I could. I saw them swimming slowly towards the shore behind me. They had only walked half the way when I crawled ashore and, half-bent over, ran to their car, which was still parked next to the cottage. I stopped for a moment by the policeman who was lying on the ground by the door. He died. I took his revolver, quickly walked to the car and disconnected the ignition wires. Then I ducked around the corner of the cottage and waited.
  
  
  
  
  I saw them walking along the beach to the car. I knew exactly what they were going to do and took aim exactly. My first three shots were aimed at killing, and that's exactly what I did. I fired them so fast that it sounded like one shot. The fourth bullet hit the leader's hand and he dropped the gun. The fifth shot hit the last Japanese man's revolver, and he fell to the ground with a crash.
  
  
  
  
  I ran out from behind the cottage and saw dumb surprise on the leader’s face.
  
  
  
  
  “You said you couldn’t swim,” he gasped.
  
  
  
  
  “I just realized how people swim,” I said. "I learn fast". I hit him right in the mouth and he threw his head back. He fell through the hood of the car. The last one rushed at me, and I hit him sharply. He stopped, staggered, then fell backwards. I turned my attention back to the other one. When I approached him, he suddenly kicked me. He almost touched my throat with his foot. I grabbed his leg and pulled hard. He hit the ground with the top of his head. The short sharp crack I heard when his head hit the ground told me that was enough. I took the folded roll of paper out of his pocket and walked away.
  
  
  
  
  On the way to the hotel, I studied the piece of paper that was so important to so many. I looked at eight words, eight titles, neatly written one below the other. I read them
  
  
  
  
  "Napua - Kilauea - Aumoa - Kaau - Aliamanu - Eleao - Hakeala - Eke."
  
  
  
  
  I repeated it again, remembering it well. Then I put the list back in my pocket and continued on my way. The names meant little to me, but in the hotel lobby I bought a map of the islands. Left alone in my room, I pulled out the list again and studied the map I had placed next to it. When I picked up the phone to call Dr. John Plank at the Geological Observatory, I had a strange cramping sensation in my stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  ;
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Plank was a short, thin man with fast-moving brown eyes, a pleasant demeanor, and a strand of uncontrollable hair that tended to fall across his forehead. Under other circumstances, he would probably have been a pleasant and intelligent conversationalist. I arrived early in the morning, and even then he looked like a confused, absent-minded man. He didn't know it yet, but I was going to tell him something that would deepen the lines on his face.
  
  
  
  
  "I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Carter," he said. “But I haven’t slept well the last few days. I have already been informed that you are coming to visit me, and as you know, we are very concerned about the strange volcanic activity that we have observed. Ash geysers briefly but violently exploded across all the islands, with no clear connection possible. It's very confusing and scary."
  
  
  
  
  “I'm afraid I'll have to add a little more to the confusion,” I sighed, handing him a piece of paper on which I had written eight names. "If I can't read maps, these are the names of eight strategically located volcanoes."
  
  
  
  
  He quickly ran his eyes down the list. "That's right, Mr. Carter," he said. “Some of these volcanoes have been dormant for a long time. We haven't installed tilt meters on any of those eight."
  
  
  
  
  “Before you explain to me what a tiltmeter is, I have one more question for you, Dr. Plank,” I said. “What would be the consequences if these craters erupted all at once or after short intervals?”
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Plank turned pale at the thought. “Oh my God, buddy,” he said excitedly. “The islands of Hawaii will disappear. Either way, Oahu, Hawaii and Maui will be destroyed. Given the volcanic forces we know, chain reactions are certain to occur.”
  
  
  
  
  “Could you tell me a little more about how volcanic activity works and about this tiltmeter?”
  
  
  
  
  “A tiltmeter is a measuring device that uses the water level principle,” Dr. Plank began. “Like a carpenter’s level. We install it on the edge of the crater or near a suspicious place. The tiltmeter is very sensitive and picks up the slightest movement of the ground at that location.”
  
  
  
  
  “On the condition that an eruption follows,” I interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly,” he said. “The slightest movement tells us that a huge amount of gases are compressed under the earth's floor, pushing masses of magma, liquid molten rock, onto the earth's crust. If the pressure is great enough, the volcano erupts and the magma becomes glowing lava and is carried into the air."
  
  
  
  
  “I think you better install tiltmeters in these eight locations as soon as possible, Dr. Plank,” I said. His face immediately showed disbelief and horror.
  
  
  
  
  "You don't really think all eight of these volcanoes are going to erupt, do you?" - he said, frowning deeply.
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” I replied. “And I cannot tell you more about this for security reasons, including your own safety. I'll tell you more after we install these things and know the results." I picked up the phone and called Johnny Kai.
  
  
  
  
  “I need one of your helicopters, Johnny,” I said. “I'm at the observatory with Dr. Planck. Can you pick one?
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll have it in half an hour.”
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks, Johnny,” I said. "I'll explain it to you later." Half an hour later the helicopter showed up as promised, and Dr. Plank and I loaded the plane with eight inclination meters, as well as a bucket of cement and a can of water. Before we landed on the first crater, Napau, he told me what water and cement were for. Dr. Plank turned it into a small concrete block, which he attached to a rock on the crater wall. He then placed a tilt meter on it. He did the same with other craters scattered around Oahu, Hawaii and Maui, and when we returned to the observatory it was almost dark. Dr. Plank was clearly worried.
  
  
  
  
  He asked. - “Do you know what it means when all these tiltmeters give a positive result?” “This means that we are on the verge of a massive catastrophe, the extent of which we will hardly be able to see.”
  
  
  
  
  There was nothing I could do to ease his fear. “I'm afraid we really are in such a disaster, Doc. “Someone directed the volcanoes at this,” I said. “How long will it be before we can read the inclination meters?”
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe tomorrow,” he replied. “But it’s safer to wait another day. Then we will know for sure that they are giving reliable testimony.”
  
  
  
  
  Safer? It was just a question. My hands closed convulsively, and I again felt that strange feeling of cramping in my stomach. If the islands were about to be engulfed by boiling lava, what else could I do? More and more I had the feeling that I was dreaming, that I was experiencing something completely impossible, but that I was forced to take it all seriously. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” I told Dr. Plank as I got back into the helicopter. He nodded seriously. I took off and within minutes landed the helicopter on the roof of the police headquarters. I went downstairs, waited until Johnny was free, then went to his room.
  
  
  
  
  “It’s time to tell you something,” I said. I explained everything from the beginning and gave him a brief overview of the situation. Johnny was very impressed. "What can we do, Nick?" he asked. - Why don't we catch this Jimono, Kamu's worker. Maybe we can get something out of him.
  
  
  
  
  “That’s what the righteous policeman says,” I chuckled. “We don’t work like that, Johnny. If we take it, we will disturb the entire movement. Then they will know that we are following them. This could have been a fatal mistake. At the moment, no one is bothering them, and I want them to maintain this feeling for as long as possible. Besides, I know that searching for a pro usually leads nowhere. They don't talk unless we use methods that go against our moral code. You can only loosen the tongue of an amateur, but this guy is definitely not an amateur."
  
  
  
  
  When I returned to the hotel, I received a message from Iolana. “You don’t do much for a girl’s ego,” I read. 'Where have you been hiding? And why? Please call me.'
  
  
  
  
  I threw the note in the trash. I couldn't afford to take risks. I still thought Iolana had nothing to do with this, but for a change I just had to play by the rules. The Japanese tactics were no different from other groups. They used disgruntled locals or groups to achieve their goals. They knew exactly how to respond to disappointment and dissatisfaction in order to win people over to their side. This was the basis of their technique, and I was sure that they used this technique here too. The day after tomorrow we will check the inclinometers. There is one day left and I must make good use of it. I pulled my powerful binoculars out of my suitcase and went to bed with a clear plan for the next day. It's time for some simple, old-fashioned spying.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was not yet quite dawn when I rented a car and drove into the mountains towards the Camu plantation. About two kilometers from the house, I parked the car between the leaves of three ferns so that it could not be seen. Slowly it became light as I crawled towards the narrow ridge above Kamu's house. The hard rocks and mud on the ridge pricked my chest. I had a clear view of the house through my binoculars, and just after eight o'clock I saw Iolana drive away in her new Toyota. She drove down the road I was on, in the opposite direction of Honolulu, and I smiled. I bet I'll find another note when I get back to the hotel. A little later I saw old Kamu leaving in a jeep for the plantation. Several servants came and went with laundry and garbage bags. Then I saw another jeep appear in the distance along a narrow path that led to the house on the other side. The jeep stopped at the main entrance, and I aimed my binoculars at the big guy who got out. He looked a hell of a lot like one of the surfers who wanted to take my life. He entered the house and a moment later came out with a large suitcase. Kani walked next to him with a suitcase in each hand. She was wearing work pants and a dark blue shirt. I could see her breasts pulling against the fabric of her shirt and it reminded me of her when we made love. I pointed the binoculars at the man and watched as he put the suitcases into the jeep. They returned to the house and a few seconds later came out with new suitcases. The big man then drove off in the direction he came from and Kani disappeared into the house. I wonder what that means.
  
