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INVITATION TO DEATH
NICKCARIER
JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK
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Dedicated to the men of the
Secret Services of the
United States of America
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ONE
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Misty rain made Trafalgar Square gleam in the illumina-
tion from the sodium lamps. It partially obscured the top
of Nelson's Column and gathered in puddles around the
statue's base.
It was midweek, nine in the evening, but traffic was
heavy with Christmas shoppers hustling to spend their
money. On the Pall Mall side, in front of the National
Gallery, a Salvation Army band was playing "Hark, the
Herald Angels Sing."
A tall man in a dark Burberry coat, a tweed cap pulled
low over his eyes, paused in passing. One hand emerged
from the coat and coins clattered in the bucket.
"Bless you, sir."
The man hurried on, the wind whipping rain into his face.
Across the square, he moved down Whitehall and paused
again, looking back. A newspaper, torn and crumpled, tum-
bled along the gutter, flapped feebly against his leg, and
moved on.
A bus turned out of the square. It made a stop at the north
end of the Horse Guard's building, and went on.
The man picked up his pace. At the last moment he
sprinted across the wide street, and when the bus stopped
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NICK CARTER
at the Cenotaph, he darted on board. As it pulled away from
the curb, the man made his way to the very rear seat.
All the way to Bridge Road in the Pimlico section, he
darted quick looks out the rear window. Until now, there
had been a set, wary look on his face. Now, as he dropped
from the bus and walked across Vauxhall Bridge, his features
relaxed.
On the south side of the Thames, he turned into Leffler
Lane. It was a small street, hardly more than an alley. The
buildings were narrow and deep, and all connected. Every
third one seemed to be a pub or some kind of nightclub.
At number 221, he stopped. There were double dcx)rs
without windows. Through them he could hear loud rocb
music emanating from the interior. A photo in a glass-fronted
case full of glossy blow-ups to the right side of the door
showed a long-legged blonde in a brief showgirl's costume.
She was poised on her toes with her head flung back in
rapturous abandon and most of her large breasts bursting
from a spangled bra,
His glance climbed the wall over other pictures of other
blondes, brunettes, and redheads, each nearly
women .
naked.
Above the dcx»r, a sign in garish neon script identified
the place as Lola's.
He moved his glance up to the windows of a flat above
the club. There was a faint light in one of them.
He pushed open one of the doors and found himself in a
tiny lobby. There was a short counter on his left. A dark,
scrawny, thin-nosed, middle-aged woman was behind it.
Opposite the street door was another door, this one with a
padded, red leather surface. It was partly open, and through
the opening came a thick sound with a beat to it. Music and
laughter and scrambled conversation.
"Are you a member, sir?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"Two pound twenty, sir."
3
The man gave her a five-pound note, pocketed his change,
and pushed into the club.
The room was dimly lit. Twenty or thirty tables were
scattered across the floor. In one of the far corners, a dais
held the band providing music. Its beat was elemental.
The rest of the far wall, and the other corner, was occupied
by a long S-shaped bar with a broad plate counter. On top
of this counter, greenly illuminated from IElow and redly
from above, six near-naked girls were strutting on high
heels, swinging and posturing, smiling blank-eyed, and
moving their bodies in time to the primitive beat of the music.
Few of the tables were occupied, mostly by men. Lola's
was an after-hours spot. The real moving and shaking
wouldn't happen until around- midnight.
Behind the bar, a fat, bald-headed man polished glasses,
set them down, and picked up others, all without once spar-
ing 'a glance for what he was doing.
"Whiskey, neat."
When it came, the man dropped a ten-pound note onto
the bar and eyeballed the room. Besides the dancers, there
were four other women in the room. None of them was Lola.
He remembered the light in the upstairs flat.
The man turned away from the dancers. At the opposite
end of the bar he saw an alcove. Just inside, there were two
doors to the left and right. At the end, almost in total dark-
ness, was a door marked Private.
"Another, please.
When the drink came, he asked directions for the men's
room. The fat man swiveled his head toward the alcove.
He moved past the two rest rooms and tried the private
door. It was locked. He took a small ring of keys from his
pocket and glanced once over his shoulder.
All eyes were on the exotic dancers.
The second key opened the door. He went through and
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NICK CARTER
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relocked it behind him. At the top of the stairs he found
himself in a narrow, carpeted corridor softly lit by discreet
overhead lights.
A door to his left was marked Office. Theone to his right
was unmarked and a tiny sliver of light escaped from beneath
it. This one he unlocked with a credit card. He opened it
only an inch. From somewhere deep in the flat he could
hear .a shower running.
Smiling, he entered the flat and closed the door behind
him.
Soft lights burned in the bedroom, the interior hall, and
bath. The heavy plate-glass door to the shower was steamed
over, and the moisture made it translucent. Tiny beads of
hot water glowed in reds, blues, and greens, while the vapor
frosted the door. Behind the door could be seen the moving
shadow of a woman.
The sound of the water beating against the tiled walls of
the enclosure ceased abruptly and a rounded arm reached
from behind the door to pick up a thick bath towel. She
stepped from the shower and dried herself.
She gave an impression of height which she did not actu-
ally possess. On her head was a shower cap of transparent
plastic ornamented with golden snail shells and coral sea
horses. When she removed the cap, a mass of blue-black
hair tumbled to her shoulders, and she shook&echead grace-
fully from side to side while her hair swirled free. Fresh
from the shower, her face devoid of makeup, she had the
freshly scrubbed appearance ofa young girl.
But she was not a young girl, and the suppleness of her
slender body could not conceal her maturity. Her brow,
nose, and chin were regular in' shalE and delicately propor-
tioned, and her small, well-shaped head was balanced on a
long, plaint neck which curved gracefully into a swelling
bosom.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
5
The width of her face across the cheekbones was wide,
and the bones themselves high, with the skin stretched tautly
over them. Her eyes were elongated, slanting upward at a
noticeable angle toward the outer edges of her temples, and
were an unusual and brilliant color of green.
Her mouth was wide upper lip thin, the
lower full—and when she smiled it gave the beholder an
impression that it concealed amusement, This appearance
of innocence mixed with a curious sophistication gave an
odd yet most attractive expression to her face.
Her body was lush, full, with darkly tipped breasts, a
narrow waist flowing into womanly hips, and a thick mass
of black hair at the base of her flat belly.
After drying her body, she hung the towel through a
gold-plated ring mounted on the wall, and inserted her feet
into a pair of soft slippers.
She entered a dressing room that adjoined the bath. The
walls were painted a deep rose that exactly matched the
wall-to-wall carpet. A large mirror in a gold and white frame
stretched from floor to ceiling and reflected a French barcxlue
dressing table and chaise longue standing across from it.
From the dressing table, she selected an ivory comb and
drew it casually through her hair until the fine dark mass
fell into gentle waves. Next she sprayed her hair with a mist
of then lightly dusted her naked body with a match-
ing scent. of bath powder. Hesitating for a moment, she
examined her lips in the mirror, then quickly brushed them
with lipstick.
Suddenly she held very still. She smelled tobacco,
cigarette smoke.
She didn't smoke.
She moved from the dressing room to the interior hall.
It extended the length of the apartment, and from it doors
opened to the other rooms. The hall ended at two steps that
dropped to the level of the large living room. This room
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was dark except for the faint glow of a single small lamp,
and it was filled with soft muted music from a radio.
At the steps dropping to the living room, she paused to
gaze intently across the darkened room. She saw, silhouetted
against the large window, the outline of a tall figure peering
out into the street below. He Wore a dark jacket and dark
slacks, and stood with hands clasped behind his back and
legs slightly apart. The figurerontinued to stare into the
night, oblivious to her approach, which had been covered
by the music.
Cautiously, her hand reached out to a small Italian chest
beside her. Her face, and its expression, was concealed by
a heavy shadow as she opened the top drawer and quietly
groped inside.
When her fingers found and closed over the solid butt of
a Beretta automatic, she withdrew it, and, holding it in both
hands, pointed it at the figure at 'the window.
"Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly, very
slowly."
The figure turned, but the hands and arms stayed at his
sides. Worse; he started moving toward her.
"Stop! I'm warning you, and raise your hands!"
The man kept moving.
"Bloody fool!" she said, and pulled the trigger.
The firing pin clicked on empty. As the man stepped
forward, the light reached his shoulders. He raised his hand
and opened it. Nestled in his palm was the clip from the
Beretta.
Then he took another step and the light fell across his face.
"Hello, Serena. Gained a little weight, haven't you?"
"Nick Carter!" she gasped. "You bloody bastard!"
Lola, alias Serena, was in fact Julie Ashford, and even
though her English accent was impeccable, her French and
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INVITATION TO DEATH
7
Italian perfect, and her German acceptable, she was from
Cleveland, Ohio.
At sixteen, blessed with a full-blown woman's body and
the morals of an alley cat, she had run away to New York
City. There she had lied about her age and worked in a
fairly high-class strip joint. Six months of that and she had
progressed to being a high-class call girl.
Along the way, she met and married a French magician
who dabbled in fleecing rich old ladies who wanted to contact
their dead husbands. He pimped little Julie on the side until
they could set themselves up in style on the Fast Side of
Manhattan.
Everything went fine for a couple of years, until the
Frenchman mingled in a little blackmail. When the heat got
too heavy, they both ran for his native Paris.
It wasn't long before they were set up again in the same
business. For another couple of years everything was dandy.
Then a Russian, code-named Choker, got onto their scam
and hired them to do a little blackmail for him.
That worked for a while, until Choker found out they
were selling to the highest bidder.
The Frenchman bought the farm and was found floating
facedown in the Seine. Little Julie took off for London and
became Madame Serena.
That was where Carter met her. Together they had upset
the apple cart of a crazy religious cult named Pastoria in
southern France. In the process, Serena had double-crossed
Carter at least a half-dozen times, and twice nearly got him
killed.
"What the bloody hell do you want, Carter?"
"I just missed your dry wit and wonderful disposition. "
She flipped on an overhead light and, completely obliv-
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NICK CARTER
ious of her nudity, crossed to the bar. Pointedly, she poured
a single gin and leaned back, elbows on the bar, to face him.
'I had all of you I could stomach the last time, Get out."
Carter moved around her, grabbed a bottle of Chivas,
and poured three fingers in a glass. "As I remember, I could
have killed you and didn't. "
"Maybe you should have."
'And your last words were, 'Next time,' as I remember. "
"I was conning you."
Carter smiled and sipped the Chivas. "I can believe that.
I need some help."
"No way. You're poison. You and I have nothing in
common anymore. The past is dead, finished. I'm out Of
the game.
"Are you?"
"Yes," she hissed, but averted her eyes.
"Had a hell of a time finding you, Serena . . . "
"It's Lola now. "
Carter shrugged. "All right, Lola, I had a hell of a time
finding you. Along the way I found that there's a lot of the
old Serena in the new Lola. You ran a jewel scam in Dén-
mark,] The jewels came from a lot of expensive flats in
Belgravia. With a guy named Huston, you left a paper trail
across Spain that would pay off the-national debt. And you
still dabble in a little blackmail now and then. "
Sheclimbed onto one of the stools and shrugged, making
her bare breasts do a nice jig. s 'A girl's got to live."
"Of course. And I'd like to help you along in life: '
At this, her green eyes came alive. "Oh? How's your
expense account?"•
"Healthy."
"Good," she said with a smile, sliding off the stool and
bouncing beautifully across the room. "You can tell me
about it over dinner!"
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She chose the Chelsea Club, and as Carter followed her
following the maitre d," he became aware of why she had
asked about his expense account:
The restaurant was tastefully plush, without a shred of
nouveau. The walls were of real burnished oak paneling.
The old-style gas lanterns hanging over the tables against
the wall were really old, their brass polished to a golden
hue. The carpeting was thick and soft as only wool can be.
The tables were round, planked, and expertly dressed. The
entire room was in soft lantern and candelight shadow, but
not so that one's eyes hurt. Sounds were barely audible, so
good was the room's design.
The maitre d's tuxedo would roll out at around four
hundred dollars, and he wore a Rolex low on his left wrist,
below the cuff so it couldn't be missed. He behaved au-
thoritatively rather than obsequiously.
"l am suggesting a table near the wall for you and your
guest, mademoiselle. We're expecting a rather sizable crowd
tonight. It will be quieter."
"Anything you say, Dominic," Lola purred, flashing
Carter a smile.
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NICK CARTER
"Nice joint," Carter growled.
"I like it."
"What if I weren't on an expense account?"
' e Then you wouldn't be here." She actually said it without
altering her smile.
Every male eye in the place followed their progress. Lola's
breasts, sans bra, did a wild dance trying to escape the
skintight black floor-length gown covering them. The reality
of their magnitude was open to inspection, since the front
of the dress was cut to her navel.
At the table, Dominic pulled out their chairs one by one.
He snapped his fingers and two waiters came floating across
to push them back in occupied. One of them stayed to take
drink orders.
'*I'll have gin over gins" Lola said, "Monsieur will have
Chivas, neat. And I believe we will have a plate of shrimp,
the lobster päté, a few oysters, and a little caviar."
"The Beluga, mademoiselle?"
"Is it themost expensive?"
"Oui, mademoiselle. "
' 'The Beluga it is," she replied, and gleamed some teeth
at Carter.
"Ah, little Serena, you have changed."
"Please, let's keep it Lola from now on."
Carter returned the smile with clenched teeth. ' 'Lola it
is."
The drinks came.
She raised her glass. "To the biggest bastard I've ever
met."
"To one of the most beautiful bitches I ever bedded. "
She didn't bat an eye. "If you remember, Carter, it was
I who did the bedding. "
She was right. She had attacked him in a villa on the
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INVITATION TO DEATH
11
Cöte d'Azur and kept him in bed long enough for someone
else to plant a bomb under the driver's seat of his car.
"How can I ever forget," he murmured.
They drank, She dabbed daintily at her crimson lips with
a napkin, and leaned forward.
"Now, you were saying?"
"Gerhard Rouse. Ever heard of him?"
Her big green eyes got smaller in concentration. It was
several seconds before she answered. "Heard the name.
Ran some guns, didlh't he? Also took an occasional hit when
the price was right?"
Carter nodded. "He became a very wealthy and a very
cautious man. He retired about two years ago, to Rio and
luxury."
"Hmm, that's something I'd do," she mused.
"But you're too greedy," Carter said.
Her eyes flashed, and then she grinned. "You're right.
What about Rouse?"
"'He free-lanced, but unlike you working both sides, he
preferred rubles. That's why we tried to nail him so often. "
"But you never did."
"Never," Carter admitted.
Her smile grew broader. "He's a hero to me already."
Carter ignored her. "As long as he stayed in Rio and out
of our hair, we left him alone. But about two weeks ago,
he surfaced in Madrid. Before we could get anyone on him,
he split. One of our people picked him up at the airport in
Munich. I was sent in, but he'd already skipped."
"Elusive little shit, isn't he?"
"Very," Carter said, nodding. s 'I got a line and followed
him to Paris. I missed him again, but I found out he put a
crew together."
"For what?"
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NICK CARTER
i' That's what we want to find out. If Rouse came into
the daylight, it was for something very big and worth a
great deal of money. "
She shrugged and signaled for a new round of drinks.
"What's that got to do with me? I don't know Rouse."
Before Carter could reply, the waiter arrived with a new
round. Before he left, Lola ordered . . . five courses, and
all top of the line.
"And the wine, mademoiselle?"
"You choose,"
she said, and shooed him away with a
flick of her fingers.
Carter shuddered. In a place like this, letting the wine
steward make the choice usually resulted in a per-bottle cost
of around two hundred dollars.
"Excuse me, Ser . . . Lola, but doesn't the man usually
do the ordering?"
Rouse. "
"Not when he's out with me. Now
Carter sighed and got back to business. "He dead-dropped
a letter to London two days ago, just before he left Paris.
I managed to get to the cutout, but 'all I could get 011! of
him was a name and address: Nodo, Fourteen Tottenham
Court Road."
Her brow furrowed. "It's a dead-drop on this side as
well."
Carter nodded. "The back end of a bookie joint. Entrance
is through the alley. The box is rented by mail. Just send
in your ten quid a week and nobody sees you pick up your
mail."
"So all you've got is a contact name, Nodo."
"That's it. I've gone through Scotland Yard, the com-
puters at M15, and all the contacts they could give me.
Rouse has a head start of two days on me, and whatever is
going down is going down soon . . . I think
"So you want me to help you find Nodo?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
13
Carter grinned. "Since you probably know every lowlife
in London, I figtne it should be easy for you.'"
One carefully plucked eyebrow arched. "How easy?"
' 'A thousand pounds."
' 'A day," she said, draining her glass.
"You're out of your mind," Carter retorted.
' *Okay. Seven-fifty a day and we eat here every night. "
"Five hundred and we eat fish and chips."
She made a face. "Six-fifty and I cook."
' 'Since when do you cook?"
"I don't; but I have a hooker friend who's an absolute
gourmet. I call her in on SEECiaI occasions. "
"It's a deal," Carter said, and the food came.
After returning to her place soshe could change into
something a little more conventional for the work, they
hired a cab for the night and went on the hunt.
The first place was a vast, sprawling, after-hours disco
in Victoria Dock Road. Every woman in it like she
should be walking the streets of Soho, and every man looked
like he'd just been released from Broadmoor.
"Nice place,'" Carter commented.
' 'Just drink your pink lemonade and let me circulate. "
She did, for a half hour, and came up empty.
The next joint, Duke's on Rathbone Street, was just as
noisy and just as seedy, but there waul better class of
people. The guys at Duke's looked like they might throw
you in the river without cutting your throat first.
This one took even less time.
For the next two hours, the names blurred and Carter saw
more of the "Gents" getting rid of the lager he'd consumed
than he did the people. Lola did her usual reconnaissance,
all the time passing the word that she wanted to get in touch
with ' 'Nodo" for business reasons..
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NICK CARTER
Most of it was a dead end, but in one joint she found out
Nodo's claim to fame.
"He's a wheel man, one of the best, and evidently he's
hot with anything with an engine."
"Where to now?" Carter asked, bleary-eyed.
"We keep moving."
Around three in the morning they hit a place .called the
Angry Onion. It was a bit smaller than the other places,
and far less crowded. Lola maneuvered Carter to the empty
end of the bar and two stools.
"So, Lola, luv, what'll ya have?"
"A gin, Glenda, and me mate'll have a pint of yer best
bitter. "
Glenda was fairly tall, a blonde somewhere in between
straw and platinum. Carter guessed she was on the hard
side of forty, but she was well preserved. It was her eyes
that made him sure she was older than she looked. They
had seen all the surprises; there weren't going to be any more.
She set a gin in front of Lola and the bitter before Carter.
"There ya are, luv."
Her look took him all in at once with loving appreciatibn,
in the same way a butcher might look at a crown roast.
Carter thumbed his wad to pay, and Lola plucked a twenty-
pound note from the top. She pushed it across the counter.
"Keep the change, dearie."
"To what do I owe the generosity?" the blonde mur-
mured.
"I'm lookin' for a lad. They say he's well connected and
drives like Sterling Moss."
Glenda's eyes slitted and her mouth got a little hard.
"And who might that be?"
"His contact name is Nodo. Do you know him?"
Carter could sense at once that they had hit pay dirt. He
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INVITATION TO DEATH
15
started to peel off another twenty and speak, when Lola's
knee crashed against his.
"Nick here would like to do some business with him. "
"I know him," Glenda said, "but I ain't seen him around
fer nearly six months."
"But you might point us to him?"'
"I might."
Again with the knee, and Carter finished the movement
peeling off a second twenty.
Glenda smiled as the bill disappeared into the front of
her dress.. "A little late tonight, but I can make some calls
in the morning."
'We'd appreciate that, " Lola said, sliding from the stool.
"What's his whole name anyway?"
Glenda smiled. "Now; dearie; if you was to know that,
you wouldn't be tippin' me tomake a phone call fer ya,
would ya?"
Lola laughed. 'You're right, luv. Call me at the club. ' '
"I'll do it."
Outside and back in the cab, Carter asked her, "Think
she's legit?"
"0h, yeahl She knows how to reach him. "
"Where to now?"
"Home," she said. ' 'We've done all we cando tonight."
There was one club in the Thames
from Blackfriars, that Lola and Carter hadn't hit. It was
called the Fisherman, and Lola hadn't taken Carter there
because one of her old lovers whom she now despised ran it,
As Carter handed Lola from the cab in Vauxhall and
accepted her offer of a bit of breakfast, Gerhard Rouse
emerged from the fog hovering by the river and entered the
Fisherman.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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started to peel off another twenty and speak, when Lola's
knee crashed against his.
"Nick here would like to do some business with him. "
"I know him," Glenda said, "but I ain't seen him around
fer nearly six months."
"But you might point us to him?"'
"I might."
Again with the knee, and Carter finished the movement
peeling off a second twenty.
Glenda smiled as the bill disappeared into the front of
her dress.. "A little late tonight, but I can make some calls
in the morning."
'We'd appreciate that, " Lola said, sliding from the stool.
"What's his whole name anyway?"
Glenda smiled. "Now; dearie; if you was to know that,
you wouldn't be tippin' me tomake a phone call fer ya,
would ya?"
Lola laughed. 'You're right, luv. Call me at the club. ' '
"I'll do it."
Outside and back in the cab, Carter asked her, "Think
she's legit?"
"0h, yeahl She knows how to reach him. "
"Where to now?"
"Home," she said. ' 'We've done all we cando tonight."
There was one club in the Thames
from Blackfriars, that Lola and Carter hadn't hit. It was
called the Fisherman, and Lola hadn't taken Carter there
because one of her old lovers whom she now despised ran it,
As Carter handed Lola from the cab in Vauxhall and
accepted her offer of a bit of breakfast, Gerhard Rouse
emerged from the fog hovering by the river and entered the
Fisherman.
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NICK CARTER
Rouse was a big, slab-sided man, top-heavy with wide
shoulders, thick arms, and a barrel chest. Under a two-day
growth of beard, his tanned face was weatherbeaten. His
chin jutted, as if daring someone to take a slug at him, and
his nose was large and flanked by watery eyes. The eyes
looked as though they were constantly staring along a gun-
sight, predatory like a vulture's.
He pushed through the noisy crush of people, his eyes
darting over the tables along the wall in the dark side of the
club. He spotted his man and pushed past the hanging sym-
bols of the sea: fishnets, oars, anchors, and splintered mast
poles.
S'Nodo."
"Rouse. "
Damon Nodoramus was a gangling, clean-shaven man
•with an ugly, pitted face who might be young or old. He
was eating a fish that still had its head onamd was drinking
lager in great gulps. The fish's eyes looked alive.
"How does it go?" Rouse asked after a tired, skinny
waitress took his order for a pint.
"The van is ready, twin rear doors like you wanted.
nicked a Ford Escort about an hour ago. That's the one I'll
roll."
Rouse nodded as the waitress brought his pint and wan-
dered away. "And the pickup cars?"
"A Rover and a Cortina. The Rover's yours. You can
drive it right to Heathrow and park it. I'll have it picked up
after a couple of days."
Rouse lit a slender cigar and thought for a few moments,
sipping his beer. 'Our pigeon alTives at Heathrow tomorrow
morning at six-ten. That means the Rover and the Cortina
will have to be set tonight. I'll want to be on the M4 west
of Paddington by six o'clock tomorrow morning. Any prob-
lem?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
17
Nodoramus shook his head. < "We should meet at my
brother's garage around five. You've got the hardware?"
' 'Two Stens. That's all we'll need."
The tall Greek shivered inside but he didn't let it show.
This Rouse was a cold-blooded bugger. He didn't normally
take a job -where there- was a "no witness" clause in the
contract, but the money on this oneewas so good he couldn't
refuse.
"What if the bloke misses the plane?"
"I've got that covered," Rouse replied. "I've also got
a spotter at the airport to give us the car and the number.
Anything else?"
"No. You're sure he'll go the M4?"
"I'm sure," Rouse said. "It's the only way he can get
to Wales." His cold "You come recom-
mended, Nodo. Don't let me down."