  
  
  
  For some time nothing happened. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and its warm rays kept me awake. The lush bushes, purple flowers and hot sun made the ridge an easy place to fall asleep, and now I was grateful for the sharp stones that kept me from getting too cozy. Suddenly I woke up again when I saw a lone, thin figure approaching the house. I focused my binoculars and almost immediately realized who it was: Jimono. Kani appeared at the door and they talked for a few minutes. Then they went to the stables to the right of the house. They returned with two horses, which Jimono was leading by the reins when Kani entered the house. When she came out, she was carrying a square black box the size of a suitcase. Together they attached the box to the horse's back. When they did, I suddenly heard a faint rustling sound behind me. I instantly turned around. I was completely absorbed in what was happening in the house and did not think about the sentries at all. I looked straight into the point of the cleaver held to my throat by the large islander. I saw that he walked barefoot, and this explained how he could silently approach me.
  
  
  
  
  “Get up,” he barked. I didn't move and looked at him. "How did you know I was here?" - I asked, hoping to gain time in this way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was there,” he said, pointing to the hill behind the house. “I saw the shine of your binoculars. “Get up,” he said.” He poked me with the sharp end of the knife. “Yes, yes, that's good,” I said. “But I can’t get up if you keep poking me with that thing.” He put his weapon away and waited. I started to stand up on my hands. When I was halfway up, I kicked him in the ankle. He swung back, and I immediately rolled to the side. I felt the cleaver fly through the air where my head was. This gave me enough time to get up. Again, with a formidable weapon in his hands, he rushed forward. I quickly stepped to the side and dodged the expected blow. I looked over the edge in the direction of the house with lightning speed and saw two black dots moving away.
  
  
  
  
  The cleaver-wielding hero walked again, raising the eight-foot weapon. I knew that one blow would be enough to cut a man in half. But in the meantime, my main prey had escaped, and I did not know if this woodcutter had friends in the area. I decided to act quickly and threw Hugo into my palm. I turned, and the islander turned with me. I feigned an attack and he responded willingly. He quickly lowered the cleaver, and if I actually struck, my head would no longer be attached to my torso. But when the blade came down in front of me, I threw Hugo at it with all my might. The stiletto entered his chest. His eyes widened in utter amazement, and he staggered forward as the cleaver fell from his hands. He grabbed the stiletto and tried to pull it from his chest, but his hands weakened before he fell at my feet. I turned it over, pulled out the Hugo, and wiped the blade with a few large leaves.
  
  
  
  
  He was unarmed except for a cleaver, and I wondered if he really was a sentry. I left him and ran down the hill towards the house. Kani and Jimono rode off on horseback, which meant they were heading further into the mountains. I ran around the house, stopping every now and then to make sure I wasn't discovered. Finally I reached the stables. I chose the best horse and galloped off. As I drove, the trail became harder and harder to see, until it finally disappeared completely. But thanks to the soft ground, I could follow their tracks without any problems. The tracks ran through a thick part of the mountain. Suddenly I heard a horse neighing. I stopped, got off the horse, tied it to a heavy bush and crawled forward. About a hundred yards away I found horses tied at what looked like the leaf-covered entrance to a dark cave. I carefully crept inside, sat down and became alert. I didn't hear any voices or anything. I saw several stones that formed a staircase down. I went down and when halfway I heard the sound of water, I realized where I was. This was no ordinary cave, but one of the underground lava passages, the solid outer edge of what had once been a stream of molten lava that poured through the mountain to form a tunnel. Many of them can be found in the mountains of the islands, and in the past they were used as water reservoirs for irrigation. Rainwater and water from waterfalls flow through tunnels and form huge reservoirs under the mountain.
  
  
  
  
  I stopped by the water, which was flowing through the tunnel at a decent speed. The stairs ended at the water, and I saw Kani's pants and dark blue shirt lying next to the second shirt on the bottom step. I went down into the water and noticed that it was very cold there. When I let go of the last step, I was immediately carried away by a strong current. Soon I had to swim back to avoid going too fast and hitting the tunnel walls. I clung to rocky outcrops as often as possible to slow down the pace. The tunnel twisted wildly through the mountain, and I began to wonder how Kani and Jimono would be able to get through with that black box unscathed. It took every ounce of strength I had to avoid being hit by the walls, especially where the tunnel got steeper and the water flowed even faster there.
  
  
  
  
  I was approaching the turn again when I heard voices. I turned and swam as hard as I could against the current towards the tunnel wall, where I pressed myself against the rocks. I carefully looked around the corner. I was lucky; a protruding rock formed a ledge behind which I could partially hide and hold on at the same time. Now I could see them clearly, Kani in her bikini, and now I could see them walking through the tunnel unharmed. They had a small raft with an outboard motor. The black box was on the raft. Kani, half in the water, held the raft against the rock while Jimono inserted a cylinder of sorts into the hole in the upper wall of the tunnel. She handed him the second cylinder, which she took out of the box, and he also inserted it into the hole. Then she reached into the drawer again and pulled out some kind of air rifle. I watched as Jimono inserted the muzzle of the weapon into the hole and then pulled the trigger. I felt vibrations caused by the released compressed air pushing the cylinders up through the hole. I realized that I was looking at a weapon that could destroy all of Hawaii: the Japanese Lethal Formula.
  
  
  
  
  I could tell the damn device was powerful by the way the entire tunnel began to vibrate and by the sounds of falling rocks as the cylinders exploded. He returned the weapon to Kani, who put it back in the box, which I could see contained four more cylinders. They climbed onto the raft, which could hardly carry them both.
  
  
  
  
  "It's nothing you can do." - It was Jimono's voice. “Okay,” the girl replied. “Things can explode at the first sign.”
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe it will happen tomorrow evening... at least the day after tomorrow,” said Jimono, starting the outboard motor. As it began to work, I suddenly realized that they were floating back upstream on a raft, using a powerful engine to pull them upstream. When I saw that in a few seconds they would come out of the bend in the tunnel, I took a deep breath and disappeared under the water. I had already hit the bottom at a depth of about a meter, and pressed myself against the bottom as tightly as possible. I felt the raft and the small engine propeller pass directly above me. I let them float away and then stood up to take a breath of air where they were blowing the cylinders into the hole. I saw dirt and stones fall and quickly fill the gap. Several heavier stones fell into the water. I turned and swam back down the tunnel. I could go with the flow. But it's quite possible that the next exit will be at least ten miles away. I didn't have time for this. It will cost me precious hours, maybe half a night. I saw something, and although I didn’t quite understand what it meant, I was sure of one thing. This was due to volcanic activity on the islands. I still didn't quite understand how this could be done, but now I was willing to bet that they could make volcanoes erupt.
  
  
  
  
  Swimming back was an extremely tiring, almost terrifying task. Swimming against the current turned out to be much more difficult. When I wasn't even halfway done, I had to take a break, my arms were very tired. I continued, but after a short time I had to rest again. The walk back was much harder than I imagined and slow as hell. When I finally reached the entrance, I stood next to a raft that was moored at the bottom of the steps. It took me five minutes to catch my breath. I've done a lot of stressful challenges in my life, but this was definitely one of the first categories. When I finally felt the strength in my arms and legs returning, I climbed the stone stairs into the fresh air.
  
  
  
  
  It was already getting dark, and I rode my horse for some time. When I was halfway up the mountain, I let the animal run faster. It could find its way home. He made a wide arc around the house and plantation. If the native who attacked me with the cleaver had really been a sentry, they might have sent an additional patrol.
  
  
  
  
  I walked to the place where I hid the car and drove back to the hotel. Dr. Planck had already spoken of disaster, and I began to fear that he only half realized how bad it would be. As I expected, Iolana left me a note at the hotel again.
  
  
  
  
  “If you don’t want anything to do with me anymore,” I read, “then you could at least tell me in a normal, polite way. What's going on here? Did I do something wrong? I would like an answer."
  
  
  
  
  I threw the note into the trash and smiled. I have to play my way.
  
  
  
  
  The next morning I was already in the observatory in front of Dr. Planck. I was waiting for him in the helicopter. We flew to the craters where we had installed tilt meters two days earlier. When we landed on the first inclinometer and Dr. Plank checked it, I saw a worried look on his face.
  