"I say,l'll do a job, I do it."
"See that you do."
Rouse stood, dropped some bills on the table, and walked
away.
Idly, he wondered if he should have mentioned to Nodo
that he had been trailed across Europe, and that Whoever
that someone was, he was probably in England.
No, the less Nodo and Vrain knew, the better.
Carter lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair with a sigh.
"l thought you couldn't cook. "
Lola chuckled. "Anybody can boil water and fry eggs. s'
'It was delicious," he said, watching her dump the dishes
in the sink with an economy of movement.
"You look as though you Could bloody well fall asleep
right there."
"I could," he replied! "I've only catnapped in the last
forty-eight hours. "
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NICK CARTER
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"You got a place?"
He nodded. "A company flat off Charing Cross."
"God, that's clear across town. It'll take you two hours
in morning traffic."
"I know," he said, wearily heaving •himself to his feet.
"I'd better move,"
Lola stopped him with a hand on the elbow as he passed
toward his coat. S VCarter . .
"Yeah?"
"I guess for six-fifty a day I can let ya crash on the
couch. It's big enough."
"l wouldn't want to put you out," he replied dryly.
"Then piss off, ya bloody bugger."
"But if you'll throw in a shower, you've got a deal."
Carter stood, letting the warm water cascade over his
body. It pounded over his face and drummed in his ears so
he barely heard the shower door open.
He opened one eye. Lola stood in the opening, one foot
on the edge of the tub. She was nude, and the sight of her
breasts jutting their dark tips at him through the steam made
him wonder just how tired he really was.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"It's your shower. "
She stepped into the shower and let her body slide against
his under the water. The scent of her hair and perfume
o reached his nostrils. With her eyes closed, she felt for the
soap dish, found the oval cake, and began moving it lan-
guidly over his chest.
"I thought you hated my guts."
"I do." The soap moved lower.
"I thought I was anathema."
"You are, but I got to remembering that afternoon on
the Riviera."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
19
didn't know -I'd made such an impression. Is this part
of the six-fifty as well?"
"Shut yer bloody face and scrub my back. "
She pressed forward and kissed him. Purposefully, she
clung to him, holding her arms tightly around his neck,
rubbing her wet breasts hotly against his chest.
Carter rubbed backs. his fingers doing a number on the
small of her back and moving down.
He faced her head-on and pressed up against here Her
hands went between them, groped, and moved him between
her thighs. Then she squeezed her legs together slightly to
hold him there.
Carter's ears buzzed with the sound of the water and her
heavy breathing in his ear. His hands lathered her body with
the soap. Her breasts were rubbed and caressed until the
nipples were standing up, rigidly erect. They pressed hotly
into his chest.
"I want you," he rasped.
"Here? In the shower?"
"Why not?"
Then he suddenly picked up her soap-slick body: He held
her under the armpits as she clasped her legs around his
waist. Then he leaned her against the wall under the shower
nozzle. The jets of stinging water cascaded down on them
He used one hand to guide his throbbing erection toward
her. She clung to him and moaned as he slid into her easily.
He began to rotate, the water flowing warmly around the
spot where they were joined together. He had increased the
pressure and adjusted the nozzle so the stinging little bullets
of water bounced on their skin.
In and out, in and out, he moved. Continuous moans of
happiness bubbled from her lips as he moved with longer
and harder strokes.
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She groaned louder. As she opened her mouth the water
spilled into it. She sputtered and choked, but nothing could
mask the wonderful tingling in her body. It spread over her
until she didn't think she'd be able to stand anymore.
Carter was beginning to pant. They clung together and
wriggled in the luxurious soap and water that ran in rivers
over their driving, thrusting bodies. He was pulsating. He
felt his excitement rising to a peak, She lathered her hand
and reached down between his legs.
That was all she had to do. Carter groaned long and loud.
They exploded together, their bodies She clung
hard to his neck, shaking as the thrill, like an electric shock,
rippled through her body.
Slowly, she lowered her feet back to the tub. "Lovely
way to end the day."
They stepped from the shower and dried each other with
huge, thick towels. Then she leaned her cheek against his
neck and burrowed into his warmth. "You do have your
moments, Carter."
Carter could feel himself beginning to slip off into a haze
of weary contentment. He could feel her breath and the
pattern of her soft body against him. "You mind too much
if we go to bed now?"
"You sharing my bed?" she asked.
He nodded. "I checked the couch. "
They moved from the steamy bathroom into her bedroom,
lit dimly by one lamp. Still damp, Lola let herself fall onto
the soft bed. Her arm flopped over his body as he joined her.
"Good night," she whispered.
Carter was already asleep.
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THREE
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Carter slipped from the bed, threw some water on his
face, and dressed. Outside the window, it was another gray,
winter day. It even looked colder than the day before, with
a chance that the rain would turn to snow.
Lola was curled toward the center of the bed, her head
buried in pillows. The covers had slipped off most of her
beautiful behind.
He thought of writing a note, then decided that it would
be safer to speak to her. The day's events were too important
to leave anything to chance communications.
Gently he shook her shoulder. "Serena . g"
"Unh."
"Lola, wake up."
"Go to hell."
"lim going now.'"
Carter smiled. The old Serena gleamed through like a
bad penny. "I'll call in every half hour."
' 'You do that."
"Bless you," he said, and whacked her on the butt.
He could hear her curses all the way to the street. He
21
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crossed the bridge and found a coffee shop. After wolfing
down a breakfast, he grabbed a cab to the flat on Charing
Cross Road. There, he shaved and climbed into fresh clothes.
The previous evening he'd waltzed around London un-
armed. Today perhaps being D-Day, he slid Wilhelmina's
rig over his shoulder and strapped Hugo's chamois sheath
to his right forearm. The former was a 9mm Luger, the
latter a razor-sharp, eight-inch stiletto.
The scramble line to AXE headquarters in the Amalga-
mated Press and Wire Services Building on Dupont Circle
in Washington, D.C., was clear. He got through to David
Hawk's office immediately. The call was picked up by the
chief of AXE's right hand, Ginger Bateman.
"I'm hustling and I've got a little help," Carter said in
response to her first query. "But so far, ziltch."
"Not much more here," the sable-haired beauty from
Atlanta drawled. ' 'We've run everything, governmental and
military, through the computer, and nothing is happening
in London or the rest of England for the next month. "
"That doesn't mean he couldn't be here for something
private."
"Sure," Bateman replied, "but that's impossible to
check."
"Check anyway," Carter said. "Rouse is here for some-
thing. The Nodo character that he's contacted is a wheel
man. Rouse is going to heist something. "
"I'll do what I can. Stay in touch."
Carter hung up and cabbed to Scotland Yard. He had the
blessings of some very high people in M15 and 6, so there
was no problem. He indexed, cross-indexed, and up-indexed
every man and woman in the files who had ever driven for
hire and been caught.
There wasn't a Nodo in the bunch.
Every hour, he called La Lola. "Any calls?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"None yet, Nick."
"You were exciting last night. "
23
"You were adequate," she said through a yawn. "How
about lunch?"
"Stay by the phone."
At one o'clock, he broke for lunch and then walked across
Whitehall to M15, There he went through the same process
with their terrorist files.
Still nothing.
On the Strand, he found a cozy pub, ordered a and
called Lola again.
"It's a bingo. Glenda called. Nodo moves around a lot,
hard to get a line on."
"How well I know," Carter groaned. "What have you
"Lately, he's been getting his equipment from a guy
named Little, Harper Little. Runs a garage on Cable Street
in Whitechapel. "
"Lola, you're divine."
' 'You owe me thirteen hundred pounds. "
"I'll pay you at dinner. "
He looked up the address, paid for the beer, and hit the
street. It took him a good ten minutes to get a cab.
"Where to, mate?"
"Whitechapel
Cable Street. What's with all the
traffic?"
"BBC predicts snow. Everyone's gettin' home early."
It took nearly an hour to get clear across to the East End
of London. Carter spotted the sign above the garage, and
told the driver to go a little farther and park.
He dropped a twenty over the seat. "Wait, all right?"
"Sure, mate. Watch yerself around here. "
"Yeh. In this neighborhood they'll cut yer throat arid piss
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NICK CARTER
on the wound to stop the bleedin'."
"Thanks."
Carter retraced the two blocks on It was a rickety
old building at best, and in the gray gloom and rain it seemed
sinister and isolated from reality.
The small, hand-lettered sign above the big pull-up door
read, LITTLE'S—NO CREDIT. There was a smaller, duck-in
door to the side. Carter pushed it open and walked inside.
There were two grease racks, occupied, and a center lane
where three cars could be worked on at the same time.
Beyond that, there was another big double door, Since the
building was long and narrow, Carter assumed there was a
second room to the garage.
To his left there was a ratty office, untidy and filthy. The
desk was old and grubby, with bent handles on the drawers
and bits of wood chipped off the corners. It was piled high
with papers.
He was about to shuffle through the pa}Ers, when the
door to the rear room slammed open and two men emerged.
One was a giant in greasy blue coveralls, with more grease
embedded forever in his face and. the skin of his hands.
The other was a short, gaunt man with slicked-back hair
and a weasel face sporting a pencil-thin mustache. He wore
a shoddy blue pin-striped suit, a red vest, and a gaudy,
mismatched tie. He looked and spoke like a pimp.
"l been to his digs, Harp. He ain't been there fer days. "
From the slur in the smaller man's words he had obviously
been drinking heavily.
"That ain't my problem, Jimmy."
The. little man began to whine. "C'mon, Harp, I know
you and Damon got a good popper goin'. Just a hunnert
quid. He'll give it back to ya . . . "
"Can't do it, Jimmy. He told me . . "
The two men had reached the office door. When the big
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INVITATION TO DEATH
one saw Carter he stopped cold.
"Here we are. What can I do fer ya?"
'*Harper Little?"
"'That's me."
25
Carter threw a wary look from Little to the one called
Jimmy and back again. "A lady told me I might find Nodo
through you."
His eyes went through Carter like an X-ray machine, and
the Killmaster knew that the shoulder rig holding the Luger
had been spotted. In the U.K. not many walk around
sporting guns in shoulder holsters. Those who do are usually
the real good guys or the real bad guys.
"Yeah," Carter said. ' 'I thought we might be able to do
a wee bit of business together:v
' 'Whatkind of business would that be?" the pimp asked,
Carter shrugged, his eyes on the big man. '*I'm only
in London for a few days. I might need a bit of chauf-
feuring .
"Nodo, he's busy now—" Jimmy began, but was im-
mediately interrupted by Little.
"Shut up, Jimmy, an' get yerself outta here."
Harp, all 1—
"Shut up, I said. Now git!"
Jimmy glowered at both" men and, shrinking in his suit,
tottered to the door. When it slammed shut, Little turned
back to Carter. "You look a little like a copper."
"I'm American. "
"They got coppers in the colonies."
"Why don't you let Nodo decide? Can you get in touch
with him?"
"MaytE I can, maybe I can't. You got a name . . . a
number where I can reach ya?"
Carter jotted Lola's number on a pad, tore the page off,
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NICK CARTER
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and passed it over. "If a woman answers, she's okay. Tell
Nodo I got to hear from him by tonight,"
"An' if ya don't?"
Carter shrugged. "I'm paying damn good. There're other
chauffeurs. ' '
He left it at that and moved out of the office. The door
to therear room was still open and he cased it as he passed.
No repair going on there, and there was a marked differ-
ence between the shiny new vehicles in the rear room and
the crates being worked on in the front. Something else was
odd about them: no license plates.
Carter hit the street and headed toward the cab. Halfway
there, he passed a narrow alley. Out of the corner of his
eye he saw the pimp lounging near the mouth of the alley.
"Heys mister . . . "
"Damon and I, we's in the' same business."
'S That so?" Carter started to walk on.
"Hey, wait up there. You ain't gonna get Damon to work
no job now. I'm as good as he, you ask anybody."
"Sorry, mate, I can't use anybody who's been in the
nick."
"I ain't never been nicked, I swear! I'm as clean as
Damon!"
That, Carter thought, explained it. If Damon was Nodo,
and Damon had no rap sheet, no wonder he hadn't been
able to find him.
-"You ever worked for Damon?"
"Hell, yes. He'S me brother! We're thick, we are."
Carter tried not to look like he was jumping on it, He
pulled out his pad and pen.
"Give me your name and a number where I can reach
you."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
27
Quickly, the little man scrawled on the pad and passed
it back. "I can do ya good, I can. An' there's lotsa places
[can getyerequipmentbesides Harp's cheaper, too.
"We'll be in touch," Carter said, and moved on.
"Where to now?" the driver asked as Carter slid into the
rear seat.
"Get about a mile away and find a pub with a phone."
"I don 't mean to be nosy, mate, but are you a copper?"
"Kind of," Carter replied, and flipped the little notebook
open.
The little pimp had scrawled a number and a name: Jimmy
Nodoramusu
Five minutes later Carter stepped out of the cab in front
of a neighborhood local called the Four Bells.
"Join me for a pint?"
"l really shouldn't."
Carter could tell that he really wanted to. "With the tip
you're going to get, you can knock off the rest ofthe day. "
The driver followed him inside. At the bar, they ordered
two pints and Carter found the phone. It was in an ornate
cage in the rear next to the rest rooms. He dropped a coin
in the slot and dialed the digits for information.
"May I help you?"
"Yes, do you have a listing for Damon Nodoramus?"
"One moment, please." Carter lit a cigarette and
drummed his fingers on the glass. "That's a Hounslow
number, but I can't give it out. I'm afraid it's unlisted."
"This is police business."
"I'm sorry, sir . ."
Carter hung up and fished another coin from his pocket.
A gruff voice answered on the first ring. "Scotland
Yard."
"Bronson Wyckoff, please."
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NICK CARTER
"Who's calling?"
' 'Nick Carter. "
"A moment,"
It was more like three before Wyckoff came on with his
Scottish burr. "Nick, lad, heard you were in town and
pokin' ,our computers. Sorry I missed ya!"
"I've been a little busy, Bronson. I need a favor."
"See what I can do."
"Damon Nodoramus. He's got an unlisted number in
Hounslow. I need an address."
"Take about twenty minutes."
' 'I'm in a pub, ' ' Carter gave him the numberand hung up.
At the bar, he jawed with the cab driver and a couple of
oldsters. The main topics were the price of gasoline, the
Common Market, and Fergie the Fantastic.
"Call fer a Nick?"
"That's me. Thanks, mate." Carter hurried to the cage
and waited until the barman hung up before he spoke. "I'm
on."
"Twenty-four Pekin Mews. That's about three miles this
side of Heathrow. You need directions?"
"I've got a cab. Thanks, Brons."
"Good enough, Nick. Ring me before ya leave, we'll
bend an elbow. "
"I'll do that."
Carter dropped a fiveron the bar and upended his pint.
"We go," Carter said.
Pekin Mews was a cul-de-sac of row houses, old and
weathered. Each of them had one flat up and one down.
Number Twenty-four was up, reached through a covered
stairwell.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
29
Carter got no answer to his ring, and the vestibule door
was locked. Shielding with his body, he called on American
Express and opened the spring lock. One the top floor he
used his picks to get into the flat proper.
Gray light from dirty windows filtered over shiny, taste-
less furniture of the kind that comes with medium-range
apartments and tells nothing about the occupant. The living
room was large, there was a full kitchen, a dining room,
and a single bedroom •with a tiny bath.
The whole flat was meticulously clean, as opposed to the
outside of the windows. Unlike the furniture, a row of about
a dozen suits in the bedroom closet were very expensive.
They were all handmade, and would run a good two hundred
pounds in some upscale shop on Regent Street. The shirts
and ties were the same.
Whatever Damon Nodoramus did, he made a good piece
of change at it.
The desk was as neat as the closet. He found receipts,
canceled checks, and finally a checkbook. The balance was
healthy and the deposits, far apart, were large. The contents
of a file drawer told him why.
Damon Nodoramus was a race car driver. For the past
two years he had made an above-average income testing
new tire models for all the big tire manufacturers. It also
appeared as though he represented a couple of small auto
parts manufacturers.
The bottom drawer on the right side was locked. It took
two picks and some sweat, butCarter finally got it open.
Wrapped in tissue and held together with a rubber band,
he found a packet of pornographic pictures. They were all
of the same man and the same woman, and they all looked
homemade. In the bottom of the drawer was a tin box, also
locked.
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NICK CARTER
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Carter set it on top of the desk, picked it, and whistled.
Inside were stacks of five-hundred-pound notes. A quick
count, told Carter that he was looking at nearly a quarter of
a million. Nodo's moonlighting business paid a lot better
than his regular work.
Shoved in among the bills was a slip of paper:
Rover
Cortina
Harp
Collect from R. E7050 over contract
Carter smiled. Nodo was indeed a meticulous man.
He closed his eyes and concentrated until the rear room
of Little's Garage became clear in his mind, He saw a gray
van, a blue Ford Escort, a Rover four-door, and a Cortina.
Quickly, he relocked the box, put it back in the drawer
and locked it.
In the living room he found the phone on a small table
with an ashtray from Penny's, Surrey, and a Rolodex. In
the bottom of the ashtray was a logo of a naked female.
Carter took the phone apart to make sure it wasn't buggeå,
reassembled it, and dialed from memory.
"One-five-five,"
said a machine. "You have reached
Special Branch. State your name, your business, and the
number you are calling from. Your call will be returned at
once."
He. waited for the beep and spoke. "Carter, N3,
Washington. My business is with Claude Dakin. Hounslow
7791."
He hung up and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his
pocket, then thought better of it. The single ashtray in the
flat didn't necessarily mean that Nodo smoked. If he didn't,
he would have a sensitive nose and know that someone had
been in his digs.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
31
Impatiently Carter paced the room waiting for the phone
to ring. Twice he passed the mantel before his eye fell on
a framed photo, and locked.
She was Chinese. slim and young, with good legs and
an excellent figure. Her makeup was overdone , pale
lipstick, green eye shadow, and carefully lacquered hair,
The overall effect was theatrical, eye-catching.
She wore a Chinese cheongsam, snugly fitted, high-col-
lared, short-sleeved, with the skirt split to where her panties
would normally be. She wore none.
The inscription read: Damon, my love, may we always
enjoy your hobby together. Your Lin.
It wasn't hard to figure out Damon's "hobby." Lin was
the girl in the porno photos in the man's desk. Carter didn't
have a description of Nodo, but heæuessed that he was the
other star in the photos.
Carter went through the Rolodex quickly. There was no
Lin, and no Chinese last name.
He grabbed the phone on the first ring, but didn't speak.
"Hello? Hello? Nick?"
"Hello, Claude. Sorry, I'm in a place where I shouldn't
be . . I wanted to be sure it was you. I need a favor."
"What's the problem"
"That'S just it," Carter replied, "I don't know. I need
a couple of surveillance teams."
There was a groan on the other end of the line. "We're
stretched, Nick, and I'm afraid every other 'agency is as
well. I've even had to bring people in off holiday."
"What's up?"
"It's hush-hush, but I suppose I can tell you. Four
muckety-mucks are flying into Heathrow tonight from
OPEC. They have a conference with the P.M. It's only
going to be four or five hours and they fly on to Paris. But
we've had threats, the usual."
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NICK CARTER
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Carter's mind spun like a top. OPEC ministers? It didn't
sound like Rouse's style. But he had to tell Dakin.
'VI don't know, Nick, sounds like a long shot," the man
replied when Carter had finished his tale. "But I'll tell you
what. I'll put a team on this garage this afternoon. It's better
to be safe than sorry."
"Thanks, Claude."
Carter hung up. He took a last look to make sure the
apartment was as he'd found it, and split.
"Where to now, guy?"
Carter gave the cabbie the Charing Cross address, and
leaned back in the seat.
More and more, the pursuit of Rouse looked like either,
a wild-goose chase or a crime in the making. And if Rouse
was just flexing his muscles with an armored car or bankroll
heist to keep his hand in, it was none of Carter's affair.
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British Airways flight 716's departure was announced
over the loudspeaker system at Los Angeles International
Airport. Passengers could now board if they wished, once
electronically inspected and passed on into the clearance
area.
A man listened to the announcement, finished the last of
his beer, and ordered another one. Flight 716 was his flight,
but he wasn't in a hurry. He made this flight once a month,
and he always liked to be one of the last to board.
He looked slightly out of place among the pin-striped
banker types around him at the bar. His light brown hair
was a trifle long, curling over his ears and collar. His narrow,
lean face was accented by a well-trimmed beard and musz
tache, the latter barely covering his upper lip. He wore a
safari suit, the jacket belted, the pants flared. Mahogany
zippered boots covered his feet.
He looked more like a well-heeled hippie than a business-
man, but that was part of his image. When people asked
him what he did, he always replied he was an agent who
handled rock stars.
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The image fit the name: Ian Pierce.
Actually, Ian- Pierce was chief courier for Brandeis
Limited. Brandeis was a jointly owned British and American
aerospace company with offices in Los Angeles, California,
and Cardiff, South Wales. Their testing laboratories and
think tanks were located in the midland area of Wales,
where, at one time, the only industry was coal mining;
Brandeis was a specialized company and very unique.
While Lockheed, Martin-Marietta; and myriad other com-
panies created space-age arms and their components, Bran-
deis tested them' and passed their results on to the Pentagon
and Whitehall.
Few people even knew of the company's existence, let
alone its reason for being. And that was the way itsexecutive
officers wanted it. Brandeis didn't even use telex or any
means of satellite communications, When specifications and
plans were passed from office to office, or office to testing
facility, it was done by courier, hand to hand.
Pierce finished his second beer, paid the bartender, and
hoisted his calfskin bag. It was a unique bag because it
combined a small, carry-on section for the barest necessities,
and a briefcase in its center section.
He went through security easily because the only metal
he carried was a gold cigarette lighter. Pierce didn't smoke,
but he always carried the cigarette lighter. Like the bag, it
was unique. Properly used, it could spout a flesh-melting
flame four inches wide andæffective up to seven feet. It
was an effective weapon, but Ian Pierce had never had to
use it.
He walked down the long corridor to the departure gate
for BA #716. A uniformed man glanced at his ticket,
stamped it, and handed it back to him with his boarding
pass and seat number.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"Have a nice flight, Mr. Pierce."
"Thank you]"
35
A stewardess stood in the doorway and took his ticket
again.
"Seven-Ds Mr. Pierce. First-class section is just to your
left." Her accent was decidedly French, but her body and
chestnut hair and her hazel eyes were just nice in any Ian-
guage.
Pierce smiled at her and said in flawless French, "Thank
you. What is a beautiful Parisian doing on a British Airways
"Ah, you speak French?" she asked, smiling.
"Of course, Why shouldn't I' '—he glanced at her name
"You are American
"You are French, and you speak English,"
Another passenger fidgeted behind Pierce. He winked at
the pretty stewardess, mouthed "Later" with his lips, and
moved on to his seat.
It took almost an hour for the plane to get off the ground
because of the backup on the runways. It would taxi for a
few yards, then stop. The pilot would rev the engines to an
earsplitting whine, then decelerate, and the plane would
hump forward another few yards. Pierce wished he could
walk around instead of just sitting. The sign was implacable:
Fasten seat belts, •no smoking. Suppose a guy got the runs
or had to puke? he wondered.
With all its perks, Ian Pierce loved his job, but he, hated
airplanes.
Finally the plane lifted off, and a sigh of relief could be
sensed rather than heard throughout the cabin. A few mo-
ments later, the sign went off and the air grew thick with
cigarette smoke.
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Besides airplanes, Pierce hated cigarettes. He tried to
ignore the smell, and leaned back in his seat, staring absently
out the window at the gathering night.
The pretty stewardess came up the aisle and stopped at
his seat.
"A drink, Monsieur Pierce?"
"Une bi@re, s'il vous plain"
"C 'Mais certainement. "
When she returned with the drink she had in tow a short,
heavyset man with a fringe of neatly trimmed gray hair
around an otherwise bald head.
The stewardess served Pierce his beer and stepped out of
the way. "I hope this seat will be more to your liking, Mr.
Smythe. "
"Jolly good. Thank you, dear." He settled into the seat
and turned to Pierce. "Hope you don't mind, old man. Gave
me a smoking-section ticket and I can't abide the foul habit. ' '
Pierce shrugged, managed a smiles and turned back to
the window. Within minutes his hopes for a quiet, uninter-
rupted journey were dashed.
"Travis Smythe," the man said, extending his hand.
"Ian Pierce," Pierce replied, shaking the offered hand.
Pierce noticed that the man's gray suit was of the first
quality without being ostentatious, and he wore a subdued
blue and black Royal Thames tie.
The man unfolded a copy of The Economist with a snap,
but made no effort to read it. ' 'Bank of England, myself.
Pierce sighed. "I'm in show business, music."
"Music, eh? Good show. Remember years ago my wife
used to yearn for the stage a bit. Thought she had a great
voice, but no one else did." He laughed and Pierce turned
back to the window. "She's dead now."
Pierce sighed inwardly, wanting to be alone with his
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INVITATION TO DEATH
thoughts. He replied unenthusiastically. "Sorry,"
37
"Quite all right. The old girl was years Older than I,
actually. Had a good life."
"Excuse me." Pierce leaned toward the window and
feigned sleep.
God, he thought, all I need all the •way to London is a
jolly chap from the old boys' club!
Carter ground out his cigarette in the back of the cab and
checked his watch. It was two in the morning. They had
been parked in Hounslow since ten, directly across from
Damon Nodoramus's flat.
The man had never shown, and no one else had entered
or left the flat.
The driver snored smoothly in the front seat. Carter eased
out of the cab and walked a half block to a phone booth.
"Sab
"Lola."
"All right, Lola, it's me. Any calls?"
"None, nil, nada. What do I get for playing answering
"My beautiful body," Carter growled.
There was a short pause and then a laugh. "I'll take it. "
Carter hung up and returned to the cab. He woke up the
driver and gave him the Charing Cross address. Around
Marble Arch, he changed his mind.
In front of Lola's nightclubv he paid the cabbie off for
the day and included a fat tip.
"Many thanks, guv. Here's me card if ya need me again. "
Carter saluted him and entered the club. Lola was holding
court behind the bar. When she spotted him, she came over.
"You just got a call a couple of minutes ago."
"Yeah?"
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' 'Gent named Claude. He said you know the number."
"Yeah, 1 do."
Carter used the pay phone and got right through to Claude
Dakin.
"Nick, no action at your garage. I had to pull my people
off to cover the hotel at the airport. Sorry."
"That's okay, Claude," Carter replied. "I think I may
be tilting at windmills anyway."
He hung up and went back to the bar. Lola had a tall one
waiting for him.
"How we doin'?"
"We're not," he replied, sipping the drink.
"You leavin?"
He shook his head. s 'Not for a couple of days. Got to
see whatever it is through."
"Good," she said. "I'm actually beginning to enjoy yer
miserable company." She dropped the key to her upstairs
apartment on the bar,
-After dinner, Ian Pierce slept through the movie, m
to avoid his seatmate's chattering than anything else. When
he awoke they were about an hour out of Heathrow and the
cabin crew was serving juices, rolls, and coffee.
Travis Smythe wasn't in his seat.
Pierce grabbed his bag and went aft to the washroom.
Just as he was about to enter, he saw Smythe at the other
end of the walk-through having a smoke and watching the
sun come up. Pierce darted quickly inside to avoid the man.
He locked the door and used the toilet facilities. He
washed his hands, went over his face quickly with a battery-
razor, and splashed on some after shave.
He just hit his seat again when Christine brought a tray.
"Sorry about that," she said.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"What's that?"
39
"The bore I put beside you. But he insisted on a non-
smoking seat, and you had the only one."
"Nonsmoking .
She nodded. "Said they gave him a smoking-section seat
by mistake. Excuse me."
She hurried off to answer a. call, and Pierce sipped his
coffee. Nonsmoking, he thought, watching the gray dawn
wheel slowly through the porthole and pick up motes of
dust suspended in the air. If Smythe wasa nonsmoker, why
had he gone aft to cadge a cigarette in the smoking section?
He had just about decided that perhaps the man was trying
to quit, when the engines, barely noticeable in their constant
tone, dropped an octave.
The background tinkle of music stopped and a confident
voice said, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is
Captain Johns speaking. We are at present descending from
thirty-four thousand feet and expect to be landing in twenty
three minutes. Surface temperature is five degrees Celsius
under mostly cloudy skies."
The smooth baritone continued, "Please fasten your seat
belts and observe the No Smoking signs. We hope that you
have enjoyed your flight with British Airways as much as
we have enjoyed having you with us." The Muzak resumed
and the seat-belt sign winked on.
"Looks like typically beastly weather, doesn't it?"
Smythe said, lowering himself into his seat.
Ian Pierce shrugged. "England."
Liam Vrain, a stoop-shouldered little man in a rain slicker
with a tweed cap pulled low over his beady eyes, stared
myopically through the slashing wipers.
"Bloody rain."
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"Be glad it isn't snow , ' ' Rouse said from the other seat.
"Bloody rain," Vrain said again, as if he hadn't heard
the other man.
The gray van traveled at an even sixty-five, headlights
showing a desolate nothing on either side of the motorway.
"There's the cutout," Rouse said. "Turn off."
Vrain wheeled the van to the left and checked the rearview
mirror. Damon Nodoramus was right behind them in the
Escort.
"Pull up right beside the telephone box. "
Vrain braked and the Escort pulled up alongside them.
"What now?" Vrain asked.
"We wait for the call."
The big plane taxied to the terminal after an uneasy three-
bump landing. Passengers, including Smythe, began pulling
their luggage down from the overheads and crowding the
aisles long before the plane came to a stop.
Ian Pierce didn't move.
The plane's public address system came on to announce
that British Airways hoped its passengers had enjoyed their
journey 'and would give the airline the further pleasure of
serving them again soon.
The doors opened and the crowd began to move. Ian
Pierce was in no hurry. He waited until nearly all the pas-
sengers were off, and then joined the line.
Passport and customs were routine. Smythe wasn't in
sight. Pierce got through and headed for the taxi stand. He
Was fifth in line. Slowly he inched toward the starter.
"Where to, sir?"
"Piccadilly Hotel, please."
A cab pulled up and Pierce got in. ' 'Piccadilly Hotel,"
said the starter, and the driver pulled away.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
41
Just outside the gate, Pierce leaned forward and dropped
a twenty-pound note onto the seat beside the driver. "I've
changed my mind. Pull into parking lot Two, there."
"The car park? But the starter said .
Pierce smiled. "I just remembered someone was meeting
me. You can make twenty quid, get right back in line, and
make another twenty."
The driver shrugged. "Up to you, mate."
He pulled into the vast parking lot, rolled by six of the
aisles, and Pierce called a halt.
"Have a nice day," Pierce chuckled, and stepped out of
the cab.
When the cab rounded a lane and disappeared, Pierce
moved through the cars of row 14A until he came to a new
Jaguar four-door. Inside were two men, one reading the
morning Times, the other penciling in the crossword.
Pierce tapped on the window and the two men came alive.
Lyman Harris€ a big, spare man in his mid-thirties, conser-
vatively dressed, with his sandy hair trimmed in a brush
cut, jumped from the passenger seat and opened the rear
door.
"Good morning, Mr. Pierce. Good flight?"
"The usual, tiring," Pierce said, sliding into the rear
seat. "Morning, Roddy, how's the new baby?"
Rodney McCay, also large and beefy, was in his twenties
and always smiling. "Toddlin' already, sir."
The door closed behind Lyman Harris and the big car
was moving.
"If you both don't mind," Pierce said, "I'm just going
to stretch out. "
"You do that, Mr., Pierce," McCay said. "Get yerself
some rest and we'll have you in Cardiff safe and sound
when ya wake up."
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On the outdoor observation deck on the roof of the termi-
nal, Travis Smythe watched the dark blue Jaguar leave the
parking lot through powerful binoculars. Beneath them, his
lips moved as he recited the license plate numbers over and
over to himself.
When he had them embedded in his mind and the car had
reached the main exit road out of Heathrow, he stowed the
glasses back in his bag and went back into the terminal. At
a news kiosk on the main concourse, he changed three
one-pound notes and found a bank of phones. From under
his watchband he withdrew a small slip of paper and dialed
a number.
The phone rang twice and was picked up. "Yes. 'S
"Dark blue Jaguar, four-door. Two men in the front,
both armed.„ He is in the back seat. "
'Number?"
' 'U.K. plate DDH four-fivelE. It also has a large aerial
on the boot lid."
' 'How long ago?"
"Less than five minutes."
'"Gents, across from Pan Am counter. Second booth to
yourright. It's taped under the tank. " The line went dead.
Travis Smythe followed the overhead signs to the Pan
Am concourse, and found the men's washroom. Inside, he'
stooped to make sure the second booth was empty, and
opened the door.
Taped to the bottom of the tank was a key. On it was
stamped Blue 24. •
Back on the concourse, he found three sets of luggage
lockers, one yellow, one green, and one blue. He opened
24. Inside was a single, sealed white envelope.
He moved close to the locker, shielding the envelope with
his body, and tore it open, Inside, he found an untraceable
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INVITATION TO DEATH
43
bearer bond worth ten thousand Swiss francs, and five thou-
sand pounds in large denomination bills.
He smiled.
Travis Smythe didn't know his employer. In fact, he
hadn't heard from the man for nearly three years, until he
received the call two weeks earlier, But he certainly wished
he were more active.
The assignments were always so easy, and so profitable.
He pocketed the bearer bond and the money, and crossed
to the Pan Am ticket counter. "Good morning."
"Good morning, sir."
"I believe I have reservations on your eight-ten flight to
Frankfurt. "
"The name, sir?"
"Smythe, Travis Smythe, " he saidl and thought,for now.
"Yes. Mr. Smythe, I have it right here. Will that be cash
or credit card?"
"Oh, cash," Smythe replied with a smile. "Definitely
cash. ' '
Gerhard Rouse hung up the phone and walked back to
the Escort. Nodo rolled down the window and looked up
at him through watery eyes.
"Bloody heater doesn't work."
Rouse's lips split in what, for him, was a smile. "Yer
fault, Nodo. Check the iron out before you nick it for a job.
He's in."
"Good-o. What's he 100k like?"
"Four-door, dark blue Jag. Tag is DDH forty-fivelE. My
man says it's got an aerial on the rear, a big one, probably
a two-way outfit."
Nodo nodded. "Be easy to spot. How many?"
"Two in front, like always. Our boy's in the back. Call
me on yer walkie when you make 'em. "
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NICK CARTER
Rouse walked back to the van and climbed into the pas-
senger seat. "Let's go. Nodo will double back and let us
know when they pass him. "
"Right," Vrain replied, putting the van into gear and
moving out of the cutout, "Bloody snow. "
Rouse jerked his head up. The rain had indeed turned to
snow, and it looked heavy.
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Pierce mumbled awake and sat up in the rear seat as tre
Jaguar started over the Severn Bridge.
••»vhere are we?"
"Just past Bristol on the M4. We'll through Newport
in ten minutes. The Risca cutoff is just
"About another hour then?" Pierce said.
"'Sonrthing like that. sir. There's a little place in tir
hills just Risca, Would you fancy some lunch*"
"No," Pierce replied, "not until I've made my deli',ery-
Say. can you tum the heat up a little back here*' •
"Sure thing, sir."
McCay cranked the heater fan up, and minutes later they
dropped off the M4 onto a namw, winding myth
to•ard trp village and the main oftices of Brandeis
They &ove at a steady pace for about three miles in
silence. snow coming down in thick. soggy flakes
tut it was starting to sticks lie hilly *here
miners h.xi orre worked tu•nty-four hours a day taking
tuming from brown to whites
*'Bkxxiy McCay suddenly hissed, and dropFd
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NICK CARTER
the powerful car into third gear for a curve.
"What is it?" Harris asked.
"Little Ford behind us, bugger's in a hell of a hurry."
McCay got around the curve, slowed, and edged as far to
the left as he could. ' 'All right, you bloody maniac, go on
The smaller car spurted abreast of them, its engine whin-
ing and its back wheels spinning so much that its rear end
was fishtailing.
Harris chuckled from the passenger seat. 'Probably trying
to make opening time at the Crown in Risca."
"If ya ask me," McCay replied, "the bloody fools's had
a few already."
The little car darted in front of them, fishtailed a time or
two more, and found some traction. About two hundred
yards ahead there was a wide S-curve.
"He'd better slow down," Pierce said from the rear seat,
"or he'll never make the second part of that curve."
"Serve the bugger right," McCay rasped.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the il
end of the Escort swung out to the right. The driver fou t
the wheel but his speed was great to arrest the spin when
the tail came back to the left.
His left rear fender clipped a tree as the little car slid off
the road. The impact spun him the other way and the driver
lost it.
"Damn!" Harris cried out. "He's goin' over!"
Both wheels on the right side had gotten just enough bite
at the top of the spin to launch the car into the air. The
occupants of the Jaguar saw the underside of the smaller
Car, and then the Escort was on its roof. The top caved in
and held as the car spun like a top. As the revolutions
ceased, the Escort flipped over onto its passenger side and
came to rest.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
47
' 'Bloke'll be lucky his neck ain't broke. I'll have a look.
McCay slid the Jaguar to a halt and Harris popped out
the passenger side. AS Harris moved toward the Escort,
McCay opened his own door and stood, one foot on the
ground and one leg still in the car.
Behind them, a gray van rounded the first part of the
S-curve and slowed.
Harris was about ten yards from the up-ended Escort
when the door lifted in the air and the driver stood up in
the opening.
Ian Pierce didn't see him. He had glanced through the
rear window of the Jaguar to see one of the van's occupants
jump to the ground. As the man ran toward the Jaguar
through the snow, he lifted his arms. It was a second or
two before Pierce saw the Sten gun.
"McCay .
But Rodney McCay had troubles of his own. A Sten gun
had appeared in the Escort driver's hands. McCay was claw-
ing under his coat for his service revolver, but he was too
late.
The Sten gun opened up and steel-jacketed slugs tore into
Harris. The body spun, doing a grotesque dance, and fell
into the snow.
At the Same time, the rear window of the Jaguar blew
up. McCay whirled, saw the danger, and ran to the rear of
the car. He dropped to one knee and got off a single shot
at the running figure before a burst from the Sten tore into
his chest.
Ian Pierce opened the rear door and rolled into the snow.
The Jaguar was in a withering cross fire now. The driver
of the Escort and the man from the van were running full
tilt, their weapons on automatic.
Pierce moved forward. He saw an irregular line of jagged
holes along the side of the Jaguar's hood. Some of the
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bullets had ripped long, ragged grooves across it.
Suddenly there was a lull in front of the car. Pierce poked
his head around the fender. The man was jamming a fresh
clip into his Sten.
"Nodo, he's coming for you!"
Pierce took off at a dead run. He fumbled the gold lighter
from his pocket and adjusted it by feel.
Damon Nodoramus was bringing his Sten up to fire, when
a sheet of flame burst from his target. It engulfed him from
head to toe. He screamed in agony and flung the Sten away
as he fell to the snow and writhed in pain.
Pierce ran by the screaming man and dived for the protec-
tion of the upturned car.
He never made it.
Gerhard Rouse aimed two feet in front of Pierce and
sprayed backward. Three slugs entered Pierce's brain and
ten others stitched along his body.
He was dead when he hit the snow.
Vrain joined Rouse, and together they ran to kneel by
Nodo.
"Jesus," the little man in the rain slicker gasped, anå
turned aside to retch in the snow.
The snow had extinguished the fire burning
clothes, but they still smoldered. Where the clothes had
been burned away, the flesh beneath them was charred black
and already peeling off in strips. One side of his face was
gone, and where his right eye had been there was only a
hole in his skull. His left eye still had sight, and it glared
up at Rouse as the half of his mouth left screamed in agony.
"Get him in the van," Rouse growled.
"Gawd, oh Gawds" Vrain choked, and retched again.
Rouse slung his Steny grabbed Vrain by his hair, and
turned him around. He slapped him, open-handed, back and
forth, until the man'sgibberish stopped.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
49
"Get him in the fucking van• and be quick about it!"
Averting his eyes, Vrain grabbed Nodo by the ankles and
began dragging him through the snow toward the van.
Rouse checked all three men to make sure they were
dead, and then trotted back to the Jaguar. He yanked Pierce's
bag from the rear and moved on to the van. Vrain was just
hoisting Nodo into the rear. By this time the man had passed
out.
"Gawd, he's bad, real bad."
"Drive!" Rouse barked, "I'll see to him. " He slammed
the two rear doors and knelt by N6do as the van was wheeled
around in the road.
He checked the man's burns, his pulse, and rolled up his
one good eye. The pupil had disappeared into his head.
"We gotta get him to hospital!"' Vrain rasped.
' 'I don't think so."
"He ain't gonna last an hour," Rouse said, and crawled
into the front.
Back across the Severn Bridge, Vrain turned off the M4
onto a narrow road that eventually led north to Chipping
Sodbury. Five miles farther on and still three miles short
of the village, he wheeled off into a lane.
Minutes later, the lane widened and ended in a clearing.
In the center of the clearing was a shed, its warping boards
peeling paint and what roof was left about to cave in.
Behind the shed Sat the Rover and the Ford Cortina.
Vrain had scarcely halted the van before Rouse was out
his side and, Pierce's bag in one hand, jogging toward the
Rovers He was tossing the bag into the rear when Vrain
reached him.
"Here now, ya ain't just gonna leave Nodo to die, are
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"He's already as good as dead," Rouse replied, jerking
open the driver's side door of the Rover.
"Well, what about me money? If Nodo dies, how do I
get the restof me money?"
"You're right," Rouse said almost gently.
He raised the Sten and fired into Vrain's temple just below
the hairline. The sound of the single shot was a sharp crack
in the stillness,
It was just enough sound to rouse Nodo from his deathlike
state. He raised himself on one elbow from the floor of the
vane The movement almost brought another scream from
his lips, but what he saw through the windshield stifled it.
It was half of Vrain's head spraying through the air and
the man's body whirling and falling. Almost immediately,
the snow around him turned crimson with his still-pumping
blood.
"You bastards Rouse, you dirty bastard."
He saw the stocky man slide into the Rover and heard
the engine growl to life. Seconds later the car whirled around
the van and Was gone.
It took Nodo nearly an hour to crawl from the van to the
Cortina. Twice he passed out. Only hatred for Rouse kept
him going until he was upright in the driver's seat. But he
was determined to survive.
If he lived through the next two or three hours, he was
pretty surg he could pay the bastard back.
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The phone rang and Carter opened his eyes to the clock.
Nine-thirty!
He had slept the sleep of the dead after finally nodding
off about dawn.
The phone rang again with a nagging insistence, and he
nudged the body beside him with an elbow.
"Are you awake?"
"Your phone is ringing. "
"Who cares."
He reached over the valleys and hillocks of the somnolent
body for the phone, and grumped into it. "Yes."
' 'Carter?"
He was instantly awake. "Yes, Claude."
"This was one of the two numbers you gave me. I tried—
"Yes, Claude, what is it?"
"Bit of a mess in Wales this morning. Some of the pieces
might fit in with this Little's Garage item you passed me
yesterday."
"How so?" Carter asked, shaking a cigarette from his
pack.
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"It's a security item. That's why we were notified this
morning. Three bodies. One of them was a courier for Bran-
deis Limited. You know about them?"
"I'll tell you on the way. I'm taking a helicopter from
the St. James's pad. Can you make it in a half hour?"
"I'll be there."
Carter hung up and reached for his pants.
He glanced at Lola, exquisitely naked and totally un-
covered, and shook his head. It had come down while he
was romping in the sack, while he should have been on the
streets. Guilt hit him like a shot of novocaine, numbing him.
"What's the matter?" she asked sleepily.
"l need your car."
She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. '*What's all the
hurry up about?"
"Just give me your damn keys."
"All right, all right. My purse."
He tossed her the purse and finished dressing. By the
time he was ready to go, she had found the keys and dropped
them on the bed.
He paused going out the door. "It may or may not have
anything to do with this Nodo, but they found three bodies
in Wales this morning."
Before she could ask anything more, Carter was down
the stairs.
Gerhard Rouse parked the Rover in lot Three at Gatwick
Airport. Taking the bag, he walked to lot Two and unlocked
the door ofa Mini. It took a bit of a struggle, but he managed
to get his bulk into the driver's seat.
If there was any kind of a leak and they found the Rover,
the natural assumpiton would be that he had caught a plane
out of the country,
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INVITATION TO DEATH
53
Minutes later, he was on Route 23 heading south for
Brighton. At Crawley, he turned off just long enough to
make a phone call.
René Charmont sat in his sumptuous office, flicking his
eye from the ornate clock on the wall to the Rhöne. The
river curved here, flowing like the smooth hip of a reclining
woman around the five acres of the Charmont estate.
When the clock struck the hour, Charmont slammed the
desk with the flat of his hand, stood, and began to pace the
room.
Charmont was tall, very tall. Most people, when they
first met him, found him unattractive. But after a short time
their opinion, especially those of women, changed.
He had no pretensions to conventional good looks. He
was too thin for his unusual height, although he compensated
with a lithe, loose-limbed grace. It was the sort of body on
which expensive hand-tailored clothes hung well, lending
an unmistakable elegance to his natural grace. His hair, a
sun-shot shade of blond, was fine and fell across one side
of his high forehead. The planes of his face were sharply
defined, the cheekbones dominating slightly gaunt cheeks.
His nose was large and thin, yet aristocratically straight.
The lines running from it to the edges of his mouth were
deeply incised, indicating his life had not been easy.
That mouth was broad, perhaps too narrow, and his smiles
tended to be crooked. But it was an expressive mouth, one
that some might call sensual. Orcruel? His eyes were deep-
set, with a disconcerting tendency to squint when he concen-
trated, emphasizing the network of lines at their corners.
They were a clear, light blue, striking against his high,
ruddy complexion,
Actually, his total appearance was slightly sinister. It fit
the man.
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He was about to press the intercom on his desk, when it
buzzed. "Yes, Solange?i'
"Your call from England, line two."
"Merci, chérie." Charmont punched the button and
grabbed the phone. "Yes?"
"It is done. "
"Were there any problems?"
"None. The two Englishmen won't carry tales. I have
the bag."
"And you're sure you are clear?" Charmont asked.
"Absolutely. I am on my way to Brighton now."
' 'Good. My people will meet you at the caravan tomorrow
evening at eight sharp. And, Gerhard . . . "
Yes ?
"A job well done. There will be a bonus, a substantial
bonus. "
' 'Right,"
Charmont hung up and pushed the intercom button. "Sol-
ange, can you come up, please?"
Charmont lit a thin cigar. It was going well when his
secretary, mistress, confidante, and chief executioner
stepped into the room. Through the gray smoke he watched
her approach, and smiled.
Solange Sasz was a tall woman, gorgeous. She was some-
where around thirty, but she hadn't aged a day in fifteen
years, since René Charmont had plucked her from the gutters
of Marseilles.
She wore a pair of tight slacks that emphasized her long,
tapering legs and firm hips, and a silk blouse. Her hair was
a thick auburn, and she had perfect features with perhaps
slightly overlarge lips. They didn't detract from her beauty
but merely added a touch of sensuousness to her already
great sex appeal. Under the peasant-style blouse, her full
breasts bobbled lazily, unfettered, making Charmont sigh.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
55
Fifteen years; he thought, and she excites me as much
as she did the first day I met her.
'Solange, take the helicopter. There is a four-fifteen flight
from Nice directly into Gatwick."
' 'Yes, it went well. You have directions to the caravan?"
"Of course. "
"Do it neatly, Solange. Leave no traces of yourself."
'*Don't I always?"
Carter and Claude Dakin stayed out of the local con-
stable's way. It didn't take more than a half hour to piece
together what must have happened.
It was a slaughter. None of them had a chance. They did
discover the lighter, and finally figured out how it was used.
' 'One of them, " Dakin said, ' 'got singed pretty badly. ' '
"Anything on the Escort?"