  
  
  
  "I... I can't believe it," he said. “According to the instrument, huge underground movements are taking place. This indicates an upcoming eruption. But this volcano has been dormant for centuries! »
  
  
  
  
  " I asked. “Is it true that there are always gases in craters?”
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, in limited quantities,” he replied. “But it takes enormous gas pressure to push the magma to the surface.”
  
  
  
  
  I didn't say anything, and we flew to the next crater. The tilt meter readings again indicated severe disturbance of the Earth's surface. Dr. Planck's reaction changed from shocking amazement to complete confusion, and when we reached the eighth crater he seemed to be in a state of stupor. When we flew back, his face was ashen gray and he was muttering something under his breath.
  
  
  
  
  “If the tiltmeter readings are correct, Mr. Carter,” he said in a trembling voice, “then within forty-eight hours the entire chain of islands will be covered in boiling lava. We must immediately raise the alarm,” he added. “We must begin evacuating immediately. This will just take days. We need to organize air transportation, use all available aircraft."
  
  
  
  
  “Wait a minute,” I said, landing the helicopter. 'Not yet. I want as much time as possible. Every second matters."
  
  
  
  
  'Time?' exclaimed Dr. Plank. “There is no time at all. This is shown by the inclination meters. Whether it is a natural disaster or a man-made disaster, the consequences will be the same. A huge amount of lava will be erupted over the islands. If all the craters erupted at the same time, gases and volcanic dust would spread over half the ocean. In 1883, when Krakatoa erupted, the explosion could be clearly heard 6,000 miles away. Dust covered the entire planet, and the sun was completely obscured over an area of several hundred kilometers. The entire island of Krakatoa disappeared and shattered into small pieces. I don't think you understand what's going to happen here.
  
  
  
  
  “I understand that very well,” I replied. “And I must find a way to stop this disaster. That's why you have to promise not to tell me about this... until I give you permission.
  
  
  
  
  "But I can't do that, Mr. Carter," he said with a serious expression. “If we raise the alarm immediately, more people can be saved. At least we can still help them."
  
  
  
  
  “Let's meet tomorrow,” I said. “If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning, you can take action. This seems reasonable to me.
  
  
  
  
  “Tomorrow morning will be too late,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  “But if we sound the alarm now, we will have nothing to do,” I objected. "You must promise to wait."
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head, looking at me seriously. I hit him hard and he fell to the ground with a deep sigh. I knelt over him and applied special pressure to the bottom of his spine. I wanted him to sleep. I tied his hands and feet with a tie and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn't want to do this to this man, but he didn't give me a choice. And I wouldn’t have time to explain everything to him in detail. I left it and ran to the phone. I knew I had to act not against his anxiety, but against the complete destruction of our fiftieth state.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Iolana's voice on the other end of the line. She tried to sound calm, but the gentle tone of her voice was coated with ice. But I needed to get into the house, and Iolana could help me with this. If she, too, was part of the conspiracy, I would find out soon enough. I have to take the time to eliminate any risks. I spoke quickly.
  
  
  
  
  “I need your help, Iolana,” I said. - You once told me that you didn’t believe that I was an amateur geologist. Well, you were right, and I urgently need your help.
  
  
  
  
  She was silent. I tried my best to make my voice sound as gentle as possible. “Please honey, I really need you.”
  
  
  
  
  “Okay,” she said finally. Silence again. “You already helped me once without asking me any questions. Now it must be my turn."
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, and I mean it,” I said. “I want to meet you in Kapiolani Park, in the middle, by the statue. Go right now and wait for me. You have to wait until I come, understand? I may be a little late.
  
  
  
  
  “I’m leaving right now,” she muttered, and the line went dead. I walked up to the park entrance at the far end of Waikiki. She was supposed to arrive at lunchtime. That way there would be more people. I went behind the building opposite the entrance to the park and waited. About an hour later I saw her driving by. I stayed where I was and checked to see if she was being followed. In the only car following her were a woman and two small children. I wanted to trust Iolana, but I had to be sure. Time was running out. The world was no more than a few hours away from the threat of a volcanic eruption as powerful as Vesuvius, an eruption that buried 16,000 inhabitants of Pompeii under a layer of boiling lava twelve meters thick.
  
  
  
  
  I stopped for a while and then walked down the street to the park. I slipped between the trees behind me. I saw Iolana's slender figure. She sat down near the statue, apparently calmly awaiting my arrival. She stood up and began pacing back and forth. I walked around the statue in a wide circle, checking all the hedges and bushes that were around the center of the park. Finally I was satisfied. I checked the entrance again. Then he walked to the entrance and approached Iolana. Now I was sure that she came alone. I gave her the opportunity to set a trap, but she came alone. I was glad I wasn't mistaken about her.
  
  
  
  
  Her beautiful, mysterious eyes looked at me with fear and worry, and her lips parted as they pressed against mine. She had good taste and I gently ran my hands over her breasts, which were stretched taut under the thin white blouse she wore over the short miniskirt.
  
  
  
  
  “I’m already disappointed in you,” she breathed. “Oh, Nick, I'm scared. The way you talked on the phone, something in your voice. What is this?'
  
  
  
  
  I grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You have to trust me, Iolana,” I said. “You have to believe what I'm about to tell you. Something very bad is about to happen, something that could mean the end of Hawaii. Kani had something to do with this, probably in many ways. Maybe even your father knows about it, but I'm not entirely sure."
  
  
  
  
  She looked at me with wide open eyes in surprise. “You have to believe me, Iolana. IM telling you the truth.'
  
  
  
  
  She turned away. There was a tense expression on her face. Finally she said, “I believe you, Nick.” There was sadness in her voice. “I know something is going on. I feel this all the time since I've been here. I'm very worried about this. Father... things got even worse for him. He locks himself in his room almost all day with all these ancient relics. And he pretty much only hangs out with Kani. They always got along well, but now he barely talks to me."
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe that’s why he didn’t want you here,” I suggested. "Maybe he knew something was brewing." I didn't want to blame Iolana's father in front of her. And perhaps he was really only indirectly involved. She nodded, then pressed her head against my chest.
  
  
  
  
  "I never understood why he tried so hard to keep me out of Hawaii without giving me an acceptable explanation," she said. “As for Kani, I’m pretty sure she’s up to something. She has been acting too confident and overbearing for the last few days.” I pulled her away from me and looked into her eyes again. “I need to get to your house,” I said. “I have to search Kani’s room. You can help me get inside. There are guards, of course, but you can drive without stopping.”
  
  
  
  
  “And you will hide behind,” she concluded.
  
  
  
  
  “That’s the thousand-dollar question,” I chuckled. “Once on the grounds, I will hide in the stables until you warn me that Kani will not be in her room for a while,” I decided.
  
  
  
  
  She nodded and smiled at me. “I feel a little disingenuous,” she said. "Okay, let's go."
  
  
  
  
  Iolana got behind the wheel, and I settled as best I could, lying on the floor in the back of the car. It wasn't a pleasant trip, but I didn't want to risk someone seeing us on the way and calling us home. Iolana drove in the car and stopped just behind the stables. It was already dark, but since the moon was almost full, I had enough light. “The stable boys don’t come out all night,” she whispered. "I'll be back when the coast is clear." She opened the back door and I allowed myself to roll out of the car. Then she quickly drove up to the house where the garages were located. I walked into the empty stable and hid by the door in case I had to leave in a hurry.
  
  
  
  
  A few minutes later I heard footsteps. Jimono entered the stable. He paused in the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room. I cursed myself for being stupid enough to trust Iolana. I screwed up well. My hand reached out to Hugo; Jimono will soon die a quick death. But I knew that his death would disrupt the entire operation. I decided to wait as long as possible. Maybe he won't find me. Good chance, I thought sarcastically, when Iolana shows the way.
  
  
  
  
  I continued to watch him closely. But now, when the one he was waiting for did not appear, he remained where he was. He was chewing his cigarette rather nervously. From time to time he looked out the stable door, as if he was waiting for someone. Several minutes passed. Jimono continued to smoke and look outside. Sometimes he swore. I began to enjoy the view more and more. I began to feel more and more that I was about to see something interesting.
  
  
  
  
  Half an hour passed. Then I heard footsteps approaching the stables. Jimono froze. Kani entered and closed the door behind her. Jimono grabbed her hand and growled. "Whore! Where have you been?' Kani pulled away. “Father,” she said, “and his crazy instructions. He didn't stop and I couldn't leave." She then walked up to him and put her arms around his neck. “Now I’m here,” she breathed into his ear, “and I want you.” Hello, very interesting, I said to myself. Jimono pulled her towards him and bowed his head to kiss her. I felt a little awkward; voyeurism isn't really my thing and it felt like I was going to see the whole show. Kani was wearing pants and a shirt, and when she started to take them off, I saw that she had nothing underneath. Even in the darkness of the stable I could see her full mature body. Her large breasts stuck out provocatively, with brown, hard nipples. Jimono quickly undressed, not taking his eyes off her body.
  