Dakin nodded. "The locals just got word from the Yard.
It was nicked in London night before last, an underground
garage in the City. Belonged to a young accountant working
late. You think it was the same Escort you saw in the back
of Little's Garage??
Carter shrugged. "Impossible to say."
"Well, I've had the Yard pick up Harper Little, but I
doubt if we'll get much out of him."
A late-model Saab pulled up to the barricades, and a tall,
stern-faced man got out. He conversed briefly with the uni-
formed constable, who pointed 'to Carter and Dakin. The
tall man nodded and hurried their way.
' 'Mr. Dakin? Mr. Carter?" They both nodded. "Paul
Hughes, I'm head of security for Brandies. I just got the
clearance from California to give you details and cooperate
any way-I can.""
"How grand," Dakin said dryly. "Why don't we use
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NICK CARTER
one of the cars? It's warmer. "
They were just settled in when the chief constable, a
ruddy-faced man with a walrus mustache, tapped on the
window.
' 'Mr. Dakin, sir, another body has just been found, across
the Severn near Chipping Sodbury."
'Oh, right, I seen this big Rover go by me like a bloomin'
bullet, I did, I was over there right behind that hedgerow,
I was, gonna get me a couple of birds fer supper, I was.
They comes out so's you can see 'em easy inysnow like
this, ya know."
"Yes," Dakin nodded, and glanced at Carter.
"And then what happened?" the Killmaster asked.
The big farmer scratched his stubble for a few seconds,
shifted his shotgun to his other shoulder, and pointed.
"Come from there, I did. I decided to change me spot.
There were about a half hour or so after I spotted the Rover
go by. I walks in here and the first thing I sees is that bloke
there with the hole in his head. "
Dakin moved to a patch of blood in the snow, and pointed
down. t' And this was where you saw the burned man?"
' 'Aye. He was lyin' there dead, he was. Leastways, he
sure looked dead to me. 's
"Obviously," Carter said, "he was alive."
s 'I s'pose he was. I mean, he musta been, to have drove
off whilst I ran to me house and called the coppers. "
"And you're sure that it was a Cortina parked there behind
the shed?"
"As sure as I'm here. Me boy just got one near like it. ' '
Carter's eyes followed the bloody path in the snow the
where the Cortinahad been parked. From the farmer's de-
scription of the man, he had to be close to death. Yet he
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INVITATION TO DEATH
57
had managed to drag himself to the car and drive away.
"Claude . .
The Special Branch man left the farmer in the hands of
the chief constable, and followed Carter as he walked back
to the van.
"Not much doubt now, is there?"
The Killmaster shook his head. "The four vehicles are
the same ones I saw in the back of the Little's Garage. But,
as you said, it will be hell getting him to talk. The one thing
we've got going for us is Damon Nodoramus. Rouse prob-
ably doesn't know that we've got a name."
"What's our best shot?"
"You get back to London and Nodoramus's flat. There's
a lot of money in a tin box in the lower right drawer of his
desk. i'
Dakin grinned. "Now, how would you know that?"
' 'A genie sure as hell didn't tell me. Unless u miss my
guess, Nodo won't stray •too far, if he can stray, without
those pounds. ' '
"And you?"
"I'll go over to Paul Hughes's office with him and get
briefed. It would be a good idea to find out just what the
hell brought Gerhard Rouse out of retirement. "
"Good enough. And, Nick . . . "
"Yeah?"
"Sorry we didn't stay on Little's Garage... my fault. 9'
"Not really."
and walked toward Paul Hughes. In his
mind he was cursing himself far more than Claude Dakin
and Special Branch. It was he, and not them, who had spent
the night between Lola's willing thighs.
"Lin, it's me,"
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"Luv, are ya comin' ta see me?"
"Yeah. I've had me a bit ofa knock-up . .0 . not feelin'
t(X) well."
"At the club?"
and not yer flat, either Is yer mum still in
' 'Yeh, me brother's talked her into stayin' another week. "
"Listen, luv, here's what I want ya to do . . ." Nodo
gasped as a gust of wind slapped ice pellets against his
naked, charred side.
"Damon, are you all right?"
' 'To tell ya the truth, no. But I'll make it. I want you to
get in yer car right now and drive up to London . . . "
"Damon, it's snowin' . . ."
"Dammit, I know it's snowin'. But I'm a hell of a lot
closer to Surrey than I am to London, and I can't make it
up there and back to Surrey as well, understand?"
"Yes, Damon."
"Good. Now, you've still got the key to my flat . . . ' ' i
"Aye, I do."
"In the bottom right-hand drawer of my desk . . e"
Paul Hughes drove up a winding, tree-lined drive to an
enormous half-timbered Tudor-style mansion. It
bathed in snow, like a nineteenth-century sent from
the very rich to the equally rich.
"This is Brandeis"'
"Yes, it is, the corporate offices. The stables and guest
cottages have also been converted into offices. You'll notice
there is no sign. We just like to blend into the countryside. "
They left the car to be parked by a uniformed guard, and
climbed stone steps to a pair of massive oak doors that led
into an enormous vestibule with polished parquet flooring.
From there, Hughes led the way into a large rcx)rn, furnished
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INVITATION TO DEATH
59
Tudor style. There was a huge fireplace, a long, solid oak
table, several chairs festooned with velvet-covered cushions,
and a blood-red carpet under the whole.
'Your office?' '
"Lord, no,' ' Hughes replied with a chuckle. "Conference
room. It's also used for board meetings. "
A tray was set out with bottles and glasses. Hughes walked
right to it, shedding his coat and Harris Tweed cap along
the way.
"We have Scotch whisky, gin, and the makings of a
martini, English or American."
' 'Scotch, neat."
Hughes poured gin for himself, and they moved to high-
backed chairs in front of the fire.
"Well now, first of all, let me say I contacted our Amer-
ican offices straight away. "They contacted the Pentagon and
relayed back to me that I was to stay involved in this mess
but turn the reins over to you. It seems you were sniffing
up someone's behind who probably did this."
Carter nodded. "When I left London two hours ago, I
wasn't sure."
"But you are now?"
"I am. His name is Gerhard Rouse. He has the reputation
of pulling off the impossible, if the price is right. "
Carter told him the whole story, from the initial spotting
in Madrid through Europe to England. He also told Hughes
about turning up Nodoramus after a lot of spade work, but
he left out most of the time spent in Lola's flat above the club.
Carter liked the way the man listened to it all and digested
it without breaking in with an opinion or question. When
the Killmaster was finished, Hughes took both glasses back
to the tray for refills.
"From the sound of it, this Rouse character is just a
worker. ' '
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NICK CARTER
Carter nodded and accepted the fresh drink. "That's right.
Whatever he took from your courier, he's going to pass on
to someone else."
Hughes regained his seat. "The Reds."
Carter shrugged. "Could be. He's worked for them bee
fore,"
"That could get very sticky. Pierce was bringing some
top-secret papersand plans for some tests we're making
next week. "
Carter leaned forward. "Give me a rundown on that,"
he said. "Rouse doesn't work for peanuts, and, from the
looks of it, neither does Nodoramus. This operation was
well bank-rolled, so I'm assuming that the rewards are sub-
stantial."
"That's an understatement," Hughes replied. "As you
probably know, the defense system of the future will be in
space. To be more specific, in space stations. Until a few
months ago, it was all theory and, pricewise, impracticall
Recently that has changed. The reason it has changed is the
perfections of a new method of gathering solar energy and
converting it, not directly into a power source, but usin it
to create an antimagnetic field. " He hesitated. ' CAm I losing
you ?
Carter grinned. ' 'Not if you keep it in layman's terms. "
"I'll try. Remember, I'm only a glorified cop, like you. "
"Go on," Carter said, thinking to himself, If you only
knew!
"If these new methods work—and we firmly believe that
they will—the cost of putting as many as twenty manned
and armed stations in orbit would a fraction of the current
cost. As much as only ten percent. An additional plus is
longevity and ease of maintenance. "
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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"Maintenance? Zero. I know it's hard to believe, but it's
true."
'*My God."
"Yes, it is a little mind-boggling. As to longevity, try
about three hundred years."
s 'And that was what Pierce was carrying?"
Hughes nodded. "Plans for construction of the panels,
the elements for the conversion, and the final staging plans
for the stations' radar guidance system. It, t(X), is revolution-
ary, iii that it can be programmed to detect a missile any-
where in the world in its very first stages of firing."
"So it could be destroyed right on the pad."
"Practically."
Carter lit a fresh cigarette and moved to the window. The
snow had lightened up a little&ut enough had already fallen
to make the vast grounds of the estate pristine in a blanket
of white. Just outside the window he saw a squirrel scamper
down a tree, sniff the strange stuff at the bottom, and head
back up.
"Smarter than we are," Carter murmured.
'SWhat's that"'
"Nothing," Carter said, turning back to face the other
man. "If these stations became a reality, how many years
ahead of the Soviets would we be in that field?"
"Difficult to say. They've been working on a similar
project for quite some time, but they're not faring too well. "
"What's an educated guess?"
"Offhand, I'd say about fifteen years."
"In that time," Carter mused, "offensive weapons as
we know them would be obsolete. "
"That's about it. "
Carter sighed. "I think I'd better get back to work. Can
you lend me a car and driver to get back to London?"
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"l can do better than that." Hughes picked up a phone
and punched four numbers. •Brady are you available? ...
Fine, I have a VIP who needs to get back to London rush-
rush.' He held his hand over the phone. "Company helicop-
ter. Where would you like to go?"
"St. James's pad."
"Brad, St. James's pad . . . fine, we'll be over in a few
minutes." He hung up and got to his feet. "The company
wants me to stay on this, so I'd appreciate it if you would
keep me informed. "
"Will do," Carter replied, nodding. "In the meantime, I
suggest you do a thorough check on everyone who knew
Pierce's movements and what he would be carrying. "
Hughes smiled enigmatically. ' 'We've already started the
process. Come along, I'll walk you out to the pad."
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Lin followed Nodo's instructions to the letter. She drove
her own car into London and parked in Knightsbridge. Then
she walked down Brompton Road and found a cab.
"Where to, miss?"
"Hounslow, an' it's an extra fiver if ya makes it fast."
The driver blinked. Were his ears getting it all? A pretty
Chinese girl, rigged out like a Chinese girl, and her accent
was nearly as Cockney East End as his own.
The girl grinned. She could read his mind. They always
looked at her like that.
' 'Me mother was Chinese, m? father was a paddy from
Yorkshire, Me last name's O'Keefe. Now can we get a
move on?"'
He had the taxi driver's knowledge of London. Up
Brompton Road and on along Cromwell Road past Earl's
Court, dodging other traffic, using his horn more than his
brakes.
He got her to Hounslow in nineteen minutes. She paid,
and walked quickly into Pekin Mews: When she reached the
lower door of Nodo's flat, she already had her key out. The
same for the upper
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NICK CARTER
The screwdriver was right where Nodo said it would be.
It took only Seconds to pry the desk drawer open. She placed
the tin box in a shopping bag and, on top of it, her photograph
from the mantel and the Rolodex from beside the phone.
Leaving, she relocked both doors and took the rear alley
behind the Mews. Normally, she would have walked out
the front of the Mews directly onto Hounslow Road. Be-
cause she didn't/ the two cars full of Special Branch mem
didn't see her.
Carter thanked the pilot for the ride, and made a beeline
to a phone. Dakin was out and unavailable. Because of the
short time span, the Killmaster guessed he was still at Nodo's
flat.
In Lola's car heading toward Hounslow, he raged at
himself for being constantly.ne step Rouse. Because
of its four men were dead, and somewhere there was another
one probably dying.
There was a crowd of curiosity-seekers around the front
of Nodoramus's flat. Carter flashed his credentials at the
Special Branch man at the lower door and was waved on
up to the flat.
Inside the apartment, there was a fingerprint team working
and two other bored men cataloguing the flat's contents.
Claude Dakin stood in the middle of the living room with
a glum look on his face.
Before he spoke Carter knew that they were too late. "He
beat us here."
Dakin nodded. "The woman downstairs heard him mov-
ing around up here not ten minutes before we arrived. "
"Sir . .
Both men looked up. One of Dakin's men stood in the
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INVITATION TO DEATH
65
bedroom doorway. He was holding a Ruger automatic rifle,
a shotgun with eight inches sawed off the barrel, and a
Baretta automatic.
"False ceiling in the closet."
"Anything else in there?" Carter asked.
"Nothing, sir."
"Catalogue them with everything else."
"Right. "
Dakin turned to Carter with a half-smile. "19m surprised
you didn't find those when you found the tin box."
S'So am I," Carter replied, and then sighed. "How are
you doing with Harper Little?"
"I'm not. He's mum as a church mouse and he's scream-
ing for a solicitor. Another eight hours and I'll have to let
him call one."
' 'He could give us the license plates of the Rover and
the Cortina. That would speed things up. "
"It would, but our Mr., Little says he knows nothing.
He's a hard one, been up a couple of times already. He
knows we've got nothing on him and he's using it."
Caner mulled this over for a full minute. "Let him go. "
' 'Turn him loose, Claude."
"What have you got in mind?"
"You really don't want to know."
Dakin nodded. "I'll make a call."
Carter moved around the apartment and on into the bed-
room. He took a hard look at the desk and the drawer that
had been jimmied open.
One of Dakin's boys was dusting it for prints. "Bugger
was in a hurry, wasn't he?"
Carter leaned over the man's shoulder so he could get a
better look. The drawer had deep gouges in it where it had
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been pried open. "Yeah, he sure as hell was." He moved
back into the living room. Dakin was just hanging up the
phone.
"He'll be loose in about twenty minutes."
"I'll be in touch."
Carter drove back to the City at a leisurely pace. Near
the Tower in the East End, he stopped in a pub and looked
up the number of Little's Garage. Then he called Lola.
"Where's my car?"
"With me. I'm taking loving care of it."
"Where's my money?"
'S You know something? You're a shrew."
"Business, luv, just business."
"l should charge you for sack time," Carter hissed.
"Ya can't. You're not that good," she cackled. "When
am I gonna see you again?"
"Later, I've got a little errand to run."
She started to harangue him some more, but Carter hung
up. He took a table by the window and ordered two beers
from a weary-looking barmaid.
"What's the special?"
"Kidney pie."
"Bring it with the beers."
He ate slowly, and had coffee and ft)randy. When he
finished, he moved to the bar and paid his tab with a twenty.
When the girl gave him the change, he pushed it back across
the bar.
'f That's yours. Do me a favor?"
"Depends."
He took her pencil and pad. "Call this number and ask
for Phil."
And.
"That's it."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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She shrugged and headed for the phone. Carter lit a
cigarette and checked the weather. It had started snowing
again , but lightly. The gray sky was bringing early darkness.
"Fella says there ain't no Phil there."
"Thanks." He turned from the bar.
"That's it?"
"That's it. Thanks." Leaving her staring quizzically at
his back, he headed for the street.
He drove to Cable Street and parked a block from the
garage. There was still a light on in the upstairs flat.
Two hours and half a pack of cigarettes later, the light
went off.
Carter slouched in the seat and catnapped for another
hour, then got out of the car.
The street was deserted as he crossed and darted into the
doorway. It took a few minutes longer to pick the lock than
it would usually take him because of the necessity for silence.
Inside, the only illumination came from a small night
light in the office. He picked his way through the tools,
benches, and vehicles to the sliding rear door. He opened
it just enough to squeeze his body through, and hit the stairs
to the second level.
Gingerly, he tried the knob and found the door locked.
That wasnit surprising, considering Harp Little's last twenty-
four hours.
The Killmaster took two steps back and made sure he
nailed the door in one kick. The jamb ripped apart like
tissue paper and the door burst inward, with Carter right
behind it.
He leaped at the startled, groggy figure on the bed without
a pause and came down, hard, on Little's gut with both
feet. After the first crunch of contact, Carter tumbled off
the bed and landed standing up.
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Harp Little was gasping for air and coming after him.
Carter was ready with both hands clenched together like a
hammer. He swung with all the strength in his upper body,
and knew the blow was solid by the sound of Little's nose
cracking and the gush of blood down over his bare chest.
The Killmaster could have stopped there and started his
questions, but he wanted the man in total fear and pain so
there would be no waffling when it came to answers.
Carter's blow to the face had knocked Little clear over
the bed. By the time the Killmaster followed, the other man
was on his feet. He was flailing his arms, fighting for con-
sciousness and trying to get some air past the blood that
was gushing from his ruptured nose.
Carter grabbed him by the hair and yanked him forward
to a bowing position. q When the squirming body was just
right, he stepped back and kicked him square in the center
of his chest.
Little went limp and fell across the bed.
"Little! Harp Little!" Carter hissed, leaning forward until
his face was just above the other man's.
"Uggg, who the hell . . N"
"Who I am doesn't matter, Little. I ask, you answer.
Nodo had to run after the heist. Where would he run?"
Little gathered the strength to spit into Carter's face and
swing an ineffectual right.
"Stupid bastard."
He crossed the room and tore the leg from a rickety chair.
By the time he turned, Little was back on his feet, trying
to get set for round two.
He never came close.
Carter danced just out of range, using the chair leg to
systematically break the man's ribs.
Little finally crumpled to the floor and lay inert, a tub of
lard mashed out of shape.
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Carter took him by the hair and dragged him back up
across the bed. He lay still, like a naked blob of blood and
blubber.
The Killmaster turned on a lamp and ransacked the room
until he found a pint of gin with about four fingers left in
it. With the bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and
the chair leg propped beside him, he perched on the head-
board and waited.
It took the better part of an hour before Little came around.
He groaned a. few times but moved only one eylid. The
bloodshot orb stared up at Carter.
"I'll have you on charges," he croaked.
"Maybe„if you're alive. You see, Little, I don't give a
shit if I kill you. You're no more than a piss-ant to me."
He picked up the chair 'leg for emphasis.
"All right, all right, you bloody bastard. Whaddaya
wanna know?"
"The plate numbers on the Rover and the Cortina."
Little concentrated and then rattled them off. "The Rover
belongs to a knob in Knightsbridge. Nodo nicked it just for
the job, The Cortina was bought for the job all legal like,
in a phony name. The both of them have nicked plates for
the job."
'*Where's Nodo?"
"I don't know, I swear. If the job wept wrong, I wanted
nothing to do with it. I got 'em the van and the Escort and
the plates. Besides givins 'em storage until it was go-time,
I didn't have nothin' else to do with it. "
"What about Rouse?"
"Gerhard Rouse."
"l don't know any Rouse. That was part of my deal. 'I
see only Nodo. I don't know who else he got for the job. "
Carter believed him. He hadn't gotten much the
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plate numbers and some statisfaction, but he was pretty sure
he wasn't going to get anything else.
He tossed the chair leg into a corner and headed for the
door. "l would suggest, Harp, that you get into another
line of business. If you stay in your current one, you might
come across me again."
He left the door open and went down the stairs. It took
fifteen minutes of driving before he found a pay phone that
worked. He gave Special Branch's twenty-four-hour number
the plate numbers of the two cars, and hung up.
Back in Lola's car, he debated. It was nearly midnight.
Should he return the car now and take a chance on hassling
with her?
No.
He started the car and headed for the West End and the
Charing Cross flat. He parked several blocks away out of
security habit, and walked toward the flat.
The last block before the flat was parallel to Soho Square.
He found himself running a gauntlet of streetwalkers.
"A tenner will get you a quick one, dearie!"
"What's a good-lookin' bloke like you doin' alone tou
"Lookin' fer a date, luv?"
Most of them stayed in the shadows. A few would dart
into the light just long enough to display the product.
Carter smiled and shook his head at them all. He was
about to turn into the small street leading to the tall apartment
house, when one of them got bolder. She slid her arm
through his and walked with him.
"You like to catch young girl?... Not too much money?' '
She was young and cute, Her makeup had been layered
on with. care to emphasize the exotic cast of her Asiatic
features. The side slits in the skirt went clear up past her
hips, exposing her legs. They were good legs for such a
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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small girl, made longer by the spike heels of the smallest
and most improbable pair of high heels Carter had ever seen.
Mistaking his slackening pace and concentrated stare as
interest, she pulled the front panel of the dress aside with
a smile.
She wore nothing beneath the dress.
"You like Vietnamese girl under Chinee dress?"
Carter pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, jammed a
twenty-pound note into her hand, and sprinted for the build-
ing,
He cursed the elevator for being too slow and his trembling
fingers getting the key into the lock. Inside, he dived for
the phone.
"This is Washington, N3. I have to talk to Claude
Dakin."
"Agent Dakin is not here, sir. It's nearly one in the
morning. ' '
"l know that. Give me his home number."
"l can't do that, sir."
"All right, dammit. It's pertaining to the case in Wales,
the killing of the Brandeis courier and two other men. "
"Yes, sir."
"l need access right now to the flat inventory of one
Damon Nodoramus. It was taken this afternoon."
"I'm not allowed to give that out, sir."
"Shit . .
'SSir?"
"This is Priority One! You call Dakin at home and have
him call N3 at this number. If he doesn't call in three
minutes, I'll have your ass back pushing lager in a pub!"
He gave her the number and slammed the phone down.
He built a scotch and paced until the phone rang.
"Yes, it's Claude," came the sleepy reply. "Must you
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terrorize poor little switchboard operators?"
"In this case, yes. Listen . . ."
"Do you realize it's one o'clock in the morning?"
"It's quarter past," Carter replied.
"I just got a
brainstorm. That desk drawer at Nodoramus's flat was pried
open."
"Yes, it was. Probably with a screwdriver."
"And the guns in the back of the closet . . . "
"What about them?" Dakin asked.
"If Nodo himself had been there to get the tin box, he
would have used his key on the drawer,. not a damn screw-
driver! I also think he would have taken at least one of the
guns, probably the Beretta. "
"Then someone made the pickup for him." The sleep
was fading from Dakin's voice.
' 'Right, Remember I told you there was a Rolodex missing
from the phone table?"
"I remember."
"Well, I just remembered something else missing. At
least I didn't see it: "
"Hold on, I've got a copy of the inventory in my brie/-
case." He was gone for less than a minute. "I'm back."
"There was a framed eight-by-ten photo on the mantel,
in color. It was of a pretty Chinese girl in a satin cheongsam.
It was inscribed with a message and the name Lin. "
"It's not on the inventory."
"Claude, I just remembered that the girl was posing in
front of a theatrical curtain, and there were footlights."
' 'A theater?"
' 'Or a club. Check the inventory for an ashtray on the
phone table."
"It's here."
"Describe it."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
73
"Silhouette of a naked woman. Written under that is
PENNY'S, QUEEN'S ROAD WEST, SURREY. "
"Claude, I'll call you back from Surrey."
He quickly hung up and redialed.
"Lola's."
"Gimme Lola."
"She's busy."
"Tell her to get un-busy or she'll never get her thirteen
hundred pounds."
With Lola, the mention of money was magic. She was
on the line in seconds.
"If you stay in the U.K., National Telephone should be
in the black by the end of next week. "
' 'What do you know about a club in Surrey called
Penny
"I'm no bloody information service."
"You're back on the payroll."
"I've heard it's a little kinky. In the wee hours, they've
been known to put on shows that would shock your granny
out of her drawers."
' 'Put on your kinkiest outfit. We're going slumming."
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Penny's was about as Carter had expected, large and dark.
An outrageous membership fee got him by the harridan at
the door. All the tables and booths were filled with people,
but there were some empty stools along the bar. Carter
topped one, ordered a whiskey neat, and watched the front
door.
He and Lola had come up with a plan on the way down.
It was simple and would probably work without a lot of fuss.
The heavyweight bouncer stood just inside the door. His
suit hung loosely from his shoulders. He was all shoulders,
narrow hips, no belly, and heavy thighs. His nose had been
broken more than once. His blue eyes moved in slow sweeps
around the club. Despite his face, his manner was mild and
inconspicuous, but nothing was goivto happen that he
didn't see almost before it happened.
He walked in small circles near the door, and, each time
he passed the telephone booths he paused to feel inside the
coin returns. It was the habit of a man who had once been
a poor kid.
Then Lola entered. Carter chuckled to himself. She had
done herself up in her kinkiest and tartiest. In a leather
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NICK CARTER
blouse cut to her navel and rio bra, along with a leather
miniskirt that covered nothing, she looked like a refugee
from a bad porno movie.
She exchanged a few words with the heavyweight and
he looked her over as if he could devour her in three bites.
Satisfied, he pointed her to a bench and headed toward a
door in the rear marked Office.
Carter exchanged a single glance with her, arid spun on
his stool to check out the rest of the room for his future act.
By the stage, where three pre-stripped strippers gyrated
forlornly, three musicians—trumpet, drums, and piano—
wailed.
Between Carter and the small stage there was an enormous
Greek-looking man with a drooping mustache and soulful
eyes that never left the dancers' bodies. Next to him was a
little man with a big cloth cap and a cigarette stuck to his
lower lip. Right by the stage sat a pair of young lovers.
They, too, were concentrated on the dancers, and under the
table they were playing with each other.
Carter spotted what he wanted just to the right of the
lovers. There were two pretty brunettes with tight skirts,
slender waists pinched tight by patent-leather belts, and satin
blouses that strained tautly across jutting breasts.
They had both watched Carter from the moment he'd
entered, and they watched even closer as he ordered a second
drink and took out his well-filled wallet to pay for it.
Carter smiled. They smiled back and inclined their heads
toward the empty chair at their table. Grabbing his drink,
he staggered toward them. Halfway there, he was intercepted
by a blond Amazon in an opaque plastic raincoat.
' 'You want to buy me a drink?" She unsnapped the rain-
coat and opened it. Underneath it she was as bare as the
day she was born.
"I've got a date," Carter replied.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
77
She refastened the raincoat and drifted toward the Greek.
Carter covered the rest of the distance to the brunettes and
took the empty chair.
"Buy you ladies a drink?"
"Champagne," they said as one, and it appeared as if
by magic.
Out of the corner ofhis eye he saw the bouncer escorting
Lola toward the office. He glanced at his watch and decided
ten minutes would be about right.
"What do you fine-looking ladies do?"
Together they said, "We're shopgirls, but we work on
the side."
Carter grinned. "Don't you mean on your backs?"
They even giggled together.
Carter sipped his drink and made a lewd small talk. As
the minutes passed, he began to notice something strange.
It was as if everyone were waiting for something big to
happen. It was like a countdown.
Suddenly the whole place grew quiet, The lights dimmed.
A spot came up on •stage, and from between the curtains a
bed rolled out. On it was a beautiful naked girl. In time to
the pulsating beat of the music, she was doing a solo of
working herself into a state of simulated passion.
"It's showtime!" the brunettes said.
Carter was about to reply, when a curly-haired giant came
from behind the curtains. He wore only a jockstrap as he
pranced and posed around the stage.
After a few minutes of this, he dropped the jockstrap and
climbed onto the bed.
"Some show," Carter murmured.
"You better believe it," the brunettes replied, their four
eyes glued to the stage.
Carter checked his watch. It was time for his own show.
He stood and walked to the stage.
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NICK CARTER
"Sin!" he shouted. ' 'This place is full of sin and you
are all sinners . . . "
Penny was about two hundred and twenty pounds in a
satin tent. A foot-high, foot-wide blond wig covered her
head and part of a hard face layered with a pound and a
half of makeup.
Lola chewed her gum and took a seat.
"What's yer name, dearie?"
"Lily."
"Anybody to recommend ya?"
Lola nodded. "Lin."
Lola shrugged. "Who has last names?"
' 'The girls that work fer me do, luvvy. I don't hire nobody
that's been in the nick
Lola concentrated on manufacturing an answer, but found
it wasn't necessary when all hell broke loose in the main
room.
"Ohs Christ," Penny wailed, heaving her bulk from the
chair, "some horny bastard probably tryin' to get into the
act again. S'cuse me."
She sailed like an ocean liner through the and Lola
attacked the desk.
She found the payroll ledger under some other papers in
the middle drawer.
"Repent!" Carter shouted as he backpedaled and darted
among the tables, always just ahead of the bouncer. "Re-
pent, or mark me, you will burn in hell!"
The couple on the stage were both standing by the bed
staring in stark, naked amazement. The patrons were split.
Half of them were laughing like hell, and the other half
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INVITATION TO DEATH
were cursing him for busting up the spectacle.
79
It was on his third go-round of the room when Carter saw
the lady tank emerge from the office. He maneuvered so
she could head him off. And she did, one hand around the
back of his neck and the other at his belt.
"Just what the hell do ya think you're doin', mate?" she
thundered,
"Saving souls, madam, saving souls,"
he replied
solemnly.
"Yer arse!"
She yanked up on his belt, bringing his pants tight into
his crotch. He yelped and went limp. By this time the
bouncer had arrived and got him in a neck lock.
"Boot him!" the tank rasped,
Carter let himself be piloted through the room, but he
kept up his exhortations to one and all.
' 'The fruits of sin are hell! Let its fires consume this place
of flesh and evil! Follow me, my flock! Sir Nick of Canter-
bury will . . "
By this time he was sailing through the door and sliding
across the sidewalk. He waited until the door slammed be-
hind him, and then stood and brushed the snow from his
knees and elbows.
Whistling, he walked to the car, climbed in, and lit a
cigarette.
About ten minutes later, Lola joined him. "I'm in the
wrong racket," she cried. "She says I could make fifteen
hundred quid a week!"
"You're making that in two days and it's nice clean
work," Carter grinned. "Give."
"The only Lin in the address book was Lin O'Keefe.
That doesn't sound very Chinese."
"It's all we've got. Where?"
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NICK CARTER
"Sixteen Cadbury Road, flat Four,"
Carter checked a Surrey map and droppecfthe car into
gear.
Cadbury Road was in a run-down, workingman's section
of identical brick flats. There wasn't a light on in the neigh-
borhood.
"Honk twice if there's .any movement around. Three if
something starts into the building."
Lola nodded and slouched down in the seat so she could
•e the building's entrance but no one could see her. Carter
slipped the Luger into his belt and trotted across the street.
Apartment Four was the top right. He rapped gently on
the door. When there was no answer, he rapped again, and
when the other side was still quiet, he went to work with a
credit card on the lock.
Damon Nodoramus obviously didn't share much of his
wealth with his girl friend. The place was a dump.
The single room was dark save for a little street light
making its way through a pair of shoddy, pull-down shad".
There was an unmade bed, a round table and a single straight-
backed chair, and a television set on top of a packing crate
covered with an old silk shawl. Along one wall there was
a sink that also served as a washbasin,- a two-burner gas
cooker, and some open wooden shelves that held a few
cutlery.
Carter flicked a switch that lit a hanging bulb of low
wattage, shrouded in something that looked like a very soiled
beaded handbag.
There were no cooking smells, and despite bottles of
cheap perfume everywhere, Carter could detect no scent in
the air. If the woman used a tenth of what was displayed,
her scent would have remained in the air for at least six or
seven hours.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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Shoved under the bed was a telephone ansWering machine.
Carter tugged it out, rewound the announcement tape, and
hit "Play."
"Hi, this is Ling I'll be outta theflatfer a few days and
at me mum's. If ya want to leave a message, wait 'til the
beep sounds off an' I'll call ya back in a few days.
He searched for ten minutes but could find no address
book in the flat. Hecurned to the local directory. There
were nine O'Keefes.
The first five had never heard of Lin and cursed him for
calling at such an hour. The sixth was the number from
which he was calling.
The seventh was answered by a young, frightened woman.
"Yeah, who's this?'Y
"My name is Carter, Lin. I'm an American."
"Whaddaya want? I-—
"Don't hang up, Lin. I know Nodo is there with you.
Can he talk?"
"You're daft! I don't know—
"Lin, calm down. I know he's in a bad way. I'm not a
coplEr. I want to talk to him."
Carter could hear a mumbled discussion through the girl 's
hand over the mouthpiece, and then a gruff but weak voice.
"Yeah, whaddaya want?"
"It's you who wants to talk, talk."
"Okay. I know about you, about Rouse, and about the
heist."
"Go on."
"I also know about the tin box Lin fetched from your
flat, and what was in it. But I don't care about that, or you.
I want what the courier was carrying. I want Rouse,"
There was a full minute of silence before the other man
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spoke again. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't. I can bust in there and blow you and the
girl to hell, orl can walk in there and talk. What's it to be?' '
Another long silence. "All right. Come ahead."
The little cottage was bleak in the early-morning grayness.
The woman who answered the bell was small, dark-haired,
and pretty. She was also very frightened.
"You're Carter?"
He nodded. "This is Lola. "
"Come in." They stepped inside. "He's in there, an' ya
better not try nothin'. He's got a gun, he has,"
"How bad is he?" Carter asked.
She swallowed hard and averted her eyes. "Hess bad,
and he won't go to a hospital."
With his eyes, • Carter told Lola to watch her, and he
walked into the bedroom.
Nodo was propped up in the bed on pillows, a sheet
pulled to his waist. A .32 was in his lap, held in two shaky
hands.
His head, half of his face and body, and one arm were
swathed in blood-darkened bandages. The room smelled of
burned and decaying flesh.
"Sit there, where I can seeya."
Caner sat. Nodo's one eye was bloodshot and wild. Even
from a distance of six feet Carter could tell that the man
was on his last legs.
"You're dying, Nodo. Even if you got to a hospital you
wouldn't make it. 't
"Don't you think I bloody well know that!"
"I want to make a deal," Carter said calmly.
Shit, what kind ofa deal can ya make with a dead man?"
"None. But I can make one with a live woman. Do you
care about Lin at all?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
83
His eye wavered and then came back to fix on Carter.
"Never did before. Maybe I do, now."
"I can fix it so she keeps your money. "
Nodo laughed and then squirmed in agony. "Ain't that
a fat one.. . "
' 'Yeah, it is. I can also get you a little revenge. Rouse
killed your mate, didn't he?"
"Yeah, the bloody bastard shot Vrain like a dog!"
"I want Rouse, Nodo. "
He thought about this for quite a while, and while he
thought the revolver dropped. Carter reached over and lifted
it, by the barrel, from his lap.
s 'I never did frust him, ya know."
"Rouse?"
"Yeah. He's a shifty devil."
"Where can I find him?"
"When we finished the job, he was gonna drive the Rover
straight to Gatwick and fly out fer France."
"You're sure it was France??'
Nodo nodded his head slightly. "But I don't think he
was goin', leastwise not right away."
"How do you know that?"
"Like I say, I didn't trust him all the way. Fer the three
days he was here, he told me he was stayin' in London.
But he wasn't. Me and Vrain followed him so if he tried
to cross us, we'd know where we could find him. "
"Where was he staying?"
"You call 'em mobile homes or trailers in America. Over
here we call 'em caravans. He's got one rented in Thorton
Cove, just west of Brighton. They's six of 'em spread out
in a grove of trees. His is number Three. It's the only one
that's all silver-colored. Me guess is, he'll hang out there
fer a while he tries to get out of the country."
' 'Anything else?"
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NICK CARTER
"Yeah. He called about four times a day checkin' in with
the bloke that hired him. Sometimes he'd do it from me
flat. I never got the whole number, but the area call numbers
was seven-seven-one. That's in France someplace. "
Carter stood. "Can you move?"
'"A little."
"Then have the girl get you out of here so the police
don't connect you with her."
Nodo smiled. "You're a cold bastard, ain't ya-"
"That I am," Carter said, and walked from the room.
"He wants to see you."
The girl darted into the bedroom and Carter grabbed Lola' s
hand. "C'mon."
"What now?"
' 'First a phone call, then Brighton."
It was false dawn, not much lighter than it had been an
hour before, but light enough to see. One by one, Dakin's?
men had quietly awakened the occupants of the nearby cara-
vans and gotten them out of the way.
Now there were eight of them, all heavily armed, ranged
through•the trees in a wide circle around number Three. A
Mini was parked at the door of the trailer, and there were
no lights. Carter and Dakin were crouched in a hedgerow
about twenty yards away.
"We're set," Dakin whispered.
Carter nodded and raised the bull horn to his lips.
"Rouse! Gerhard Rouse! This is Nick Carter, American
Intelligence. You are surrounded by British Special Branch.
You have two minutes to come out with your hands on your
head or we will take the caravan!"
The bull horn boomed through the still morning air, car-
rying all the way to the ocean. On a ridge running along
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85
the ocean, an old, gray-haired woman straddled a bicycle
and listened to the shouted command, and nodded..
The wind whipped at her coat, revealing strikingly long,
attractive legs as she lifted a camera equipped with a high-
powered zoom lens to her eye.
As Carter's voice boomed a second time on the bull horn,
the camera began to click. When the woman was sure she
had several good close-ups of the American's face, she let
the camera fall to her chest. Then she turned the bike on
the trail and began riding away. Two miles away, in Brighton
Harbor, there would be a motor launch that would takeher
along the coast to Folkestone. There she would catch the
ferry to Calais, where she would stay the night.
It was good, Solange thought, that she had pumped Rouse
first and found out that an American agent had been trailing
him across Europe.
It was luck that she had spotted the cars full of men
coming out of Brighton, and guessed their destination. Char-
mont would want to keep tabs on this Nick Carter, she was
sure.
"It's been half hour," Carter growled. "I'm going in. "
He duck walked across the ground to the safety of
the Mini. When there was no sign of life and he had drawn
no fire, he rolled to the steps leading up to the door. Care-
fully, he slid up the side of the trailer and went to work.
By the time it clicked open, Dakin was at his side, his
service revolver in his hand. Carter threw the door open
and they both rolled in, Dakin covering the small living
room, Carter's Luger on the narrow hallway leading to the
other end.
Carter, staying low, moved toward the bedroom past a
table, two padded benches, and the usual built-in stove and
sink.
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NICK CARTER
"Back here. "
Gerhard Rouse lay sprawled across the bed. He was naked
and his throat was cut almost from ear to ear. His head was
tilted back, and all the muscles, tendons, and veins were
visible, white now in the quiet of death. Dark red coagulated
blood covered the upper part of his body and spread across
the sheet, as though someone had poured a bucket of rust-
colored paint over him.
"That him?"
Carter nodded. "Gerhard Rouse. Whoever got him was
good. He was a careful man."
Dakin moved forward and probed the man's neck and
armpits with his fingers. "Probably a little more than an
hour. ' '
Carter nodded. "Bring your team in, although I doubt if
they'll find anything."
Dakin went to the door and issued orders while Carter
moved around the tiny bedroom. There were paperbagk
books and magazines scattered on the floor by the bed„ and
two good-sized ashtrays were full of cigarette butts.
Obviously, Rouse had spent a considerable bit of time in
the caravan.
He stooped and checked under the bed. Nothing but dust.
As he came back up, he paused, then leaned toward the
space tRside Rouse's body. He sniffed several times before
he could be sure of what his nostrils told him.
Jasmine . g. body powder or perfume, or both.
He moved into the bathroom. The floor of the tiny shower
was wet. Two towels with faint smudges of diluted blood
were thrown carelessly on the floor.
Dakin came by.
"Claude, it was a woman."
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Carter explained, and added, "She got him into the sack,
into the position, and then it was bye-bye Gerhard Rouse. '
"Jesus."
"Yeah. I'd bet my pension on it," Carter growled. "It
would fit, the only way Rouse would be vulnerable."
The two Special Branch teams went to work. Carter and
Dakin continued to search. They found the courier's bag
stuffed behind the couch in the living room.
The middle part, the briefcase section, was empty.
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In the third-floor conference room of the Soviet embassy
in Paris, Arkady Tarkovsky flipped through the envelopes
in the pouch that had arrived that night from Moscow. There
were fourteen envelopes. He selected three marked Top
Secret.
From the lining of his jacket he took a microscopically
thin pair of tweezers: He picked up the first envelope and
carefully inserted the tweezers under one corner of the flap
without creating so much as a roll in the paper. This done,
he deftly rotated them around and around.
When the fine tongs were extracted from the envelope,
a single sheet of onion skin was wrapped tightly around
them. When the onion skin was unwrapped and spread on
the desk, Tarkovsky removed his Tight shoe.
He twisted the heel to the side and peeled back the heel
pad on the inside of the shoe, He was now looking through
the lens of a Japanese-made Isoba subminiature camera. He
trained the shoe over the page and snapped the shutter twice.
The internal gears of the camera were powered by a mic-
rochip battery, and they were made of fishing line so the
camera made no sound.
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Just as carefully as he had extracted the sheet, he returned
it to the envelope. He then performed the same task with
the other two envelopes marked Top Secret, and returned
them to the bag. When his tools were again secreted, he
picked up the bag and mounted the stairs to the fourth-floor
file room.
"The evening dispatches, comrade," Tarkovsky said,
handing over the bagl
"Thank you, Arkady. You're off?"
Tarkovsky smiled. ' 'The bit of fluff I mentioned in
Montmartre? I think tonight is the night. "
The file clerk laughed. "I think I hate all of you who
don't have to live in the compound."
When the door closed behind Arkady Tarkovsky, the
clerk picked up a phone and dialedthree numbers. It was
answered at once.
"He was sixteen minutes from the car to here."
"Then it's a drop."
' 'That's the way he's been working it," the clerk said;
"He's coming down now."
"Da. 'i The line went dead.
The clerk emptied the pouch. The eleven routine en-
velopes he filed in the boxes of the embassy officers to
which they had been assigned. The three marked Top Secret
he carelessly dropped into a shredder.
Then he ran a razor-thin, equally sharp knife along the
lower stitching of the bag. From this narrow compartment
he withdrew five envelopes marked Top Secret—Rezident.
These he filed in their proper lock bbx, and then strolled
away to have himself a cup of tea.
The traffic across the width of Paris was heavy. The
driver of the fifth cab Arkady Tarkovsky had taken since
leaving the embassy cursed steadily, taking a craftsman's
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care never to repeat an obscenity, as he wound through the
"Thepériphérique would have been easier, monsieur. "
"I realize that. I prefer the back streets."
Ten minutes later, the ride ended and the driver thanked
his passenger for an ample tip.
"Monsieur, you know this is the Algerian section, very
dangerous."
The Russian shrugged and stepped from the cab. He
waited until it had pulled away, and then he seemingly
began to wander aimlessly through the tiny back streets and
alleys.
"Monsieur, you want young girl, virgin . . . 2"
"You want good hashish . . .
Morocco? Make your
woman do crazy things for you!'Y-
A young girl with pinUdot pupils in her eyes offered him
oral sex under a fire escape. A half block farther on, he got
the same offer from a young boy in the same condition.
Tarkovsky ignored them and walked on, keeping a wary
eye over his shoulder. He crossed Vincennes where it cut
through Rue Napoleon. Some tough-looking Algerian
youths gave him a hard-eyed appraisal as he turned into
Allée Parque, but they fell back when he stared them down.
Number '17 Allée Parque was the last building on the
dead end. It was an eighteenth-century graystone, tall, nar-
row, and imposing. The flat he wanted was on the second
floor.
He took a last look up and down the street, and rang the
bell. A buzzer sounded at once and he stepped into the dark
hallway.
The door of 2B was open a crack. When Tarkovsky
reached it, the door opened wide. He darted inside and it
was immediately closed behind him.
"You were careful?"
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"Always," Tarkovsky replied.
The room's occupant had a gap between his two upper
front teeth that made his speech whistle. He wore dirty blue
jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and worn loafers with no socks.
He was about forty, with a narrow, hollow-cheeked face,
sparse blond hairs and haunted eyes behind thick glasses
that gave him the appearance of a seedy intellectual.
His name was Marcel du Court, and he had been a top
CIA operative in France for nine years.
The Frenchman received the Russian curtly, with a nod
instead of a handshake. He turned to light small lamp
while Tarkovsky removed his shoe. Carefully/ he released
two catches and the heel came off in his hand. Seconds
later, he had removed the camera unit.
"Your hands are shaking, Arkady."
' 'It has been a difficult week, so many dispatches," the
Russian replied.
Marcel du Court noted the deepening lines of worry
around the Russian's eyes, and the beads of sweat that had
popped out on his forehead and upper lip. Tarkovsky
couldn't be more than thirty-five, and he looked hard-
muscled and very fit, possibly too much so, like an over-
trained athlete.
But the pressure of his dual life for the last year was
beginning to register. He exuded the aura of a watch that
has been wound too tight. If someone—or something—
opened the back and the tight mainspring snapped out, the
inner works would be strewn all over hell.
In his years with the Company, du Court had handled
many, many agents. He had seen a few of them crack under
the strain.
Arkady Tarkovsky was beginning to show those same
signs.
The Russian handed over the camera with the exposed
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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film in its entirety. Du Court handed him a new unit, which
he inserted back in the heel.
Du Court lit a heavy Turkish cigarette and, almost at
once, Tarkovsky began coughing, "Christ, how can you
smoke that filth?" he cried.
The Frenchman inhaled and blew the smoke directly at
the other man. "If I were a Russian and started a sentance
with the word 'Christ,' I don't think I would comment about
another's filthy habit. Indulge me my Turkish tobacco and
I'll let you backslide with Jesus."
"You know," Tarkovsky sighed, "I really don't like you
very much."
"Neither of us is in a popularity contest, Arkady, You
are well paid for what you bring us."
"l earn it."
Du Court shrugged. "Perhaps. In these days, greed is a
universal ideal. I make no judgments. I, like you, am merely
a courier." He bounced the tiny camera in his hand. "How
many dispatches?"
"Anything you can add to them?"
"One is a notation that the spring maneuvers in East
Germany apd Poland will be moved up one week this year. "
The Frenchman nodded. "We probably have that from
ten or twelve sources. Go on!"
"A request to look further into the blackmailing of Mar-
shal LeFrond's wife's drinking problem. There may be some
chance of blackmail there."
"Probably not," du Court snorted. ' 'The old whore's
liver will most likely blow up before a scheme can be im-
plemented. And the third?"
"Permission for Boris Arksanov to go ahead on an intel-
ligence purchase. His wife Bella is to make the exchange
on the fourteenth of this month."
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"Any comments?"
Tarkovsky thought for a moment. "Only that it is odd
that she would make the exchange, instead of Arksanov s"
"Because the amount is large, ten million Swiss francs,
in gold."
Du Court's eyes opened wide with new interest. "Any
details on the place of exchange, or the buyer?"
"None."
"Very well, Arkady. I'll wait for your next signal."
It was a dismissal, and Tarkovsky welcomed it. He scur-
ried down the stairs and walked several blocks before hailing
a cab.
"Rue Salene, number Twelve, in Montmartre."
In his agitated state, Tarkovsky didn't see the Paris Poste
van fall in the taxi and follow it for nearly a mile.
When the van fell away, a motorcyclist with QUIK, QUIK
DELIVERY on his helmet took its place.
The motorcyclist didn't veer away until Tarkovsky's des-
tination—his mistress's flat on Rue Salene—was confirmed.
Boris Arksanov sat in his sumptuous office and stared
absently through the tall windows at the lights of Paris. In
his hand was a tall glass of vodka. Unlike many of his
comrades, Arksanov sipped his vodka instead of throwing
it back like a barbarian.
Boris Arksanov did everything in moderation.
"Come in, " he growled in response to a rap on the door.
"We have the report on Tarkovsky. He made the drop
as usual, and taxied on to Montmartre."
"And the Frenchman?"
"He left Allée Parque about a half hour later. There was
no need to follow him. We had a man waiting in surveillance
across from the bakery. The CIA agent went directly there. ' '
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"Good, gocxl."
95
Boris Arksanov's eyes narrowed. He sat back in the swivel
chair and put the tips of his long fingers together.
"And what do we have from London?"
"The man Rouse was murdered in Brighton."
"Then the documents are on the way to Monsieur Char-
mont. What of the American agent, Carter?"
"Still in London."
Arksanov stood. He was a tall, gaunt man, and he had a
permanent stoop as though the ceiling of the room were
three inches too low for his height.
' 'Will there be anything else, comrade?"