  
  
  
  He grabbed her passionately and began to feel her wildly. His tongue licked her nipples and moved down to her stomach. She let out suppressed screams of pleasure.
  
  
  
  
  I turned around because I didn't want to see anymore. In the end, I also took her, kissed and caressed her, just as Jimono was doing now. I could roughly follow the development of events by sounds. I don't know how long it took, but it suddenly dawned on me that their conversation had become more businesslike.
  
  
  
  
  “... mountain,” I heard Kani say. “And we'll meet later. Understood?'
  
  
  
  
  "Don't worry now," Jimono said. “Everything will be smooth. I'm still wondering who came up with this whole plan! »
  
  
  
  
  "Sorry, but I can't tell you that." Now she seemed feminine and sweet again, but I didn't miss the sharp, commanding tone from a moment earlier. "See you in ten minutes."
  
  
  
  
  She slipped out of the barn, and a few moments later Jimono followed her. Silence reigned around me again. As time passed, I felt more and more uncomfortable. Ten minutes said Kani, and where the hell is Iolana? Finally I heard the engine of a jeep outside. There was silence for a moment, then the engine started again. When the sound of the jeep died down, Iolana rushed to the stable. She called me softly.
  
  
  
  
  “It was Kani,” she said when I appeared. “She went with this Jimono. Now we have a chance. They won't be gone long, and father has locked himself in his room again."
  
  
  
  
  I took her hand, and she ran into the house to the second floor, where there were bedrooms. Kani's room was second on the right. In fact, it was an apartment consisting of a living room and a large bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  “Look around the cabinets in this room,” I said. “I'll look here. We are looking for a square box with a hard surface, about the size of a small suitcase. If you see anything, warn me."
  
  
  
  
  Iolana quickly walked into the living room as I began searching the bedroom closets. They were almost empty. Kani had probably packed all her belongings into the bags and suitcases I saw her loading into the Jeep a few days ago.
  
  
  
  
  Iolana left the living room empty-handed. Then she lifted the blanket in the room, and suddenly I saw it, neatly hidden from view. I grabbed the box and opened it. Four cylinders and a powerful air pistol with a stock still remained inside. I took out one of the cylinders and examined it carefully. The spout was made of a fairly soft metal and was probably designed in such a way that it broke at the right moment to allow the contents of the cylinder to flow out.
  
  
  
  
  "What is it, Nick?" - asked Iolana. I didn't need to open the canister because I could guess what the contents were.
  
  
  
  
  “Remember that eruption in the crater of a small volcano that we visited together?” She nodded, lips parted slightly in anticipation. "It wasn't a coincidence," I said. “One of those things caused that eruption. They probably experimented with this crater a long time ago and prepared it for immediate use. These cylinders are filled with a kind of dust that causes the formation of volcanic gases in the earth's soil. They worked with these cylinders for some time on eight different volcanoes using this air gun. I think it took them about a year, maybe more, to prepare for tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  “At least,” I heard a voice behind me and turned around with lightning speed. Jimono stood in the doorway of Kani's room, accompanied by Kani and three tall, dark brown Hawaiians. I recognized one of the three as the surfer. Jimono aimed a Winchester rifle at me, and Kani aimed a .38 caliber revolver. “Search him,” Jimono hissed, and one of the three Hawaiians took Wilhelmina from me. He didn't notice Hugo and I laughed internally. “Get up,” Jimono commanded, and I stood up, with Yolana leaning on my arm.
  
  
  
  
  “Your conclusions are really good, Carter,” said the Japanese. “It really cost us a lot of headaches and time to prepare for tomorrow's action. We had to blast the craters with cylinders again and again until enough natural volcanic gas had formed to serve our purpose. We didn't have any problems with some volcanoes. They were still full of natural elements and needed only a little stimulation to form new gases. But volcanoes that were dormant for a long time required a lot of effort. Previously, it was necessary to carry out all kinds of measurements, take soil samples, and so on. And now all these craters are scalded by volcanic gases that only need a little stimulus to explode the magma.”
  
  
  
  
  Iolana stared at Kani, who walked up to the girl and hit her hard in the face. Iolana's head turned to the side and she fell onto my shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  “This will teach you to betray us,” Kani hissed. Then she looked at me with hatred in her eyes. “We saw your horse near that lava passage,” she barked at me through clenched teeth. “Then we knew that someone was watching us, and we were sure that only you could be that someone. We've been waiting for you to get involved with this little whore."
  
  
  
  
  “I underestimated you,” I said. “Maybe I subconsciously wanted it.” ;
  
  
  
  
  “We will take them to the caves and rocks of Palipali,” Kani said, turning to Jimono. “There we can decide what to do with them.”
  
  
  
  
  I squeezed Iolana's hand reassuringly as they led us outside and into the jeep. I found myself sandwiched between two Hawaiians. Kani handed the .38 revolver to Jimono, who kept the weapon pressed to Yolana's side as we approached the hills. The road became more uneven and we bounced over several rocks. Finally we stopped. We had to walk the last few hundred meters. In the light of the almost full moon, I saw that we were walking along a high cliff. The path ended at the entrance to the cave. One of the Hawaiians lit two torches hanging from the walls of the cave. In the depths of the cave I saw a pile of empty boxes. Judging by the size, they probably contained small cylinders.
  
  
  
  
  I was trapped, captive, but instead of thinking about how to free myself, I was thinking about what else I could do when I was free. Dr. Planck's words stuck in my head: “Volcanic eruptions are caused by gas pressure that presses magma against the Earth's crust until that crust collapses and an eruption ensues. The greater the gas pressure, the stronger the eruption." They cooked it damn well and used the forces of nature well. With a little help from nature, they created the conditions for a massive eruption of the main craters. Jimono's voice brought me back to my current problems.
  
  
  
  
  “The best we can do is tie them up so they die tomorrow with the rest,” he told Kani. But the girl shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  “It’s too easy for them,” she snapped. “And too risky. I don't want to take any chances with this American. He was too close to me. We must kill him tonight."
  
  
  
  
  They pinned us against the cave wall when one of the Hawaiians whispered that someone was approaching along the path. Iolana grabbed my hand tightly. "Are they crazy, Nick?" she whispered. "Why does Kani want to destroy the islands?"
  
  
  
  
  "I don't know what her motives are," I said. “But Jimono is a Japanese terrorist. He wants to destroy American influence on the island and use it for political purposes at home." I wanted to say more, but I felt Iolana tense in my hand. She screamed as a large, broad-shouldered figure filled the cave entrance.
  
  
  
  
  'Father!' she exclaimed. The Patriarch entered the cave, looked straight at Iolana, then looked at me. His presence radiated power that could be felt throughout the cave.
  
  
  
  
  “I see you have them both,” he told Kani in a flat, cold tone. Iolana broke away from me and ran to her father. The old man extended his hand and held it.
  
  
  
  
  “You have to tell them to let us go,” Iolana said. She tried her best not to cry. “What are you doing here, father? You can't have anything to do with this... this madness! »
  
  
  
  
  “He’s been pretty fooled,” I said sharply. I wanted to bring the old man out of his self-confident position. If I could get him to face reality, maybe he could help us. I knew it was a small chance, a very small chance. But it was a chance I had to take. I returned his gaze dispassionately.
  
  
  
  
  “This statement, if I understand correctly, means that I was deceived?”
  
  
  
  
  “Of course,” I replied, seeing the angry twinkle in his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  “You're as rude as any American I've ever met,” he snapped at me. “Unfortunately, my daughter also changed badly under the influence of America.”
  
  
  
  
  “I thought Hawaiians were Americans too,” I said. "You don't keep up with the times, father."
  
  
  
  
  Two Hawaiians walked forward, intending to beat me, but when the Patriarch raised his hand, they stopped.
  
  
  
  
  “You are a typical American,” Camu said. “Without attention to beauty, culture and traditions. Look what you've done to Hawaii... modern hotels, tourists. You've turned our country into one big hamburger stand. You want to replace natural beauty with money. Your commerce will destroy all the beauty here.”
  
  
  
  
  “Is this a reason to get involved with this scumbag?” - I said. “Do you think these Japanese terrorists don’t care about your island and your culture?”
  
  
  
  
  “No,” he said, his voice distorted with anger. “They understand my dreams and my views. I helped them find strategically placed craters on the island and they would rid Hawaii of the vermin Americans."
  