"No, not for now, Keep the airports covered for this
'Carter. We'll let the Americans make the next move. "
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When the call finally came, Carter was ready to climb
the walls of the Charing Cross flat. It had been seven days
since the heist and the discovery of Rouse's body.
The instructions from Hawk in Washington had been to
sit tight until something developed. Sitting tight was hard
to do. Claude Dakin had the ball in England now, and there
was little new on that end. Lola was bored with no action
and no profit, so she had crawled back into her hole.
Carter drank and ate, saw some shows, and was generally
bored.
The call came around noon of the seventh day.
"Fly open into Geneva, then get lost on the way to
Lausanne. Got it?"
"Got it," Carter replied.
"Check into the Pension St. Pierre in Lausanne. The
meet is being set up now. You'll be contacted at the pension.
Use your Charles Coldeck pasSport."
Carter phoned for a reservation on the one-thirty flight,
and packed light—one of the things he did often, in case
everything had to be left. Just before leaving the flat, he
called Lola.
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"I'm leaving."
"Bully. "
"It was fun."
A pause. ' 'Yeah, it was. Gimme a call when you can
afford me again."
s 'God, you're a bitch."
"I know, but do give me a call."
"l will."
He cabbed to Gatwick and just made the flight. Two
scotches later, Lac Léman came up under the port wing and
the plane set down at Cointrin Airport in Genev?.
Carter claimed his bag and went through customs in a
breeze. He taxied to the Hotel des Tourelles, checked in,
and was taken up to his room. The bellboy checked every-
thing and then stood in front ofCarter waiting for his reward.
He was tall, blond, and looked like a skier. He also had
a look in his blue eyes that Carter spotted as sharp.
"I've got a problem."
"Anything to help, monsieur."
Carter took out two crisp American hundred-dollar bills
and smoothed them on the coffee table. "I've got an itcfi
and a nosy wife."
The kid smiled and Carter knew he had a winner.
"Oui, monsieur. "
"This evening, I want you to order me a fine dinner,
deliver it yourself, and eat it yourself. Understand?"
understand,"
"Tomorrow morning, I want breakfast the same, and if
I'm not back for lunch, it's the same deal." He pushed the
two bills across the table and they disappeared. "Is there a
quiet, inconspicuous way out of the hotel?"
The young man nodded. "Behind the rear stairs, a white
door. It goes through the laundry rcx)m." He checked his
watch. "It will be empty in about an hour."
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"Good. Add a bottle of Chivas to that, and some ice.
And bring it up immediately."
Carter flipped him another twenty and the young man
slipped from the room. Carter took off his jacket and shirt
and shaved while he was waiting. The whiskey arrived just
as he came out of the bathroom. He made a stiff one,
returned to the bathroom and a long, hot shower.
Another drink took him through unpacking and dressing.
By that time he figured the laundry room would be empty.
It was. He scooted through the laundry room and up the
alley to the Boulevard James-Fazy. On the corner, he
grabbed a cab,
"Hotel Tor."
The driver stopped at the front entrance. Carter paid him,
entered the hotel, and walkéd tothe bar. He ordered a drink
and dropped a ten-franc note on the bar. One sip and he
headed for the men's room and a telephone.
One quick call and he had the departure time for the next
train to Lausanne.
He exited by the side door to Rue Levrier and grabbed a
cab to the Petit Palais. There, he checked out Renoir and
Picasso for a half hour, and caught a bus to Gare Cornavin,
"One way to Bern, please."
"0ui, monsieur."
Carter hung back in the crowd, smoking until one minute
before the train pulled out. Then he walked through the
barrier and waited until the guard had closed all the doors
and the train began to move before he jumped aboard.
He was the last one on the train, and that was the way
he wanted it.
The bed was feather soft in the Pension St. Pierre, and
Carter took advantage of it. When the light tap came on his
door, it was dark outside the windows.
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"Concierge, monsieur. "
Carter opened the door and the man handed him a plain
white envelope. "This just came, monsieur."
'Merci. "
The envelope contained a key and a typewritten note:
Blue Cortina, Lic. A76-39, in the cathedral lot. Midnight,
Chateau Les Barecottes, 3 kilometers N. Le Brassus. There
are signs.
Carter knew roughly where the village of Le Brassus was,
but he checked a map to be sure. When he was positive of
the route and the streets out of Lausanne, he left the pension.
It was a five-minute walk up the canal to the cathedral.
The parking lot was on the water side, and the Cortina was
one of three cars there.
Five minutes later he cleared the city and took a small
two-lane asphalt west to Lac de Joux, where he would turn
south to Le Brassus.
The moon was full with a slightly green tinge. It was a
crisp, cloudless night that allowed the lunar glow to bathe
the magnificence of the landscape. Away from the light' of
the city, it was like driving in muted sunshine behind dark
glasses.
In this area, the ski-and-crutch brigade retired early, so
there was little traffic on the road. He made Lac de Joux
without having to slow down once. Cutting south, he skirted
the lake and passed through a tiny village, its
long since in bed. In seconds, he was back in the open
country dotted with small farms and vineyards. The Cortina
sighed along quiet, narrow lanes and roared through tunnels
cut out of solid granite,
When he saw a sign, LE BRASSUS—5 KMS, he slowed.
Two kilometers - farther on, he saw a peeling white arrow
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INVITATION TO DEATH
with block letters, 1 FS BARECOTTES.
101
A hundred yards up a narrow lane, he turned between
two cement stiles with stone lions on top, and climbed to
the chateau.
It was an impressive four-story chalet-type building set
on a high knoll. It gleamed in the night sky high above a
small parking area.
Carter slid the Cortina to a stop and killed the engine.
He was just stepping from the car when a tall figure in a
heavy coat and fur hat appeared like a panther out of the
shadows.
"Hello, Nick."
Carter recognized the voice. It belonged to Neil Griffin,
one of David Hawk's constant shadows. He knew that Gig
Clark, the second shadow, would be close by.
"Neil. Must be quite a wing-ding if the old man himself
flew over."
Griffin chuckled. "Must be. Lots of very important heads
up there,"
"I can hardly wait," Carter growled, and climbed the
winding stone steps toward a pair of massive wooden
He felt alone in a deserted place. Only a few dim lights
muted by drawn curtains shone through the windows.
He was to knock, when one of the doors opened
and David Hawk's bulk filled the opening. His suit looked
well traveled, which was unusual, butthe cloud of gray
cigar smoke suspended around his white-haired head was a
reassuring constant.
"Nick."
"Sir. "
"This way."
David Hawk had a habit of saying what was necessary
and little else. The fact that he had answered the door himself
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told Carter that the chateau was a one-night stand, and it
had probably been arranged in a hurry. No time to check
out a staff.
Carter followed him into a high-ceilinged, wood-paneled
room that could best be described as barren rustic. There
were several higWbacked leather-covered chairs around the
wall, and a sideboard with a tray of cups and saucers and
a coffeemaker, The only other furniture was a long table
and a few chairs, all but two full.
Carter recognized Paul Hughes, the Brandeis security
chieft John Starkey, AXE's liaison with the president, and
Burt Estermans the liaisonman between AXE and the CIA.
The fourth man, slumped at the head of the table, Carter
didn't know.
David Hawk wasted no time. ' 'I think you know everyone,
Nick, except Arthur Brandeis. Mr. Brandeis, our top agent,
Nick Carter. "
The head of Brandeis Limited was about fifty, a tired
fifty. Like Hawk's, his four-hundred-dollar pinstripe looked
rumpled from traveling. He had a wide pale forehead, dark
wavy hair cunningly styled to hide a balding head, a shårp
nose, pink at its tip, a red, small mouth that somehow looked
mean but which may have been only firm, a bony chin that
managed to appear ambitious, and dark, flickering eyes that
looked as though they seldom gave anything away.
They probably didn't, Carter mused dryly. That's how
millionaires became multimillionaires.
Carter hands, and when Hawk took the head of
the table opposite Brandeis, he took the only empty chair,
at the chief of AXE's right.
"Coffee, Nick?"
"No, thanks."
"l thought not. Scotch later. All right, let's get down to
it. Starkey is here the President has been informed
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NVITATION TO DEATH
103
and wants an hourly briefing. Burt is here because the CIA
is already partway in on what's gone before. Mr. Hughes
and Mr. Brandeis are here because they need to know how
we're going to pull their asses out of the fire. "
Another attribute of Hawk was bluntness. Carter lit a
cigarette to hide a smile.
"Burt, brief Nick. "
"Yes, sir." Esterman ruffled some papers and slid one
to Carter. "This is a copy ofa page lifted from the diplomatic
bag at the Soviet embassy six days ago. Comments by the
Company's mole made to his control are typed at the bottom.
They turn out to be important."
"How good is the mole?" Carter asked.
"Not gold, but good, He's been there a little more than
a year, and so far everything he's passed has been good. "
Carter scanned the sheet and looked up. "Ten million
Swiss? They are buying something big. "
"You bet your ass they are," Hawk growled. "A fifteen-
year skip in research."
Carter looked at Arthur Brandeis, and the man winced.
Esterman continued. ' 'The Company has some other lines
into the embassy, as well as a few feeders out of Moscow
that helped on this. For a day or two they came up with
nothing. Then they did some digging on the wife. "
"Bella Arksanova?"
' 'Right. Boris is the Paris rezident. He's a full colonel,
and he's good. His wife also ranks right up there. She's a
major in the KGB, and often backs up her husband. The
Company has a good profile on her. She's outgoing, gregar-
ious, and she has high-level friends in every country where
she and her husband have operated. She also has quite a
record for philanthropy and worldwide charity, particularly
in mrd World countries. You might call her a hard-core
social butterfly if you didn't know the whole story."
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NICK CARTER
Here, Esterman paused to sip his coffee. After he had
dug through a few more papers, he spoke again.
'Through idle gossip, the press, and some inside informa-
tion, we managed to obtain Bella Arksanova's schedule for
the next two months. On the weekend of the thirteenth and
the fourteenth, she's attending a masquerade ball for char-
ity."
"Where?" Carter asked.
"At the Chateau Charmont, near Arles on the Rhöne
River. We think that's whefe the exchange is going to be
made. "
"And she's picking up the papers hijacked from the Bran-
deis courier?" Carter asked,
Hawk growled, "There's not a damn thing out there right
now that's worth a fraction of that kind of asking price
except those documents. And there's another reason we
think this is the big one. John?"
John Starkey leaned across the table. "Nick, it isn't corn:
mon knowledge outside the State Department, but the owner
of Chåteau Charmont, René Charmont, has been a bone of
contention between us and the French government for some
time. We have proof that it was Charmont who played
go-between for French arms manufacturers to Iran, Iraq,
and a half-dozen other countries when they were under
worldwide embargo. He's also been known to broker huge
shipments of arms himself, as well as hijacking them."
"Busy man," Carter quipped.
' 'That's just the tip of the iceberg," Esterman continued.
' 'In the last few years, we think he's also behind a lot of
intelligence pilfering. And his major buyer is Moscow."
Carter gritted his teeth, "And the French do nothing?"
'They have a problem. Besides Charmont knowing where
a lot of bodies are buried, he's the darling of café society
and the ultrarich. He has status, not only in France, but all
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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over Europe and even in the U.S.Mis many charity events
have millions into Third World economies. "
Carter mashed out his cigarette and stood. 0' 'I think I'll
have that coffee after all."
It was Hawk's turn as Carter moved to the sideboard.
"An open assault on Charmont is out of the question, Nick.
If we want to get Charmont out of the way for good, and
recover the information these two gentlemen pissed away
with lousy security, we'll have to do it by the back door. "
"Okay, I'll bite. What the hell's the back door? But first,
where's the brandy?"
"Shelf underneath," Hawk chuckled. "You lasted quite
a while. The back door is an engineered robbery. 1'
Carter made the coffee half and half, and returned to his
chair. 'I get me a few helpers and play Bonnie and Clyde?' '
"Exactly," Hawk said, nodding. "We want no interna-
tional incidents, so there must be no connection. You'll be
completely on your own. Not even your front money will
come from us. Mr. Brandeis will supply that out of one of
his foreign accounts."
Hawk paused and tossed a German passport across the
table. tarter opened it and read statistics that pretty well
matched his own, right down to the age. His photo had
already been laminated inside, and the name was' Rolf
Grottman.
"It's real," Hawk said. "Grottman was a thief, and a
damn good one. He pulled the London airport heist a few
years ago, as well as the big tunneling job into Crédit Na-
tional in Nice, and a three-millionLdollar payroll robbery in
San Francisco."
"You said 'was'? "
"He died in Coravelle Prison in Spain four days ago. He
was buried under the name of Martinez, and Grottman was
granted a full pardon for all past sins. He's free as a bird.
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NICK CARTER
If you'll notice, there's an entry stamp into Switzerland two
days ago. The minute you leave your hotel in Geneva, you
can be Rolf Grottman. "
Carter smiled. "You work fast."
Hawk shrugged. "Desperate situations, desperate meas-
ures. You'll need five, maybe six men. It's up to you how
you want to handle it. How you get them, and where you
get them, is also up to you. Just make sure that none of
them ever knows your real identity or your connections.
Remember, Nick, it must look like a robbery, just a bunch
of thieves on a big heist. "
Carter mused for a moment. "Sir, I'd like to depart on
one person. I'll need somebody to watch my back. Also,
that someone should fit with the rest. It's a woman. "
"Can she be trusted?"
"Once, she couldn't," Carter replied. "She can now."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. She knows I'll kill her if there's any doubt. ' '
"I'll take your word for it," Hawk said. "Brandeis?"
Arthur Brandeis came out of his stupor and cleared his
throat. "I have alloted one hundred thousand dollars, in
various currencies. "
Paul Hughes jumped in. "Mr. Brandeis has made a mis-
take, Nick. That's one hundred and fifty thousand. I'll have
it delivered anyplace you say."
"Cheap enough to save your ass," Hawk said.
Brandeis got red in the face, but he nodded to Hughes
and turned away.
"That will do for starters, to get the operation going,"
Carter said. "The kind of men I'll need for an operation of
this size, with this amount of notice, wouldn't walk across
the street for that. Also, equipment will take a third of that
amount."
Each of the men looked at each other, and John Starkey
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spoke. ' 'Nick, the President has okayed this on the condition
that France—and the rest of the world that is interested—buy
it as a robbery only."
Carter understood. He rubbed his temples for a few sec-
onds; and then looked through his fingers at Hawk. "The
crew gets paid with the loot from the robbery. "
Hawk shrugged. "That's about it. No one outside this
room knows anything."
Carter sighed and stood. "Hughes, put not one-fifty but
two hundred thousand in two bags. Half is to get the men
interested, half is for equipment."
Hughes turned to Brandeis. The man got a little redder,
and nodded.
"Where?" Hughes asked.
"The train station in Munich, a locker. Leave the key in
an envelope with my name on it with Herr Carl Lugermann
at a dive called Die Rosa Geächtete. He's the owner."
Hughes chuckled. "The Pink Outlaw. That's apropos. "
"l have a weird sense of humor."
"It will be there."
Carter turned to Hawk. "I'll also need—"
Hawk placed a thin briefcase on the table. "You've got
it, the complete Interpol file on every major thief in the
world."
Carter shook his head. What great efficiency. It would
be a bitch for the next two weeks to operate without it.
Carter spent the night in the Lausanne pension, and drove
back to Geneva early the next morning. Just as he had left,
he reentered by the laundry room. One tired old woman
gave him a disapproving glance but said nothing.
In his room, he went to work on the computer printouts
from Interpol, and the interior and exterior plans. of the
Chateau Charmont.
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By midmorning he had the skeleton of a good plan and
the nucleus of a crew mapped out. It would be difficult to
pull the whole thing off with a dark curtain over it, but it
could be done.
The files from Interpol were complete, down to personal
habits of each person and the names of friends and those
they had worked with in the past. Carter picked five, and
three alternates. These he tore off and kept together. The
rest of the printouts he burned and flushed into the sewer
system of Geneva.
All both professional and personal, he removed
from his wallet and clothing. He was putting ail this in a
manila envelope when there was the sound of a key in the
door.
It was the bellboy with lunch.
'GAh, you're back, monsieur."
"Fit as a fiddle," Carter said and smiled.
"No one that I saw."
"You did well?'
' ' Anyone
"Merci." The young man grinned sheepishly. ' 'I also
ate well, thanks to you."
"One more favor .
"Anything, monsieur. "
"My bag is packed, there. Do you have a car?"
"Oui, a white Seat. It is in the hotel parking area."
"Take my bag with you and put it on the front floOrboard
of your car. Don't worry, I'll pay my bill."
He shrugged and picked up the bag. "It means nothing
to me."
Another American twenty sent hipl on his happy way.
Carter devoured the lunch and addressed the envelope to
the American embassy in Geneva, to the attention of Hawk's
code name, D. F. Pause. It would find its way via diplomatic
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INVITATION TO DEATH
pouch to Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C.
109
In the lobby, he mailed the envelope and approached the
desk. "I'll be leaving early in the morning for Berlin. I
would like to settle my bill now. "
"Of course, Monsieur Coldeck, a few moments."
With typical Swiss efficiency, it was only four moments
and Carter was on the street. He walked a nine-block circle
away and then back to the hotel parking lot to pick up his bag.
A taxi got him to the station in time to make two calls
before the train departed for Munich,
"Hello. You said to'call again. I'm calling."
"Where are you?"
"Never mind. What's important is, I have a whole new
expense account."
Lola was ready with a laugh. "Darling, I love the sound
of your voice, How large is your expense account?"
"Twenty-five thousand American, for starters. You in-
"Need you ask?" she hooted.
"I thought so," Carter chuckled. "Pack, you're going
to Madrid. "
When
"Hrst thing in the morning. Now, here's what I want
you to do, and why .
The second call was to Fräulein Ilse Mott at the Hotel
Brennan in Munich.
' 'Fräulein Mott, I believe you are a friend of Gabin Full-
"Who wants to know?"
"My name is Grottman, Rolf Grottman. Herr Fullmer
and I have never met, but he will know my name."
s 'Go on."
"I have a business proposition I am sure Herr Fullmer
will be very interested in."
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NICK CARTER
"What kind of business?"
"I will tell him that in person, at Die Rosa Geächtete,
tonight at eleven sharp."
"He will get the message."
"Danke."
Carter hung up and ran for his train.
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Every big city in the world has a place like the Pink
Outlaw. They sit in sections where the elegance has long
since washed away. In the harsh, bright light of day they
are ugly and without color. Inside, .they are upholstered
sewers.
But at night, with darkness softening the neighborhood
and shadows hiding the outside grime, with muted lighting
glorifying the drabness inside, places like Die Rosa
Geächtete come alive.
Carter found a table near the door and ordered a beer. A
four-piece band played American jazz, and since. it was
midnight the prices had just gone up a hundred percent.
This was to pay off the police for staying open late.
The Killmaster was halfway through the beer when Gabin
Fullmer entered. He went directly to the bar, ordered, and
looked the room over with a calculated eye.
He was well over six feet and thickset, with blond, close-
cropped hair cut so short he looked nearly bald. Fifty years
earlier he could have been on a Hitler Youth poster..
Carter caught his eye. Fullmer picked up his drink and
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NICK CARTER
crossed the rcx)m. Just in front of Carter, he stopped with
a curt bow.
"Gabin Fullmer. "
"I know," Carter said. ' 'Sit down."
"You are Grottman?"
"l am. Sit down."
He sat, and Carter ordered another round. Waiting for it,
he scanned the room to see if anyone was overly interested
in them.
"Herr Grottman, I am a busy man."
Carter ignored him. He sipped his beer and watched a
prostitute work on a fat tourist at the bar. Only when the
drinks came and the waiter left did Carter turn to him.
"You are not busy, Fullmer. Since you went legit three
years ago, you have failed twice in business. At present,
you are in hock up to your ass because of those failed
businesses and your extraordinary love of gambling."
"Herr Grottman . . " He started to stand.
"It's Rolf. Sit down and listen. It might be profitable for
you."
The other man got red in the face and his neck got stiffer.
His hands began to tremble, so he put them in his lap. Carter
could see he was fighting for control, and was pleased when
he got it.
"Just what do you have in mind . . Rolf?"
"I assume you know who I am?"
He nodded. "I asked a few questions. Aren't you sup
posed to be occupied in Spain?"
"I was. Ask a few more questions after you leave here
You'll find out I spent a great deal of money in the righl
places. "
Fullmer smiled wearily. "In certain areas it helps to have
a great deal of money. "
' 'I'm sure, Gabin, that you could use an advance oi
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NICK CARTER
crossed the rcx)m. Just in front of Carter, he stopped with
a curt bow.
"Gabin Fullmer. "
"I know," Carter said. ' 'Sit down."
"You are Grottman?"
"l am. Sit down."
He sat, and Carter ordered another round. Waiting for it,
he scanned the room to see if anyone was overly interested
in them.
"Herr Grottman, I am a busy man."
Carter ignored him. He sipped his beer and watched a
prostitute work on a fat tourist at the bar. Only when the
drinks came and the waiter left did Carter turn to him.
"You are not busy, Fullmer. Since you went legit three
years ago, you have failed twice in business. At present,
you are in hock up to your ass because of those failed
businesses and your extraordinary love of gambling."
"Herr Grottman . . " He started to stand.
"It's Rolf. Sit down and listen. It might be profitable for
you."
The other man got red in the face and his neck got stiffer.
His hands began to tremble, so he put them in his lap. Carter
could see he was fighting for control, and was pleased when
he got it.
"Just what do you have in mind . . Rolf?"
"I assume you know who I am?"
He nodded. "I asked a few questions. Aren't you sup
posed to be occupied in Spain?"
"I was. Ask a few more questions after you leave here
You'll find out I spent a great deal of money in the righl
places. "
Fullmer smiled wearily. "In certain areas it helps to have
a great deal of money. "
' 'I'm sure, Gabin, that you could use an advance oi
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INVITATION TO DEATH
113
twenty-five thousand American against, perhaps, four times
that much. "
Carter leaned back and let him digest this. The fat tourist
at the bar had opened the prostitute's blouse and was slob-
bering over her bare breasts.
"Just what would this entail?"' Fullmer asked, trying to
keep the excitement out of his voice, but failing.
"Later, Do you still have your contacts from the old
Fullmer hesitated. "That would depend on your needs, "
Carter took a piece of paper from his jacket and slid it
across the table. "Those are the basics, I will also need
three vehicles, a vant and two small cars. All three of them
must be worked over so they can outrun anything in southern
France. "
"How much time would I have?"
"I want everything in Nimes by the eighth of this month. ' '
S'Today is the second. That's five working days. It can
be done, but it would be expensive"
"Money is no object. "
"Then I can do it. But I want a guarantee."
"No guarantees," Carter growled. "An advance of
twenty-five and a full share in the outcome."
"Which is?"
"A lot, but I don't know how much for sure."
Fullmer's mood changed. He leaned back in the chair
with a smirk on his face. "You'rejust out of prison. You've
got a job planned, and you've got a deadline. I think, Herr
Grottman, that you need me more than I need you."
Carter stood and dropped a couple of bills on the table.
"Fuck you, Herr Fullmer." He grabbed the list from the
other man's hand and threaded his way through the club
and outside into the chilly night air.
He was halfway down the block when he heard Fullmer's
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NICK CARTER
quick footsteps. The corner was just ahead. Carter quickened
his pace and turned the corner, flattening himself against
the wall.
He would teach Gabin Fullmer not to play hard to get.
He came around the corner too fast and tried to slide to
a stop when he saw Carter. The Killmaster steiped in quickly
and gut-punched him. As he doubled over, Carter caught
him with a right-hand chop on the neck.
Fullmer went down on his hands and knees and tried to
swing at Carter's groin. Carter stepped back and kicked him
in the chest, slamming him back against the yall: He was
on topof the German before he stopped movinÅ, his thumbs
on his Adam's apple.
' 'Just what the hell did you figure to accomplish?" he
hissed.
' "Nothing," Fullmer groaned, trying to smile through the
pain. "I wanted to apologize, I swear. I need the work."
Carter believed him. He let him go and pulled him to his
feet. "Let's go back inside where it's warm."
As Fullmer brushed off his jacket, he glanced at Carter.
"Rolf, you have a bitch of a temper."
Carterchuckled. "That'sjust the edge of it, my friend. s'
Back in the club, they ordered brandies. Fullmer massaged
his chest and neck as he listened to instructions.
"This is big. There's a party, a masquerade party, near
Arles on the thirteenth of the month. There should be jewels
on top of jewels,. dollars, pounds, and francs lying around
for the taking. It's hard to say just how big."
Fullmer's pain went away. "How many splits?"
"Other than myself, five."
His smile got broader. "Give me the rest of it. I'll be in
Nimes with everything on the eighth."
"Everyone goes into Spain legal. We train there. We
come back over the frontier at night so there's no exit stamp
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INVITATION TO DEATH
115
on our passports. That will be on the eleventh. We set up
on the twelfth, and go the next night."
"And make for Spain as though we've been there all the
time?"
"Exactly," Carter said, nodding.
"I'm in, all the way. What happens now?"
"'Meet me at the Hauptbahnhof in two hours, entrance
Two, off the Bayer Strasse. Be ready to go."
Fullmer stood. 4 'Sorry about before. "
Carter smiled. "You'll be even sorrier if it happens
again." He waited until the other man had been gone for
five minutes, then summoned his waiter.
"Is Herr Lugermann in the club?"
"I don't know," the man said evasively. "Perhaps I can
help you. "
'*Tell Carl that Nick is out here and wants to talk to him.
But I don't want to be obvious about it. I'd like to handle
it so that no one knows I'm going to see him, I'll do whatever
he suggests. "
"I'll see," the waiter said, and slipped away.
Carter listened to the combo and waited. They were good.
They finished one number and were starting on another
when the waiter returned. He was carrying a fresh drink.
"Sorry," he said, his voice low as he picked up Carter's
empty glass. 'SI have instructions to spill this drink on you
and to tell you to make a scene when it happens. "
"All right. " Carter got out a cigarette and started to light
it.
The waiter set the drink down and started to turn away.
As he did, his tray hit the glass. It and the emptied glass
both landed in Carter's lap.
"What the hell 's the matter with you?" Carter said loudly.
"Drunk or something? Look at my suit!"
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NICK CARTER
"I'm so sorry, mein Herr," the waiter murmured. He
was mopping at Carter's pants with a napkin.
"To hell with being sorry! What about my suit?"
The waiter glanced around nervously as though he were
worried about the other customers witnessing this scene.
He gave up trying to blot Carter's suit and straightened up.
"If you'll just follow me, mein Herr, everything will be
taken care of."
"It had better be," Carter snarled as he followed.
The waiter turned and headed toward the rear of the room.
They went all the way tomle back, then turned into a little
corridor. There were several doors opening off it, He stopped
at the first one.
"In there," he whispered.
"Thanks," Carter said.
He opened the door and stepped inside. Carl Lugermann
was sitting behind a.desk covered with papers. He was a
big man with dark hair, now beginning to thin. Otherwise
he looked about the same as the last time Carter had seen him.
He looked up as Carter closed the door and a smile spread
over his face. ' 'Nickt' he said. "It's good to see you.
How'd you like the service?"
"Very inventive, as usual," Carter said with a grin, cross-
ing the room and shaking hands.
The big man dropped back into his seat and pulled open
a drawer. "You move fast. That only came •a couple of
hours ago." He slid an envelope across the desk.
Carter put the envelope in his pocket. "Are you still
flying, Carl?"
"Sure. "
"Still park your plane at Orlfurg?"
"That's right," the man replied, and smiled. "You got
something on your tail?"
' 'I don't think so, but I want to make sure."
"Where to?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"Milan. It's worth five big ones, American,"
117
The big German hooted. "For that, I'll carry you over
piggyback! When?"
"About three hours."
"I'll be gassed and ready. " Lugermann stood and moved
to the far wall. Pressing a concealed button, he slid a book-
case open into the room. Behind it was a long, lighted
conidor. "This goes out through the basement. "
Carter saluted him and headed down the corridor.
At the number Two entrance of the train station, Carter
spotted Fullmer and shook his head slightly. The man stayed
where he was behind his newspaper, and Carter walked to
the large room lined with lockers.
The key fit locker 527. Inside were two medium-sized
valises. Carter hauled them oUtand went to the men's room.
In one of the far rear stalls, he transferred twenty thousand
from one to the other.
At the washbasins, he set both bags on his right side and
began to splash water on his face. In the mirror he checked
the three other occupants, one in a stall, one drying his
hands, and one just leaving.
Fullmer came in, used the urinal, and moved to a basin
two down from Carter.
"Bag on your side," Carter whispered out of the side of
his mouth.
'Okay."
"Eighty big ones. The first twenty-five is yours. "
"That should more than do it."
"I hope you know how to move it as well as spend it. ' '
"1 do."
Carter picked up the closest bag. As he passed Fullmer,
the man spoke a last time.
"You trust me with all that on such short acquaintance?' '
"Don 't have any reason not to. Only one man ever crossed
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me so far . . L. Klaus Gaubman."
Carter smiled to himself as he pushed through the swing-
ing doors into the waiting room Klaus Gaubman was a
small-time doper who had been found mutilated in an alley
a year earlier. Carter didn't know who'd killed him, but he
was pretty sure Fullmer wouldn't know either.
There were five trains leaving for various points in the
next hour. Three of them were heading west and would pass
through the village of Orlfurg. Carter bought a ticket on
each of the westbound trains in intervals from three different
agents. All three tickets were for a first-class private com-
partment. Then he bought a newspaper and found a bench
directly in the center of the waiting room.
The first train was gone and there were five minutes until
the second, when two men rushed into the waiting room
and did a quick imitation of nonchalant boredom when they
spotted him. They split at once, each of them heading for
the two entrances to the tracks.
Carter couldn't be sure, but he thought he remembered
the smaller of the two. He was dressed in a heavy brown
overcoat, a white woolen scarf, and a fur hat: There had
been a man dressed just like him in the lobby of the Geneva
hotel when Carter had paid his bill.
If the two men were one and the same, the Berlin ploy
hadn't worked.
The second westbound train was just pulling out when
Carter rushed to the platform. White Scarf was right behind
him and the other man was running for a phone.
Carter swung aboard, knowing that White Scarf was doing
the same. He found his sleeping compartment and waited
for the conductor to pass through. When his ticket was
punched, Carter locked the door and sauntered to the bar car.
The train rocked along lazily as he sipped a There
were two short stops before Orlfurg. After the second, he
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returned to his compartment. White Scarf wasn't around,
but Carter knew he was being watched.
He waited, timing the train's progress by his watch. It
was exactly eleven minutes after leaving the bar car when
he felt the train losing speed on a gradient. He used a
shoulder strap to keep the bag tight to his body, and lowered
the window.
The train had slowed down considerably' The gradient
was so sharp he could even note its steepness in the carriage.
The rhythmic clickety:click was loud and slow, but the dark-
ness outside seemed to be hissing past at enormous velocity.
He sensed the gradient flattening out and felt the train
begin to speed up. He had to make a split-second decision.
And because there might not be another opportunity to jump,
he swung his legs out over the window.
He hung with his arms and head inside the compartment
yhile he scraped with his toes to find a foothold. The
slipstream tore at him, clawing him loose from his precarious
hold. Telegraph poles whooshed perilously close.
Then he released. The slipstream tugged at him, suspend-
ing him as the rest of the train rolled on. He hit a grassy
slope and rolled head over heels, reaching the bottom before
he stopped.
He lay for a full five minutes until, in the distance, he
heard the train stop at Orlfurg. Only then did he stand and
get his bearings.
When he was sure of his directions, he set off at a jog.
If memory served him right, it was about two miles to the
small airfield where Carl Lugermann would be waiting.
"Comrade Colonel . .
"Yes, yes, what is it?"
Boris Arksanov dropped his briefcase on the desk and
went directly to the corner of his office where a small
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samovar announced with a hiss that tea was made. Arksanov
found it extremely difficult to function correctly without his
morning tea.
"The agent, Carter, is like an eel. Our people lost him
in Geneva. It was only a stroke of luck that he was spotted
arriving in Munich by train."
Arksanov smiled and sipped the scalding tea. "I expected
the Americans to send their best. We watch airports, he
takes trains. From now on watch everything, even buses
and car rental agencies."
"Yes, Comrade Colonel. "
"Was he trailed in Munich?"
"Yes, and the report is he didn't spot the team."
"Well," Arksanov said dryly, "that is probably a first.
Go on."
"He made contact. A man called Gabin Fullmer. He's a
known criminal, a thief with a specialty as a procurer of
arms. Research is trying to find more on him."
"Hmm,- a thief . . interesting. What do you suppose
they are up to . . . where is he now?"
The aide coughed and grew slightly red in the face. ' 'They
lost hink Evidently he jumped from the train after leaving
Munich."
Arksanov sighed wearily, as if he'd been expecting the
answer. "Keep everyone on twenty-four-hour alert. He will
surface again, somewhere."
"Yes, Comrade Colonel,"
The aide bustled from the office and Arksanov moved to
the window, Silently he sipped his tea and watched Paris
come alive to a new day.
A thief, he mused. Were the Americans so stupid that
they would send a common criminal to breach the army of
security around René Charmont?
No, I think not.
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As he had done every Friday evening for the last year,
Regis Caylin entered Madrid's Chamartin Station and
boarded the 8:10 express to San Sebastiån. Caylin would
have preferred to fly, but airplanes were too conspicuous,
and in these troubled times air travelers were often searched.
He could, ill afford being searched, going or coming.
Usually, on the outbound leg, he was carrying a large amount
of cash/ On the return leg, he was liable to be carrying
anything from stolen diamonds and securities to dope.
Regis Caylin was a smuggler. He bought low on the
French side of the Pyrenees, and sold high in Madrid. When
his purchases were too large for his person or briefcase—
such as arms and explosives—they were trucked across the
frontier and stored at a small farm he owned near Burguete.
There they would be kept until a proper buyer could be
found.
Caylin hadn't always been a fence and smuggler. At one
time he had been a master thief himself. Some of the finest
flats in the Belgravia section of his native London had been
burgled by Caylin.
But eventually London had proved too warm for him. He
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had left one step ahead of Scotland Yard and settled first
in Morocco, and then Spain.
Now others did the thieving and he distributed the spoils.
The change in occupations and climate had made Regis
Caylin quite comfortable financially. And very bored.
He deposited his bag as the train pulled out, and went
forward toward the dining car. A party had already started
in the bar car. It was filled with tourists, mostly British and
American. The men were all handsome, young, and charm-
ing, and the women were attractive and having a good time.
Caylin pushed himself through the crowd. He was almost
to the door, when he found himself smack up against a tall,
stunning brunette with a figure that would draw any man's
eyes.
He had nearly spilled her drink in the collison. "Terribly
sorry, bit of a crush. "
"You're a Londoner!' ' she exclaimed in a slurred voice.
"I used to be. If you'll excuse me . . ."
"Wait up, darlin' ! You look a little old fer me, but you'ye
cute and you're a Londoner. So am I. Have a drink!"
He was tempted. Her body did wonderful things to a slim
skirt and a tight-fitting cashmere sweater. The way her full
lips pouted made her look like a playful kitten ready to romp
and behave mischievously.
"Sony." He tried to push past her.
"What's your hurry? It's a long night before San Sebas-
tiån." She wrinkled her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Busy at the moment, luv." He tried to squeeze past her
again.
"How can you be busy on holiday?" she persisted.
Suddenly someone jostled her and they came together.
Caylin could feel her thighs against his and her breasts
pillow across his chest.
' 'It happens," he said. "But I'll take a raincheck."
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"Well, darling, if that's the Way you want it."
123
Her eyes drifted away, interest gone. The crowd parted
and he moved on into the dining caru
-He had an excellent meal and spent a leisurely hour over
coffee and brandy before he paid his bill,
Weaving his way back through the party in the bar car,
he tried to spot the tall, willing brunette.
She was nowhere to be seen.
He was nearly to his compartment when he saw her. She
was backing out of the compartment beside his, making
excuses that she was "a little tired, but maybe later."
She looked even more voluptuous and more appealing.
When the door was closed, he slipped up behind her and
put an arm around her waist. She twisted her body slowly,
without moving her feet,and drunkenly fell limp into his
arms.
' 'Well, well, if it ain't you, darling," she said, lacing
her fingers around his neck.
"About that drink ,
' Caylin said.
"Come along, darling," she cooed with a smile, showing
small, even white teeth. "Ummmm, yes, you come along
with me, darling: You might not be too old for me at that.
And you are so very cute."
She took him by the hand and threaded her way down
the companionway to another compartment.
"Here is where you get your drinks darling, ' ' she purred.
She unlocked the door and moved into the compartment.
Caylin followed her and kicked the door closed. Just as he
reached for her, she stepped back and placed her palms flat
on his chest.
"Not so fasts Mr. Caylin, let's talk a little."
He was immediately on the alert. There was a sharpness
in her eyes now, and suddenly she was no more drunk than
he was.
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S 'How do you know my name?"
"Oh, I know a lot about you, Regis. I know Scotland
Yard would love to have you by the thumbs. I know you
have a nice little place near the French frontier, where you
often store unmentionables. And I know you know ways
through the Pyrenees that only the goats use. "
He reached for the handle. ' 'I don't know what the hell—
"Don't go, Regis. Sit down, let's talk. My name is Lola,
and have I got a deal for you."
The flat was on North Paolo, near the Poldi-Pezzoli
Museum. It was two rooms, cheap, and furnished with what
could be picked up off the street. The landlady was greedy..
She rented it by the month, the week, or even by the hour,
when one of the whores from the Piazza della Scala caught
a mark who could afford it.
It was perfect for Carter's needs.
He sat in darkness behind a table. On the table was a
powerful, single-bulb lamp. The lamp was trained into the
eyes of the two men occupying chairs on the other side of
the table.
The two men were enough alike to be twins. They were
both about six feet, well built, with olive complexions,
glossy black hair and dark eyes, and square-jawed, hand-
some faces.
They were the Salvati brothers, Arturo and Tommaso.
They both had police records inches thick, and they had
both done time in Lodoumo Prison south of Rome.
They had two specialties: automobiles and guns. Emotion-
ally they were fearless, and, once mastered, were loyal.
Mastering them was the problem.
Carter had done nothing but say "Sit" since they had
entered the room. Now he studied them carefully.
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They wore stained coveralls and heavy, ankle-high work
shoes with the tops of discolored socks showing. Sweat-
stained work caps were crumpled in their laps. They picked
at the caps with grime-encrusted fingers.
Carter grinned to himself. The Salvati brothers had come
down a long way from the days when they wore designer
suits and drove Ferraris..
"Why is it," Carter asked, "that two such intelligent
men as yourselves drive a garbage truck?"
The brothers exchanged glances and their lips curled back
over white teeth. Arturo spoke. "Why is it that an upstanding
citizen like yourself leaves an envelope with money and the
offer of a job in our u-uck?"
"And when we come to meet you in good faith, you hide
behind a lamp that shines in our faces?" Tommaso dug a
cigarette from a beat-up pack and lit it with a wooden match.
"Because," Carter replied, "I have better employment
for you, but if you should decline it, I wouldn't want you
to know who made the offer."
Tommaso nodded, smoke curling into his eyes. "Being
the honest men that we are, we would like better employ-
ment. We have had our eye on a little hotel in Tangier. It
would make a nice place for retirement. "
"Would fifty thousand American help buy your hotel?"
Carter asked.
s 'It would help," Arturo said.. "But, you see, signore,
my brother and I .. .. .e well, we have spent some time in
prison. "
Tommaso chimed in, "Three times in prison. And if we
go in a fourth time, we will never come out. So, for fifty
thousand, signore. I would not take the time to piss on your
grave. "
Carter laughed out loud. "And if I were to say your split
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of the total take could be five times that amount?"
"For that figure, signore," Arturo chuckled, "we will
provide the bodies for your graveyard."
Carter outlined his plans. He left out names and places,
and explained the dangers going in.
The brothers held a conference with their eyes, and turned
back to the man in the darkness.
"We are agreeable," Tommaso said. "But we dqnot do
business with a stranger. "
Carter slid the passport across the desk. Both men
examined it and smiled.
"I have heard of you, " Arturo said. "It will bea pleasure
working with you."
Carter turned on the overhead light and started piling
dollars in front of them.
s This is your advance. I'm adding enough to buy a car—a
large, powerful car. It must be new, and falsely registered.
Can you handle that?"
"Signore Grottman, you are in Italy. You have money.
Anything can be handled.
"l want you to meet me tomorrow evening in Monaco,
the casino, at eight sharp. And, gentlemen, buy some
clothes, good ones. You are now the driver and bodyguard
of a very rich man."
Carter pulled on his coat, snapped his valise, and paused
at the door,
"Wait five minutes after I leave. Then shut the lights off
and leave yourselves. "
In the street, h? walked toward the museum. There were
cabs parked all along the Corso Briera. He 'bypassed the
first three because their drivers looked old, tired, and staid.
In the fourth he spotted a cocky young man who looked
as if, for the right price, he would put wings on his cab and
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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go to the moon. He opened the front door and slid into the
passenger seat.
"You are availabe, friend?"
"Si, signore, " the youth said, reaching for the flag.
Carter caught his hand. "I don't think you want to do
that. figure a price to San Remo."
The young man's eyes grew wide. "San Remo, signore?
The San Remo that is on the French frontier?"
"That San Remo," Carter said, nodding. "You can't
take this cab across the frontier, can you?"
"No."
"But in San Remo, I can hire a cab that can cross to
Monaco?'
"Si, signore."
"Then go to San Remo."
Ten minutes outside the city; Carter crawled into the back
seat and went to sleep.
The Café Lobo was in a tiny side street off the Puerto
Lieta, a few blocks from the Plaza de Toros in Madrid. It
was a place that tourists rarely found, a café where toreros
and members of their cuadrilla went when they wanted
privacy. It was also fancied by banderilleros and picadores
who did net frequent the more well-known cafés when they
were looking for work.
It was here that Lola went in search of Carter's fifth man.
Years before, during her "Serena" periods she had spent
many profitable nights in the Café Lobo.
Old Mama Cadiz remembered her, and came bounding
out of the kitchen when her arrival was announced.
"Serena, my little chick!" the old woman exclaimed,
clamping the younger woman to her ample bosom. "You
are more beautiful than ever! How many men have you
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ruined since I last saw you?' 'u
"More than I can count, Mama, more than I can count, "
Lola answered, smiling.
The tWo women migrated to a private table in the depths
of the café and, over glasses of brandy, Lola explained her
needs.
When she finished, Mama Cadiz smiled shrewdly. "Ahs
Serena, the larceny in your heart. When will you find a
good man and settle down?"
"There are no good men, Mama, and I will settle down
when I am old and rich. Can you help me?"
"There is such a young man as you describe.' He is a
novillero from Sevilla. He is good, but not good enough
for Madrid. "
' 'Then a sum of money such as this would interest him0"
"I think so, yes. I have heard that in the ring he is all
heart and no wrists. You know the rewards of that."
Lola nodded. "The horn."
"His name is Paco Torres. But there is a problem ...
"He is spending now a little time in jai[. It is said that,
being unable to purchase swords of his own, he appropriated
several belonging to someone else. "
Lola smiled. 'Then he should be very receptive. Where?' '
' 'Toledo.
"Your commission, Mama, will be in next week's mail. ' '
Lola hurried out to her rented car.
Paco Torres was darkly handsome, tall and lean, with the
narrow hips, the chiseled jaw, and the cynical bearing of
the matador he would never become,
As Lola watched him strut toward her, she knew he would
be perfect.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"You are my benefactor, sefiorita?"
129
"I am, and seeing you makes me wonder why. You look
like a stable boy. Have you other clothes?"
His eyes went down to the threadbare black pants, crum-
pled and dirty, the worn shoes, and the sweaty shirt. He
felt his face, and the stubble was stiff enough to scratch his
palm.
He looked back up at her and smiled with a good-natured
shrug, 'VOnce a peasant, always a peasant."
"Let us hope not. Come along."
The sun was bright, and walking beside this beautiful,
voluptuous woman gave Torres a good feeling, a feeling
that his rotten luck was about to change.
She used a perfume that was not too strong, and he could
smell it as they walked, just enough to reach his nostrils
and make him want to smell more deeply of it. The top of
her head was on a level with his mouth, and he looked down
at her, at the point of the V made by the neckline of her dress,
She looked at him. "And does it please theyoung
matador? •
He ignored her mockery, letting his eyes meet hers. "If
it was meant to be hidden, 's he said, "then I have wronged
you."
She laughed. "Wronged me! I have been stared at before
and by better than you."
He shook his head. "Not by better," he said.
"Richer, then."
"Richer, yes."
Lola opened her purse and pulfed out several bills. "Do
you have a passport?"
"Si. I worked once in the caudrilla of Tobalo and had
to travel to Mexico."
"Good. Here, get a shave and buy yourself some decent
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NICK CARTER
clothes and shoes. Meet me in an hour there, at that café. "
He paused. "May I ask where we go from
"To Madrid, and then to France and Monaco."
His teeth flashed in his dark face. "Am I to be your stud,
or something else?"
"Something else," she replied, "if you're a good boy."
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THIRTEEN
The garage of Pierre Sobrene was in the hill country of
Monts de Vaucluse east of Avignon. It was a shabby place,
the meanest in a warren of mean buildings. From the nearby
road it looked like an endless maze of structures strung
together with no purpose:
Only Sobrene himself knew the purpose of all the build-
ings. "Ihe interior walls of wood or brick looked as if they
had been there for a long time. Actually, each and every
one of them was movable. A vehicle could disappear into
one building and come out another, with a new color, a
different engine, and a whole new set of chassis numbers.
Two cars were currently going through this prcx:ess under
the watchful eyes of Gabin Fullmer and Pierre Sobrene.
Sobrene was a square-faced, thin-lipped little man with
hooded eyes and tobacco-stained teeth. He combed his hair
straight back without a part and wore it long on the back
of his neck.
He lcx)ked more like a Paris mec who ran girls than a
mechanic.
"Will they be ready day after tomorrow?" Fullmer asked,
"The suspension you'll need for those kinds of speeds
on mountain roads will be tricky, but they'll be ready. "
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"And the engines?"
Sobrene cackled. "For the kind of money you're paying
me, monsieur: you could run these two in Formula One at
Monte Carlo. "
"Good," Fullmer said. "I will check with you tomor-
row."
He left the garage and drove one of Sobrene's cars into
Avignon. At the hotel, he approached the switchboard
operator.
"I would like to send a wire to Monaco, please."
' 'The agent, Carter, is like a ghost, Comrade Colonel,
but following the woman from London has paid dividends. ' '
"You have lost Carter?" Boris Arksanov hissed.
"I am afraid so, completely."
The Paris rezident sighed. "Then tell me what you have
on the others."
"The woman made contact with a man named Regis
Caylin on a train from Madrid to San Sebastiån. •She im-
mediately took another train back to Madrid. "
"And this Caylin?" Arksanov asked.
He, listened patiently, sipping his vodka and asking
pointed questions as his aide relayed the meeting on the
train between the woman and Regis Caylin. He explained
the report of the theft of two automobiles by Fullmer, and
their present whereabouts. They also had a fair account of
Gabin Fullmer's purchases.
By the end of the report, Arksanov was smiling and nod-
ding.
"Thieves! This Carter is recruiting a band of professional
thieves
"It would seem so. "
"Then we have it, and a good plan it is."
"You think they are going to rob Charmont?"
"Of course, They will stage it as though a group of
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INVITATION TO DEATH
133
thieves hold up a wealthy gathering. You say this Caylin
has a place just over the frontier?"
"Yes, Comrade Colonel," the aide replied, spreading a
map of northern Spain on the desk. "It is here in the moun-
tains north of Burguete. Supposedly it is a ranch for the
raising of bulls, but actually it is used to store contraband
until it can be sold and moved on."
"How many men can we mass there?"
The aide shrugged. "As many as needed."