  
  
  
  "They will destroy the islands."
  
  
  
  
  “No,” Kamu replied haughtily. “When the volcanoes subside, nature will bloom again and beauty will appear again, as always. And if destruction is necessary, I would rather see my islands perish from natural forces than from human greed."
  
  
  
  
  “If you play your part, they’ll throw you off like a rag,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  I saw that the old man was about to hit me, but did not defend himself. He had the strength of a bull, and his blow knocked me off my feet against the cave wall. I saw stars and shook my head to come to my senses.
  
  
  
  
  “Keep Iolana safe and take her with you when you get to the boat,” he told Kani. "An American must die."
  
  
  
  
  I watched him emerge from the cave with his head held high, a bewildered old man caught in his own prejudices.
  
  
  
  
  “So when the eruptions start, you will leave the island by ship,” I told Kani. “You think about the smallest details very well.”
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes slid past me and turned to Iolana. “Make sure Iolana is safe,” she imitated the old man. "Sentimental old fool." She turned to the three Hawaiians and spoke to them in Polynesian. When she finished, two of them grabbed Iolana and dragged her to the center of the cave.
  
  
  
  
  “Most of the natives who help us, like these three, still worship Pele,” Kani said. "Pelé's human sacrifice is on its way."
  
  
  
  
  “And I suppose it’s to your taste,” I added.
  
  
  
  
  “But before the victim is handed over to Pele, she must be tortured,” Kani said, her lips curling into a cobra-like smile. She looked at me. “I'm sure you'll like it,” she said. “Sadism and sex, as you know, are closely related.”
  
  
  
  
  “Only for certain people,” I replied. For a moment it seemed as if she wanted to attack me, but she restrained herself. She signaled to the three men, who began to tear the clothes from Iolana's body until she stood completely naked, shivering from the evening cold. Her breasts stuck out proudly, and she tried to remain confident, despite the fact that three men devoured her naked body with eager, sinister gazes. Kani began to walk around Iolana, looking at her like a horse for sale at the market. “Pain,” she said, rolling the word across her tongue. “Pele, the volcano goddess, wants her human victims to endure enough pain first. But there are different types of pain. My dear stepsister is already in pain because she is forced to leave her body here. She was always such a humble little thing."
  
  
  
  
  Kani hit the girl twice in the face, Iolana hit her head on her shoulders. “I will do something to you that will make it impossible for a man to ever excite your body again.”
  
  
  
  
  She talked to the Hawaiians. One of them pulled a four-inch knife from under his shirt and approached me. He pressed the tip of the blade to my throat so that the slightest movement could kill me.
  
  
  
  
  “Remember to keep that knife in place,” Kani told the Hawaiian. "I don't want him to interrupt our little party." She clapped her hands and the other two disappeared, only to return a moment later with two steaming black teapots, which they carried on their handles, using thick leaves to serve as oven mitts.
  
  
  
  
  “When we are done with you, there will be a ritual dance,” Kani announced. “This is an old custom that keeps the spirits up among these natives. The teapots are filled with boiling liquid made from sugar cane and the inside of a pineapple."
  
  
  
  
  She walked over to one of the cauldrons, took out a large spoon and let the liquid slowly flow back into the cauldron. I noticed that the liquid was thick and viscous. “When you add rum to it, it makes a very effective sauce,” she said. In the dim light of the torches on the wall, she looked like a maddened, hateful witch, which did not seem far from reality to me.
  
  
  
  
  “But now, before we add the rum, I’ll give you a little treat.”
  
  
  
  
  She turned and said something to the natives in Polynesian. Without saying a word, they grabbed Iolana and threw her to the ground. One grabbed her by the arms, the other by the legs. She lay motionless. Her eyes widened in fear. Kani filled a spoon with the steaming viscous liquid and slowly approached the defenseless girl. The natives spread Iolana's legs as wide as possible. Kani slowly extended her hand, pouring the boiling thick mass over the defenseless body. Iolana screamed. The cries of fear turned into cries of excruciating pain. Kani poured the liquid from the spoon slowly, sometimes a few drops at a time. Iolana let out an animal cry for mercy. The two natives struggled to hold her trembling body. I smelled the sickening smell of burning flesh.
  
  
  
  
  My hands became clammy and my stomach clenched with anger. I must have taken a step because blood suddenly started running down my throat. The knife was still pressed to my throat. Jimono stood to the side with his .38 at the ready. If it had occurred to me to intervene, I would have died before I could begin. I was forced to watch. My whole body was screaming for revenge.
  
  
  
  
  “You will no longer be able to please any man,” Kani hissed, looking at the crying body at her feet. She signaled to the natives, who allowed Iolana to fall to the ground. She lost consciousness. At Kani's command, one of the natives threw the small lifeless figure over his shoulders, like a sack of flour, and went out with it. “He will sacrifice her to Pele,” she shouted in a shrill voice. She turned to me. In the light of the torch I saw a completely insane woman, an incredibly beautiful, highly depraved and insane creature, a wild witch from the distant past.
  
  
  
  
  "What are you going to do with it?" - Jimono asked, pointing at me. The native still held the knife firmly under my throat, but at Kani's signal he lowered it.
  
  
  
  
  “There is a rope in the boxes that was used to bring the cylinders here,” Kani said. “Tie his wrists first.” The others pulled out rope and tied my wrists in front of me. “Now take a long rope and tie it around his chest and under his arms,” she ordered. While the natives carried out her orders, she turned to Jimono. "We'll lower him off the cliff on this long rope and let him hang there," she said. “In an hour, as darkness falls, a strong wind will howl across the rock. He will swing it back and forth on the stone wall. The stones will tear this beautiful body apart. By the time he dies, he will envy Iolana's fate. She will be spared her fate by molten lava."
  
  
  
  
  She laughed again and I decided to tell her a few things I hadn't said until that moment. Maybe I could tease her into making a scene, and in the ensuing confusion, maybe I could take advantage of Hugo, who was still pressed against my forearm. It was worth a try. I had nothing to lose.
  
  
  
  
  “Let me tell you something,” I began. “Your father is a poor, lost and confused old man who lives in his own dream world. And you are a dirty, cruel bitch, the last whore!
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes flashed. She came up to me and attacked me; her blow even hurt me a little.
  
  
  
  
  “Dirty bitch,” I repeated and smiled sweetly as I said those words. She struck again and I felt my face turn red where she struck.
  
  
  
  
  “You’d rather I fucked you right here,” I laughed. She screamed and rushed at me in mad rage. She scratched my face with her sharp nails. I tried to grab her, bit her wrist, but immediately felt the sharp edge of the knife tickle my ribs. I let her go and took a few steps back. The native walked with me, holding a knife between his ribs. I felt like I was bleeding. He started to cut, but Kani stopped him at the last minute.
  
  
  
  
  “No, don’t,” she exclaimed. "That's exactly what he wants!" The native retreated and I saw Jimono pointing his .38 at me. Kani regained control of herself.
  
  
  
  
  “Take him to the cliff,” she said. "He won't make us kill him the easy way." I was grabbed from behind and pushed out of the cave. They led me about a hundred yards along a narrow ridge, where here and there a deformed tree grew from a crevice in the rock, hanging over the edge of the cliff. I felt the rope tighten around my chest and under my arms as I was lowered over the edge of the cliff. Finally, about fifty feet below, the rope became taut. I was defenseless, like a rag doll, hanging over the abyss. I heard Kani's voice above me, her wild laughter echoing down. I heard them leaving. The sound of their voices faded, and I was left alone, dangling from a fifty-foot rope, my wrists tied in front of me. It was already dark, but the moon provided enough light to dimly see the stone wall behind me. The rock was full of jutting sharp points and rough cracks. Hugo was my only hope. Very carefully I placed the stiletto in my palm. I grabbed the handle with my fingers and began to slowly and carefully turn the blade. If I had dropped it, I wouldn't have had my last chance. I turned the blade so that the tip was pointing towards me. I lifted it carefully until the tip touched the rope around my wrists. I pressed the knife against the rope with my fingers, trying to make small cuts in it. It was a strenuous effort. I couldn't use my arm strength and had to stop every five minutes to let the spasms in my fingers go away.
  
  
  
  
  The rope began to break slowly, too slowly. Suddenly I felt the wind, a sudden gust that seemed to come from the base of the cliff far below me. I felt my body swaying to the sides like a pendulum. The wind blew again, stronger this time, and I began to sway back and forth. With each blow, my back scraped against the sharp rocks of the cliff. I began to rub against the rope with renewed vigor. The gusts of wind intensified, and now I was swinging in an arc, so that I was thrown into the rock with increasing force. I tried to absorb the shock as best I could, tensing all my muscles, but every time I felt like I was exploding inside.
  
  
  
  
  I could barely hold Hugo, and there was little I could do except try to keep the point against the rope as best I could. The sharp tip pricked my wrists as often as the rope, and I could see the blood running down my hands. A strong invisible hand grabbed me again. Now I was almost swaying in a circle. My body trembled and trembled, and I craned my neck to keep from passing out. I knew I wouldn't last long. A few more hits and my bones will be shattered. Each gust of wind was stronger than the last, and each impact of my body with a solid rock surface was more painful. My back and shoulders were bleeding and starting to swell.
  
  
  
  
  I cursed loudly against the howling wind. I screamed as I cut Hugo's ropes. I again felt myself being carried away by a strong gust of wind that was swinging me like a yo-yo on the end of a rope. I was thrown onto the rocks at the speed of an express train. I pulled my legs up and managed to swing them back to break the force of the blow as much as possible. For a moment I was afraid that the impact would plunge my legs into my pelvis. The pain aroused impotent anger in me, and I began to violently pull the rope by my wrists. I felt the rope begin to break. The wind pushed me forward again, and I pulled again. The rope was cut further. Then I jerked it with all my aching muscles and it burst. Miraculously, I managed to hold on to Hugo as I grabbed the rope above me. Again I was hit hard against the rock. But now I could pull myself up. I placed my feet on the rock, found a foothold between the crevices of the rocks and began to climb to the top of the cliff. The wind was still tugging at me, but now I had something to hold on to. I let a cry of anger and relief echo through the valley. The edge of the cliff was now directly above me. I grabbed with one hand, held for a moment, and then swung one leg over the edge. I lay there for a while until I felt my strength begin to return. Then I went all the way over the edge, untied the rope and walked back into the cave.
  
  
  
  
  I heard them before I saw them. Kani sang a strange ritual melody. I crawled closer to the entrance to the cave and saw her. She danced almost naked in front of a smoking cauldron. The two natives were stirring the cauldron, the contents of which now smelled strongly of rum, and Jimono concentrated only on Kani's naked body. His eyes sparkled and I knew he wasn't sure whether to jump on her now or wait a little longer. I saved him from unnecessary thoughts. He had a .38 caliber pistol, so I had to kill him first. I estimated the distance and let the stiletto fly through the air. Jimono had no idea what hit him. The blade went straight through his jaw, behind the bridge of his nose and pierced his skull. I saw surprise in his eyes for a moment before he collapsed to the ground like a concrete block. Kani and the others didn't notice until he fell, landing almost at their feet. She looked at him with a blank look, at the knife stuck in his face. When she looked up and signs of understanding began to appear in her eyes, I was halfway into the cave. The two natives behind the cauldron hesitantly began to move forward to engage in battle. Kani tried to block me. My fist hit her in the stomach area and she landed on the floor two meters from the large cauldron.
  
  
  
  
  Two natives rushed towards me, one with a two-foot blade. I didn't have time to pull Hugo out of Jimono's lifeless body, and I took a step back to avoid the sharp blow of the native's knife. Now he was making circles around me and I pretended to look at his friend. I heard him come up behind me and quickly dove, sending his blade flying aimlessly into the air. I swung to the side, and as he flew past me, I hit him between the ribs. I felt one of his ribs break and he doubled over in pain. I kicked him in the crotch and he collapsed like a lifeless bay. His colleague, who meanwhile had also brought a knife from somewhere, came up to me. He waved the knife in the air like crazy. I could easily dodge his blows, but when I lunged to strike him to the right, he brought his blade down with a menacing blow. I stepped back and pretended to trip and fall. He immediately gasped and dived. I kicked him in the stomach and threw him back over his head and he hit the walls. He struggled to his feet. His face turned into a purple waterfall. I gave him a strong blow, which knocked him out enough.
  
  
  
  
  I was about to turn around when Kani, squealing, scratching and cursing, threw herself on my neck. Like a wild tigress, she clung to my eyes. I shook her off. With the speed of a cat, she jumped up and sank her teeth into my leg. I kicked, but she held on and started using her nails. I hit her in the face and the force of the blow knocked her to the ground. I felt streams of warm blood flowing down my leg. She quickly stood up again and when I approached her, she tried to kick me in the balls. I grabbed her leg and twisted it, causing her to fall to the floor, screaming in pain and anger. I pulled her head back by her hair and slapped her on the jaw. She fell motionless and I thought she would pass out for a while. And I wouldn't wait for her to regain her strength. I ran out of the cave and walked along a narrow, steep path along the cliff. But I underestimated Kani's strength, because when I was halfway there and turned around, I saw her running after me, holding in her hand one of the torches that hung from the walls of the cave.
  
  
  
  
  I turned and looked around. The edges were wide enough for one person/ As she came closer, she slowed down, and in the light of the torch I saw that her face was distorted with hatred.
  
  
  
  
  “Now you will die,” she hissed at me with bared teeth, pushing a flaming torch into my face. I stepped back, she followed me and rushed again. I tried to dive under the torch to grab her hand, but the flames made it impossible for me to reach her. She was lightning fast, and now thrust the torch forward in a short arc. I felt the hot fire in my face and retreated. I tripped and jumped back just in time. Kani immediately ran up, but I managed to grab her hand in which she was holding a torch. I pressed her hand up, away from my face, on a narrow ledge. Suddenly I saw her smile, a strange, maniacal smile. To my horror, I saw her releasing a torch onto my face. I reacted instinctively by throwing myself to the side to avoid the fire. At the same time, I threw Kani away from me. The torch landed on the floor behind my neck. I felt a burning pain in my neck and at the same time I heard Kani’s scream; she fell over the edge of the cliff and let out a scream that echoed for a long time in the deep abyss. I felt the dirt and stones slide out from under me and grabbed the ledge. My legs were dangling in the air. I slowly pulled myself up, forcing myself to resist the searing pain from the torch that was an inch from my face. I got support under one leg and slid from the heat of the torch. Then I pulled my other leg onto the ledge and finally rested on the rock. My neck was red and sore where the torch hit. I stood up, kicked the still burning torch over the edge, and continued down. Let's hope the old man is still in the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I crawled to the door of the house. A large guard, armed with a menacing-looking cleaver, stood guard. I took a handful of pebbles and threw them onto the road, where they fell with a sharp thud. The guard immediately stepped forward, holding the cleaver in front of him, peering into the darkness. Now his back was to me. I twisted around, grabbed his knees, and we fell to the ground together. I grabbed his head, applying pressure in all the right places under his ears until I felt him start to pass out. It only lasted a few seconds and I was lucky that he left so quickly. The challenge in the mountains took a lot of effort, but I had a lot more to finish this evening. I walked slowly into the house. The doors to the trophy room were closed. I opened them. Kamu was kneeling behind the altar. His voice echoed through the large room. He was so immersed in his prayers that he did not notice my presence.
  
  
  
  
  I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Get up, old man,” I said. Surprised, he stood up. All his muscles were tense. He asked. - "What happened to Kani?"
  
  
  
  
  “She’s dead,” I answered honestly.
  
  
  
  
  He shouted angrily. - "You're lying!" He rushed at me and squeezed me into a bear hug. He was surprisingly fast for his age. I jerked, loosening his grip. He tried to give me a hard uppercut, but only grazed my jaw. I responded with a right punch to the stomach. He growled and doubled over in pain. I gave him a backhand that knocked him to the ground defenseless.
  
  
  
  
  Kani wasn’t going to follow your orders,” I snapped as he lay on the floor, breathing heavily. - “She wanted to kill Iolana.”
  
  
  
  
  “You're lying,” he breathed at me. 'You're lying.'
  
  
  
  
  “No, I'm telling you the truth,” I replied. “You were used all the time, just like I told you. But maybe you can fix this, help save Iolana.”
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t believe you,” he said stubbornly. I leaned over, grabbed his hair and threw his head back.
  
  
  
  
  I screamed furiously. - “Will you believe me if I show it to you?” “Where would they sacrifice her to Pele? Where could they take her? Answer me, damn it!
  
  
  
  
  I let go of him and looked into his confused eyes, which seemed worried and hazy.
  
  
  
  
  “Here on Oahu it would probably be Kaau Crater,” he finally answered.
  
  
  
  
  “Get up, old man,” I said and ran into the hall, where I saw a telephone on the table by the entrance. My brain was working feverishly. If the gases inside each crater had some kind of safety valve, some kind of valve, they would be unlikely to exert any pressure on the molten rock underground. They will merge through this hole. Unless, of course, there is a loophole. I suddenly thought about 1935 and 1942, when the army saved the city of Hilo after the Kilauea eruption. The lava flow was only twenty kilometers from the city when the bombers strafed the edges of the lava flow, stopping their forward progress. Now I had another plan in store for the Air Force. I picked up the phone and called the commander of Hickam Air Force Base. I introduced myself and told him that he could call Johnny Kai to confirm the details.
  
  
  
  
  “That’s about eight craters,” I said. “You must deal with seven, not eight, until I give my direct order. You specialize in precision bombing, don't you?
  
  
  
  
  The commander said yes, and wrote down the names of the seven volcanoes involved. “So if I understand correctly,” he said, “you want us to bomb deep enough in each of these craters to allow these man-made gases to escape. But what if it doesn't work and we actually cause an eruption? '
  
  
  
  
  “We’ll have to take that risk,” I replied. “But this is unlikely to happen. If you manage to make these holes, the gases will definitely escape if the amount of gas matches our estimates."
  
  
  
  
  “We will be ready to fly in fifteen minutes,” said the commander. I hung up and called Johnny Kai. I briefly told him about the developments. “I’m at Kamu’s house now,” I told him. “And I need that helicopter again, Johnny.”
  
  
  
  
  “He's on his way, Nick,” he replied.
  
  
  
  
  I hung up the phone and walked to the door, quickly glancing at Kama. He wasn't sure. The impressive confidence left his figure. He looked old and tired. Darkness was already beginning to fall. Maybe we're already too late, maybe the gas pressure will become too great before the bombers can do their job. I heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and walked out as it landed in front of the door. I beckoned to Kama and the big guy climbed onto the plane behind me. In the distance, as we took off, I heard the sound of four-engine bombers heading towards the seven craters of Hawaii, Maui and Oahu.
  
  
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kamu put his hand under his wide robe, and a few moments later I felt the sharp end of a large dagger with a serpentine handle between my ribs.
  
  
  
  
  "If Iolana is not in Kaau Crater, you will die, Carter," he said. "If you lied to me, you will pay the price."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As we approached the crater, I tilted the helicopter over it. I had to do everything possible to avoid the smoke and gases created by the released sulfur gases. There was no doubt that this volcano was about to erupt. The gases that were currently coming out were only a small sign of a huge accumulation of them underground, I knew that everything was too good. I circled low over the crater, trying to see through the clouds of steam, gas and dust. Suddenly I saw a small, naked body lying on the ground. I pointed Kamu at him and saw the sorrowful expression on his face. The sight of Iolana seemed to have a physical effect on him. His huge shoulders slumped forward and he watched as he collapsed like pudding.
  
  
  
  
  “May the gods forgive me for what I have done,” he muttered. “I thought they would obey me. I thought Kani respected me.”
  
  
  
  
  Even if I wanted to, I simply could not feel sorry for the old man. He himself caused all this, and the enormous danger he created has not yet passed. Whatever internal torment he suffered at that time, he more than deserved it. I made the helicopter fly in a smaller circle and began to look for a place to land. Finally I found a suitable place and planted the device. I jumped out and ran to where we saw Iolana. At the same time, I suddenly realized that the ground under my feet was hot. It was like walking through an oven. I tore off my shirt and quickly wrapped it around the girl. She's lucky. The rim of the crater on which she lay was relatively cool. I untied the ropes around her wrists and ankles and she grabbed onto me. I was just about to escape with her when it happened, a roar as if a thousand locomotives were approaching from the bottom of the crater. The ground beneath our feet shook and shook so violently that we were thrown to our knees. I looked up and saw a terrible sight of gas and flames. This was not a random eruption, as we experienced at Mount Aikama, but a complete eruption. Huge clouds of gas rose and exploded in the air.
  
  
  
  
  We were in a small depression along a notch inside the crater, and boiling lava was erupting past and above us, flowing down the mountain side of the crater. We were lucky. But the rest of the crater could explode at any moment, engulfing us completely in a seething riot.
  
  
  
  
  “We need to run,” I said, grabbing Iolana’s hand and running up the hill. She shook me off and turned her back to me.
  
  
  
  
  "I'm staying here," she said. She began to descend towards the center of the crater. I grabbed her and dragged her upstairs.
  
  
  
  
  "I was crying. - What the hell are you thinking?" - "You are crazy?"
  
  
  
  
  She again escaped from my hands and looked at me with eyes full of fear. “Leave me alone,” she shouted in a broken voice. “Go... get out of here. Save yourself. You saw what happened to me in that cave. And Kani did exactly what she promised. I can never do this for anyone again."
  
  
  
  
  “What nonsense,” I replied. “Iolana, hurry up. We have to get out of here from this hell. We can't argue now. This isn't really the right place for it."
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not arguing,” she shouted. She had tears running down her cheeks. “When I woke up here last night, tied up and helpless, and realized where I was, I knew it was for the best. Nobody can help me anymore. I feel like everything inside of me is torn apart, Nick.
  
  
  
  
  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I shouted back. My tone was deliberately harsh and numb. “There’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed with rest and good treatment.”
  
  
  
  
  She looked at me. There was a hazy look in her eyes. “Hurry up,” she said. 'I'll stay here.' She fell to the ground in despondency.
  
  
  
  
  I saw that arguments were useless. She was in shock and logical arguments were a waste of time. But where reason failed, conscience could do something.
  
  
  
  
  “Then we’ll both have to stay here,” I said, sinking to the floor next to her. "Because I'm not going to run without you."
  
  
  
  
  “Please,” she begged. She raised her head and looked at me. “Go, please. There's not much time left."
  
  
  
  
  “Not without you,” I said. "I came here to pick you up and I'm not coming back without you."
  
  
  
  
  “Okay, I'll go with you,” she said with deathly tiredness in her voice. I should have realized then that the turn was too easy, but I was too happy to dwell on it. Besides, we had nothing to lose. I took her hand and we ran upstairs. Without taking even two steps, we heard another deafening roar. I saw the helicopter explode and suddenly felt a searing heat in my back, as if the door of a metal furnace had suddenly burst open. I reached the edge of the crater and pulled Iolana along with me. Her legs were bleeding from dozens of scratches caused by sharp stones. We fell over the edge and it immediately became unbearably hot. I looked around. Through the orange-flaming fog I made out a tall figure on the edge of the crater.
  
  
  
  
  Iolana tried to stand up, but she was too weak and collapsed. I heard her scream something, barely audible over the ever-increasing roar in the crater. She managed to get to her knees. The shirt I wrapped around her gave her the appearance of a strange nun praying on the edge of a huge witch's cauldron.
  
  
  
  
  “Come back,” she shouted to the figure standing on the edge of the crater. 'No, don't do that!'
  
  
  
  
  The old man turned and looked at us. He raised his hand majestically, turned and entered the burning crater. Iolana screamed silently and covered my face with her hands. I leaned down and held her until her body stopped twitching.
  
  
  
  
  I looked up and saw that we were under a cloud of burning objects. Fine boiling ash fell. I felt it in my throat, felt its suffocating effect. I pulled Iolana to her feet. “Get up,” I said roughly. "We have to get out of here quickly."
  
  
  
  
  It was an energetic idea, but less easily implemented. I watched as a golden carpet of glowing lava flowed down the mountainside with amazing speed. Under other circumstances it would have been a beautiful sight, but from where we stood it looked as if we were about to be swallowed up by this beautiful tapestry. There were still a few isolated areas on the mountainside that were not engulfed by lava. And I saw that they were quickly becoming thinner.
  
  
  
  
  “We should try to get through those areas that are not yet covered by lava,” I said. “If we act quickly, we can do this. This is our only chance.
  
  
  
  
  She nodded and I took her hand. We started running downhill, always choosing the path that seemed to be the widest without lava. By the time we reached it, it usually narrowed, and it seemed as if we were running faster and faster along narrow, winding stripes. It was a race with death, because if the lava blocked the path in front of us, there would be no escape. Suddenly Iolana pulled her hand out of my grip. Exhausted, she fell to the ground and looked at me in despair.
  
  
  
  
  "I can't do this, Nick," she gasped. 'I can not do it anymore.' Her eyes were full of tears, and from the sounds she made, half sobbing, half laughing, I could tell she was on the verge of hysterics. She was barefoot and her feet were covered in blisters from the boiling hot earth. I picked it up, threw it over my shoulder and ran. Sometimes I had to jump over narrow streams of lava that flowed down a narrow path. The heat from the molten rock on both sides became almost unbearable. The lava quickly closed around me, and the path was now only one foot wide. The edge of the lava flow was right in front of me. I started running even faster. Lava flames were around my feet. I saw that the lava was blocking the path in front of me and ran up. I stood up, trying my best to balance with Iolana's weight on my shoulders. I rolled down, holding Iolana in my arms. She screamed in pain, but I pulled her to her feet, took her back into my arms and began to run further down. The lava flow was now a safe distance behind us, but was moving steadily downwards. Then I looked back to make sure the lava was still at a safe distance. Suddenly I saw a jeep in the fog in front of me and I saw the words VOLCANIC OBSERVATORY on the car. I recognized a tall, thin figure getting out of the jeep. Dr. Plank quickly walked towards us and looked at Iolana in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  “Oh God,” he exclaimed. "You're not going to tell me that a volcano erupted from the depths."
  
  
  
  
  “That was very close,” I said. Dr. Plank looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and admiration.
  
  
  
  
  "You did it, Carter," he said. “You succeeded. I heard the whole story from Johnny Kai." He walked me to the jeep and turned on the shortwave radio. I heard a faint voice and a bit of crackling, from which I gradually began to hear conversations between the pilots of the squadron in charge of bombing the crater craters.
  
  
  
  
  “I am taller than Eke,” I heard a voice. “We put a nice hole in it and the gases actually spray out.”
  
  
  
  
  "It's the same here over Hakeakala," answered another. “You can see whole clouds of gas and nebula coming out here. Incredible! This is one of the biggest ones, so we only made two holes in it.
  
  
  
  
  “All planes are returning to base,” said the voice of the squadron commander. Plank turned off the radio.
  
  
  
  
  "You really are an incredible person, Carter," he said. “I was told that you are one of the best super agents in America, but you are more like a miracle doctor. Not only did you save the islands from complete destruction and stymie the Japanese terrorists, but you also gave us a new technique for dealing with volcanic eruptions."
  
  
  
  
  “It all happened in one day,” I answered modestly.
  
  
  
  
  “I don't get knocked down every day, but now I understand why you had to do it. When the lab technician found me the next morning, I thought differently.”
  
  
  
  
  “I'm really sorry,” I said. “But at the time, I really didn’t see any other option.”
  
  
  
  
  “Take me home, Nick,” said a quiet voice next to me.
  
  
  
  
  I asked Dr. Polk. - "Can you give us a ride to the Camu plantation?" "It's north of Honolulu."
  
  
  
  
  “My boy, even if I had to give you a lift to Timbuktu,” he replied. - 'Get in.'
  
  
  
  
  Iolana held herself in my arms as we drove away. The sky behind me was red. But it was just one volcano and a small one. The consequences will be minimal. It was all over. At least that's what I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the house, which had a gloomy atmosphere, I waited for Iolana, who had gone upstairs to change her clothes.
  
  
  
  I was too pleased with the happy outcome of events to think much about Iolana's plight. I requested a phone call with Hawk and asked the operator to place the call on the phone in my hotel room. I sat in the chair for a while and then entered the garden. It occurred to me that Iolana would need more time than usual to rest and heal. I knew that every nerve, every muscle, and everything in her body ached.
  
  
  
  
  I looked at my watch. I stopped and became wary. There was dead silence at home. Suddenly I understood everything. I ran up the stairs and rushed to her room. The note was pressed to the pillow, and I tore it.
  
  
  
  
  “I meant what I said in the crater,” I read. “I have no more place in this world. My body and mind are crushed. You are the only valuable thing that has happened to me in a long time. Goodbye, Nick. Iolana.
  
  
  
  
  I cursed everything. How could I be so stupid to leave her alone. I ran into the hall and saw that the door was open. I ran outside and saw a steep, narrow path leading to thick bushes and a hedge behind the house. I walked along the path and began calling her name. The path gradually became less steep, but the bushes became denser.
  
  
  
  
  A sharp sound broke the silence, and I felt a blood clot in my veins. It was a shot, and I rushed through the underbrush in the direction of the shot.
  
  
  
  
  She sat on a log in a small clearing, the rifle lay at her feet, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Damn damn damn!" she exclaimed. 'I was mistaken. I took blank cartridges.
  
  
  
  
  I walked up to her and she fell into my arms, crying. “Oh, Nick, Nick,” she sobbed. "I don't want to live anymore."
  
  
  
  
  “I think someone wants you to live,” I said, carrying her back into the house in my arms. Her body and mind were crushed. I put her in the back seat of a small Toyota car and drove her to the hospital in Honolulu. She cried continuously throughout the trip. The next morning when I visited her, she looked at me with those beautiful deep brown eyes.
  
  
  
  
  I asked her. - “Have you talked to the doctor?” She nodded. “I take it he told you that you would make a full recovery?”
  
  
  
  
  She nodded again. “I called my aunt, who I get along well with,” she said. “She will come here to take care of me. She will arrive this afternoon.
  
  
  
  
  “Then I won’t be here anymore, honey,” I said. “I have to go back. My boss tells me to come back and I know he means it." I saw the disappointment on her face, lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “I don’t like saying goodbye,” I told her. “There have already been too many goodbyes in this world. I want you to do exactly what the doctors say, and when you feel better, you must let me know. You must do this.
  
  
  
  
  “I owe you everything, Nick,” she said. She hugged my neck and smiled through her tears. “Okay,” she said. - I'll let you know. Until then... aloha, Nick... aloha.”
  
  
  
  
  “Aloha, Iolana,” I said. I gently stroked her hair. "Aloha."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I left the infirmary and didn’t look back. It was best that way. I was on the next flight to San Francisco, and the next day I was sitting across from Hawk.
  
  
  
  
  ``Sorry, I don't have volcanic ash for your garden
  
  
  
  
  When he was around, I was too busy, and when I had time, he wasn't there."
  
  
  
  
  "That's life, Nick," Hawk said. “But fortunately we still have all fifty states. Well done, N3."
  
  
  
  
  There was no need for a compliment. Hawk expected nothing but high results from his best men. If he said anything about it, it was a rare compliment.
  
  
  
  
  “As far as I understand, you can take a few days off,” he noted. “Why don’t you go to Colorado? Mountaineering or something like that.
  
  
  
  
  “I like to relax, but right now I don’t want to see anything that even remotely resembles a mountain,” I replied. I got on a plane to Florida.
  
  
  
  
  Days passed and I had almost forgotten everything when the phone rang two months later. I answered and heard a velvety voice.
  
  
  
  
  "Do you feel anything when you save a damsel in distress?" - asked the voice.
  
  
  
  
  “Iolana!” - I exclaimed. 'Where are you?'
  
  
  
  
  “At Kennedy Airport,” she said. “And I got lost. It's incredibly big here."
  
  
  
  
  “Talk to one of these uniformed men and tell them to point you in the direction of Manhattan,” I said. I gave her the address. - 'I'm waiting for you.'
  
  
  
  
  We didn't have to wait long. Either way, it didn't seem to last long. She was wearing a soft blue dress that hugged her figure, and before the door closed, she pressed her lips to mine.
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Nick, Nick,” she breathed. “You have no idea how much I wanted this.” Her hands gently massaged my body. I felt my blood flowing faster.
  
  
  
  
  “Undress me, Nick,” she whispered. “I want to feel your body next to me again.” I did as she asked, slowly and gently, once again enjoying the sight of her beautiful, full breasts. I bowed my head to kiss them, hesitated for a moment, and her arms pulled me towards her.
  
  
  
  
  “Oh yes, Nick,” she breathed. 'Take me.' I pushed her to the floor. She pulled her legs up and ran her hands over my stomach. “Hurry up, Nick,” she gasped. 'Please.'
  
  
  
  
  I hugged her and slowly pushed her inside. She moaned softly and gave herself completely to me. I soon noticed that she had recovered from the emotions associated with the adventure on the volcano.
  
  
  
  
  When this was done and we were rocking in each other's arms, she put her hands on my face and looked into my eyes.
  
  
  
  
  “You made this possible for me,” she said. “We all need a purpose, and you were mine, Nick, you and the memory of that first day we made love. It gave me the strength to get better."
  
  
  
  
  I asked. - 'And now?' Now you can no longer doubt yourself, I hope? You can feel the way you used to feel before. You can still give everything and more than before.
  
  
  
  
  “No, I don’t doubt it anymore,” she sighed. “Yes,” she giggled, “you can even make a marble statue hot.”
  
  
  
  
  I kissed her. “Not while there are girls like you.”
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter, AX's top agent, is in a losing battle against an invisible enemy. On behalf of the major powers, but not with their support, he faces terror from a Japanese organization that threatens to sink the entire island of Hawaii.
  
  
  
  
  
  An explosive mixture of violence, tension and sex. Along with the chilling suspense, the crystal clear image of a secret agent at work in: "The Doomsday Formula"
  
  
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