"Then do it. Take over the ranch, and have our Basque
friends watch every trail in from France. We will have two
tries at them , , . one on the mountain, and, if they get
through, one at the ranch."
"I will make the arrangements, Comrade Colonel. "
The aide left and Arksanov refilled his glass.
Neat, very neat, he thought. And that pig René Charmont
could go to hell for his ten million.
Paco Torres closed the door behind him and stood without
moving, blinking into the glare of the floodlamps. The light
was a blazing curtain around him. He could sée nothing of
the but the stark outline of a chair placed so that, no
matter which direction its occupant faced, it would be look-
ing directly into at least one floodlamp.
"Your name is Paco Torres."
He tugged at the lapels of his new jacket. "Yes."
"Sit down. You'll have to excuse the lights. They are
for your protection as well as mine. I have a proposition
for you. If you should decide not to take it, it is better you
never know who made the offer. "
Torres sat, feeling the sweat gather in the small of his
back and in his crotch.
"There is a table by your chair with sunglasses, if the
light hurts your eyes."
"l am used to the glare. It is like the sun over the plaza
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NICK CARTER
de toros on a hot Sunday afternoon."
Carter appraised him from the darkness. He had the size,
the bearing, and the dark good looks. Only a close intimate
would know the difference.
"Paco, the job we have planned pays twenty-five thou-
sand dollars flat. You'll be the inside man, with certain
things to do just before we go. WhenÄhe job goes down,
you become a spectator. That's it. Interested?"
Torres smiled wide, his white teeth gleaming in his dark
face. "I think I'm going to enjoy Mexico."
Carter pushed a Spanish magazine across the table.
"Here's how you get in."
The magazine was open to a picture of a matador and a
charging bull. The matador was just finishing a move with
his cape, with his face in profile.
It was all clear to Torres now. He nodded and smiled
again. "It is Manolo the Tiger. In the provincial cafés I am
often mistaken for him by young girls. "
"That's why you're here," Carter saidl "One thing,
Paco. No women. From now on until it's over, you stay
zipped up. I don't want you shot by a jealous husband and
ruin the whole setup. Got it?"
'Sl. From now on until Mexico, Paco Torres is a saint. ' '
Carter turned the light on and the Salvati brothers came
forward to shake Torres's hand.
"Arturo, Tommaso, fill him in. We'll all leave in the
morning in the Bentley."
Carter left the room and walked around Monaco harbor
past the casino to the Hotel de Paris.
There was a message in his box: All the special toys are
present and accounted for. Presently in the Alban, Avignon.
Gabin.
He rode the elevator to his suite. Lola was in the sitting
room in front of the television. She snapped it off when he
entered.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"Will Torres do?"
135
"He'll be fine, if I can control him," Carter said. "He's
a cocky little bastard. A wire came from Fullmer. He's all
set in Avignon."
Lola stood. She wore a deep red flamenco costume, the
neck cut low to expose much of her full bosom.
"You like?" she asked, twirling so the ruffled skirt
whirled out around her ankles.
"You look every inch the part," Carter said. "Take it
off."
He chuckled. "I don't want to tear it."
She did, slowly, like an accomplished stripper. When it
was off, lying on the floor around her feet, she added her
underwear to it.
"Olé, " she murmured; stretching toward the ceiling.
Carter slid his arms around her and they kissed slowly,
tongues exploring, darting, joining. He pulled her to him
and ran his hands over her body as hers went to work on
his clothes.
She reached for the jacket he wore and undid his shirt.
Without speaking she led him to the bedroom. There was
nothing to say. She watched, amused, as he laid his holstered
Luger down so it couldn't fall. He pulled her down and
gently nibbled her breasts. Her nipples hardened as his teeth
scored them. He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh but
didn't touch her. His hand and mouth moved together until
they reached her center. He held her open as her hands
moved over him, stroking.
Her voice was a low moan in her throat as she called his
name over and over, in passion and he tasted her. With a
strangled cry she pushed him onto his back and moved over
him. She sat and threw her legs back so that he was thrust
fully inside her. They lay locked as she rotated her hips
slowly,
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NICK CARTER
She began to breathe raggedly as he gripped her by the
arms and thrust up into her. She was excited by his urgencfr
He held her hips as they both began to breathe quickly,
their bodies moving in tandem, spiraling together toward
their climax.
She cried out as she felt herself contract, and the sensation
forced her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them
again she saw the smile on his face and the drops of sweat
on his forehead.
"When do we leave?" she asked.
"In the morning."
"There is something I have to tell you."
"Like what?"
She rolled to her side, gently keeping him trapped inside
her. "Torres and I were followed from Madrid."
"On the plane?"
She nodded. ' 'I recognized him from a long time ago.'
"His name is Bulgakov. At one time he was with the
KGB unit in London. "
"You're sure he was following you?"
"Positive. He picked up two more to make a team when
we landed imNice. "
Carter lit a cigarette. "Then it's only a matter of time
until they make me."
"What do we do?"
"Go right on," Carter replied, "and let them make the
first move. "
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Gabin Fullmer, Tommaso Salvati, and Carter rode the
bus from Avignon to Arles. They spent the better part of
the afternoon with packs on their backs, tramping the hills
photographing birds and the country scenes.
Around dusk they made their way to a high point about
a mile from the Charmont chåteau.
It sat atop a steep hill on about forty acres of lawn, and
it was quite a sight to behold. The main residence was
flanked by two smaller houses, quarters for the help.
The chateau itself was five stories tall, with a mansard
roof dotted with vanes and chimney pots and covered with
heavy gray slabs of slate, No other buildings were in sight,
and the entire park area was surrounded by a high iron-spear
fence painted black, with the tips in gilt. Beyond this formid-
able fence on all sides was thick forest.
As all three of them snapped pictures, they commented.
"That fence is electrified, " Fullmer offered.
"And ten to one there's a warning grid in the ground
inside it," Tommaso added. "See the way the walking
guards stay about twenty feet inside the fence on their pa-
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NICK CARTER
Carter nodded. "Lola will be able to take care of that.
It's the television cameras that may give us a problem."
When each of them had taken a full roll of film, they set
aside their cameras and brought high-powered glasses into
play.
"It's good there's only one entrance besides the main
one in front," Tommaso said. "If we plug that, and cover
the river, no one can slip through us."
Carter spent another twenty minutes covering everything
with the Beyond the walls of the house, the
fields stretched a deep green in the setting sun. On either
side there were magnificent gardens, and straight ahead,
below the villa, the Rhöne River. A huge grillwork gate
that barred the single entrance had been opened and a truck
moved out slowly with a load of clippings from the garden.
They had been working on those gardens all afternoon.
"The grounds staff will go home for the night. That
leaves twenty household staff, give or take a couple. Gabin,
have you got the guards?"
S' Two on the front gates, one on the river, and two on
the roof. Add the four rovers on the fence, that makes nine.
Figure three shifts, that makes twenty-seven. "
"Jesus," Tommaso groaned, "a bloody army."
Carter smiled. "I never said it would be easy. Gabin,
what about the television and alarm monitor room?"
"Well, we've seen the shift change. My guess is the
off-duty crew probably doubles in three two-man teams,
•three hours each."
"A good guess," Carter said. "Once we're in, we'll
have to hit the main house from top to bottom at the same
time, to get all the guests cornered before they catch on
they're being hit."
"How many guests do you figure?" Fullmer asked.
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INVITATION TO DEATH
"About a hundred and fifty."
139
"And how do we get on the roof?" asked Tommaso.
"Fly?" He took a drink of wine and scratched his
"No way to climb up there from the outside," Fullmer
said, studying the chateau. "No way that could be depended
on. "
"The roof men," Carter explained, "can approach
through the gardens; and use a grappling hook and rope
ladder for the roof. "
"How about the guests?" Tommaso asked. "We herd
them all into one room?"
"Usually the gambling takes place on the third floor,
with the ground and second floor given over to dancihg and
eating. And the bedroom floors are used by the guests for
their indiscretions. ' '
"Is that what they call it in international society?" Fullmer
asked dryly.
"That's it," Carter chuckled. "The fifth floor is Char-
mont's private domain. That will be the toughest nut to
crack. I'll explain that later."
Again he peered through the glasses.
"Two men coming down from the hill will take care of
the chauffeurs, and then move on toward the main gate and
take care of the guards inside the walls. River men will cut
the main telephone wires' '—Fullmer made a note of it—
"and converge in time with the front-gate men, while roof
men strip the upper floors and we meet on the third floor,
or wherever the gambling rooms are. "
Tommaso looked at him. "You still haven't said what
we do with the guests."
"Everybody is brought into the house."
"That could prove difficult," Fullmer said.
"Get them all together," Carter replied. "That's neces-
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sary. You never know which one might be carrying the
family fortune, or wearing her grandmother's precious dia-
mond necklace. "
Carter removed the binoculars from his eyes and lit a
cigarette. ' 'All right, Gabin, sing it back to me."
Fullmer recited his notes. Night was falling when he
finished.
u 'Okay. Gabin, you get back to Avignon and gather
everything and everybody. You know where to plant the
equipment. Make sure everybody goes over the frontier
separately. Tommaso and I will meet you in Burguete tomor-
row night."
"Right. "
Carter turned to Salvati, "Tommaso, let's go meet your
man in Marseilles."
At two in the morning much of Marseilles was quiet. The
so-called "black hole of the Mediterranean" was still rau-
cous near the port, but the inner city slept.
Carter and Tommaso walked from the train station through
twisting alleys, often doubling back on themselves. They
changed cabs three times.
' 'Scusi, signore, " Tommaso said, "but you are acting
like a man who thinks he is being followed."
"Cautious, Tommaso, just cautious. "
Actually, Carter had not seen a tail all day, but he couldn't
shake the feeling that one was there.
On Boulevard Garibaldi, they caught a fourth cab and
Tommaso gave the driver an address in the port section.
They left the main Streets of the city and entered the
harbor area. The streets were dark and the blank brick walls
of the monotonous rows of warehouses on either side echoed
to the stuttering exhaust of the cab. They rounded a corner
and ahead was the weak light of an all-night café. In the
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distance Carter could the outlines of the ships riding
anchor on mooring buoys, waiting to get alongside the piers
inside the seawall.
There was no moon and it was very dark.
Carter paid the driver and they went inside. The café was
a dungeon of dirty whitewashed walls,- a galvanized iron
bar, and wire tables and chairs.There were no women and
every chair was filled.
The bartender looked up from pouring a glass of wine
and gave them a flat, level appraisal. He was a tough, with
remote eyes and deliberate movements, His voice, when he
spoke to them, was tired and uninterested. "Bon soir."
"Hello, Pipi," Tommaso said, and waved Carter to stay
behind while he disappeared through a back door. The bar-
tender leaned his fleshy arms on the dirty iron bar and
seemingly. forgot Carter was there as he explored his right
ear with a dirty finger. A few minuteS later the back door
opened and a short dark man near fifty, with a heavy, re-
cently shaved black beard walked toward Carter, with Salvati
behind him.
"This is Porto, ' ' Tommaso said, and moved to one side.
"You are Grottman0"
"I am," Carter said, and handed the other man his
passport.
Porto Lazzoni was several inches under six feet, broad
through the chest, with sloping shoulders. His features were
blank and never changed.
He eyed the passport and handed it back to Carter. ' 'We
can talk in the back."
They passed down a long hallway with rooms on both
sides. The end door led into a kitchen., As they passed
through it, Carter was struck with the incongruity. Unlike
everything else in the café, the kitchen itself was gleaming
white, immaculate, and equipped with the very latest in
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NICK CARTER
appliances. An eight-burner stove stood along one wall, a
washing machine and dryer, and at the far end, an ironer.
A huge restaurant-sized refrigerator covered most of the
other wall. A porcelain table was in the middle, its top
spotlessly clean.
Porto walked directly to the refrigerator, opened it, and
began rummaging around. They were soon settled back with
a hunk of cheese and bottles of wine.
"Tommaso says you want three people to be guests on
my boat for a while."
Carter nodded. "Twenty•four hours will be long
enough. "
"One hundred thousand francs."
"Sixty," Carter countered, chewing the cheese.
"Eighty."
"Seventy."
Porto seemed to think for a moment, and then shouted,
The door opened and a young man of about twenty-five
stepped inside. He was tall and thin with delicate bones.
He leaned against the door and held the knob behind him.
He stared at Carter with black, insolent eyes.
"This is my panner, Julio," Porto said. "What do you
think, Julio?"
"Three, you say?"
Carter nodded. "A driver and a man and a woman."
"Any chance we may have to kill them?"
"Not unless you fuck up and let them see your faces. "
The two partners exchanged ICX)ks and nodded. "Seventy-
five," Porto announced, "and we will feed them while they
are in our care."
"Done," Carter said. From his valise he counted out
seventy-five thousand francs. He then spread out a map,
Julio pushed away from the door and walked softly toward
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Carter. He stood very close, leaning one hand on the table,
the other close to a knife at his belt.
"You carry much money, signore. What is to stop us
from just taking all your money and dropping you in the
harbor? It is done often."
Carter matched his smile. "You want to try it?"
The tension lasted a full minute before Porto reached for
the wine bottle and spoke. "Come, come, we are
businessmen here. Julio, sit down. Don't be greedy."
Reluctantly Julio took the fourth seat at the table and
Carter leaned over the map.
"They will be coming over from Spain on the morning
of the thirteenth, a Saturday. It will probably be midmorning,
but you'd better be out early watching for them. "
"Where?" Porto asked.
' 'At Port-Bou, here. You'll have to take them before they
reach Perpignan. How and where is up to you. They will
be in a gray Rolls-Royce. The license number is here in the
margin of the map. Burn the map when you're set."
Porto and Julio studied the map. "We can bring them
aboard here, south of Canet-PIage," Julio said.
Porto nodded. "And Marcus can hide the Rolls until we
release them."
They both looked up at Carter and nodded.
"This number is for a highway call box just outside Mar-
seilles. Call just as soon as you have them."
"Just one thing, signore," Julio said. "Who are these
people?'
"The matador Manolo, his miStress, and their driver. "
"Damn," Julio hissed, *'it should be worth more
money !
Carter smiled and counted out another twenty-five thou-
sand francs.
"It is. Let's go, Tommaso."
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Carter and Tommaso bused from Marseilles to Perpignon
and took the train across the border and down to Barcelona.
There, Carter made reservations for them on three flights
and purchased tickets. The flights were to Madrid, Malaga,
and Pamplona, and they all left at approximately the same
time.
When, at the last moment, they ran for the Pamplona
flight, Carter spotted the man spotting them.
René Charmont was rich and powerful , but he didn't have
an organization so big that he could cover every airport in
Europe.
No, Carter thought, an organization far bigger than Char-
mont's was tracking his progress. And he was pretty sure
he knew who it was.
At Pamplona, they hired a car and a driver. It was dark
by the time they drove north toward Burguete and the
Pyrenees. The moon rose, large and bright, and the coun-
tryside slipped by, bright silver mingled with black and
silent shadows. Hills rose up against the sky, not sharp, but
rounded like a woman's body, thrusting up gently from the
earth. grew cold and no lights showed as the car Sied
along and only rarely did they pass another vehicle.
There were no lights following them. This told Carter
that even though their arrival in Pamplona had been noted,
there was no attempt to follow them further.
That meant that his watchers already knew where he was
going.
It was well after midnight when they amved, pulling off
the road onto a bumpy and narrow dirt path that led twist-
ingly, between tall trees, to a massive stone house high on
a hillside. A hound barked somewhere behind the house
and was answered by another.
Stiff, Carter climbed from the car, looking around at the
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darkness, A light gleamed faintly through a deep-set window
that was more like an embrasure in a fort. A heavy wooden
door, massive, like the house, was pushed open and two
people emerged, Lola and their host, Regis Caylin.
Carter paid, dismissed the car, and*mounted the steps
with Tommaso close behind. Lola introduced them to Caylin
and they entered the huge old house.
Carter could see that the walls were almost two feet thick
and that the door was covered with elaborate ironwork that
must have dated back hundreds of years. Everything about
the house at once impressed him with its age and its sense
of permanence. Its very massiveness gave it the feeling of
being rooted in the soil on which it stood, immovable,
belonging there as much as the hills themselves. Inside, the
ceiling was high, very high, with -huge ancient wooden
beams thrust across it. To hisright he could see the flickering
light of a wood fire and he went directly to it.
Everyone else was there, all gathered around a large table
piled with cold meats, cheeses, and wine.
Carter looked around the room. This was the first time
they had all been together. They looked at him expectantly,
and he knew that now was the time to spell out his complete
authority.
"From this moment on, everything I say is gospel. I give
an order, you take it, no questions asked. First thing in the
morning, we'll unpack the gear and start to train."
"Train?" Arturo Salvati cried. 1"You mean, like sol-
"Close. For tonight, Gabin, break out the walkie-talkies.
Make sure everyone knows how they work. Carry them
with you all the time, Caylin, since you know the place,
you stand first watch.' Everybody stands guard, four on,
twenty off. Where's a good place?"
"The top floor of the grain building would make a perfect
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NICK CARTER
spot. It's high and you can see everything."
"Good. Graba walkie and get going. The rest of you
get some sleep. You're going to need it."
One by one they moved off. Lola came close to Carter.
"We have the first-floor bedroom in the rear."
"Go ahead and turn in. I'm going to have a look around
outside."
Outside, it was crisp and getting colder. Carter stood until
he could make out the objects in the yard before walking
toward the grain building. Suddenly he stood stock-still, his
, senses on full alert.
He thought he had heard it when he steppedsoutside, but
it wasn't until he got his foot on the step that he knew. A
car, possibly on the main road. He hurried up the stairs to
find Caylin crouched before one of the peepholes in the
wood-battened windows.
"Is it turning into our road?" Carter asked.
"Gone on past." Caylin shook his head.
"Did it stop at all . .
. or even slow down?"
"I don't think so. It was going pretty steady."
"Someonecould havejumped from a moving ear, " Carter
growled, straining his eyes in the darkness. "Better be care-
ful , . . and •varn Arturo when he relieves you."
Caylin straightened up. "Who knows we're here?"
"Let's hope nobody," Carter replied, knowing it wasn't
true. "Lola will take the first watch in the morning after
Arturo. ' '
'Right. "
Carter started for the stairs, then stopped, turning to face
the other man. S 'Caylin, I'm curious about something. What
made you agree to this? I hear you're loaded. "
The other man smiled. "I am. But I'm also bored,"
Shaking his head, Carter descended the stairs and returned
to the main house. The bedroom was bathed in moonlight.
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He partially closed the drapes and undressed. Lola moved
close to him when he crawled into the bed.
"There's something wrong, isn 't there, ' ' she whispered.
"Yeah," he growled. "You wouldn't be playing footsie
with your old buddies from Moscow, would you?"
Her body stiffened against him. "Would you believe me
if I told you no?"
"PII believe you."
"I'm not."
"Good. I'd really hate to have to kill you after all we've
come to mean to each other."
"Bastard."
"Bitch."
Silence.
' 'Nick .
"Yeah."
"Remember, I knowwho you are and what you do."
"All of us,- including little old larcenous me, are going
in there for the loot. Want to tell me what the hell you're
going in for?"
"You think you really want to know?"
She took a long time to answer.
"Want to make love?"
"No," he said, "go to sleep."
She went to work with her talented hands. He managed
to hold out a whole minute.
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Carter had only three days to acquaint them with every
aspect of the raid and drill them into an organized unit.
With this crew he was pretty sure he could do it.
Immediately after breakfastthe following morning, the
packs that had been brought over the mountains by Fullmer,
Arturo, and Caylin were unloaded.
Gabin Fullmer had done an excellent job. There were
wire cutters, heavy leather gloves and skintight silk ones.
Pencil flashlights with spare bulbs and batteries; several
spools of medical tape, industrial tape, and four hundred
feet of seven-hundred-pound test nylon rope with fourteen-
inch-spread grappling hooks. There were tubes of black
theatrical makeup and black Basque-type berets that could
be pulled low over the forehead.
In the smaller packs there were wristwatches with sweep-
second hands in large faces, black cloth to be made into
handkerchief masks, flat steel jimmy tools and tiny capsules
of explosive plastique.
Most important of all, there were the short-range stun
guns and sawed-off shotguns. Carter explained as he rationed
out the equipment.
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NICK CARTER
"Anybody uses one of the shotguns to shoot up anything
but the chåteau for fear purposes, I put a bullet of my own
into. I dodn't mind the Süreté coming after us for robbery,
but murder is stupid. Anybody looks too hard to control—in-
cluding the guards—use the stun guns."
He got no argument.
When black sneakers and heavy blue coveralls were
passed out and everyone was suited up, he took them outside.
They started with light exercises and worked up to a long
run before they broke for lunch. After eating, they set up
the exterior of the grain building as the target. Then, using
the grappling tools, the rope ladders, and everything that
would be applicable, they went through the first phase step
by step.
When it was time for the evening meal, everyone was
dead tired but morale was high.
Over coffee and brandy that night, Carter doled out the
particular jobs that they seemed best suited for from the
day's exercises.
' 'Lola and Paco will already be in, posing as Manolo and
his mistress. Arturo will come in via the river in the yet
suit. 'Vie river guard and the perimeter guards are his respon-
sibility. Gabin and myself will go over the fence, here,
where it's dark. We'll get the two on the roof. Tommaso,
when you see our signal, you wander down to the main gate
and take care of the guards there, You'll already be on the
grounds as Manolo's chauffeur. "
"What about the electric fence, the grid, and the
cameras
'That'S Lola and Paco's job. I'll get to it. When the perim-
eter is secure, everyone on the grounds will get the off-duty
guards. They'll be in this building. Herd them into the wine
cellar. There's only one door and no windows. Once that I
door is locked, they are in there for the duration."
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"And that's when you start herding the guests inside from
the pool?" Lola asked.
"Right," Carter said, nodding. "If we're quiet and fast,
they won't know anything is happening until it's late.
Everyone is shuffled to the third floor where we can watch
them. Any other questions?"
"Only one," said Caylin. "How do we get out?"
"Later," Carter replied, "You'll get that the last night
before we shove off. Right now you all have enough to
think about. Everybody but Paco and Lola get some sleep. "
The others left, and Carter laid out the interior floor plan
of the chåteau. He went over every inch of the first four
floors with both of them.
"You'll plant ten charges at the places I've marked. I'll
have the radio on the roof to arm the detonators when the
time comes. "
-S 'How powerful are they?" Lola asked.
"More noise and smoke than anything else, but they will
be a good diversion, and the way they are placed the guests
will be forced to move toward the third floor. NOW, Paco,
this is important. The alarm system is here, in this basement
room. At exactly midnight, you must be in that room. Gabin
will show you what wires to cut in order to de-electrify the
fence and the grid. Got that0"
"Directly above the basement room, on the first floor,-
here, is the television monitoring roomerwo men. You'll
have only a minute to get up there after we start in. Those
two men will see us on their monitors. When they realize
the alarm is out, they'll bust out of that room to sound it
by shouting. Your job is to stop them. Everything clear?' '
"Sit " the young Spaniard said, his face breaking into a
leering grin. "You have said nothing about the fifth floor.
Could it be that on the fifth is where the real loot is and
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NICK CARTER
you are saving it for yourself?"
"The fifth floor is my business, Paco. You'll get all you
can spend off the third floor. You've got the eight-to-mid-
night watch. Move!"
Torres glared and grumbled a little, but he picked up his
walkie and left. Carter poured himself a brandy.
"Nick .
"Shhh," Carter said. "Rolf, remember?"
"Okay, Rolf, baby," she said, riffling through the plans
on the table. "Paco's right. There's no floor plan to the
fifth floor."
"Yes, there is," Carter said, patting his breast pocket,
' 'right here. Let's go into the bedroom. It's time you learned
what's going on."
She followed him into the bedroom, where he turned on
a lamp and spread the floor plan of the fifth story out on
the bed.
'The entire floor is René Charmont's inner sanctum. The
small elevator in the house runs only to the fourth floor.
The stairway leading up to the fifth floor is protected 'top
and bottom by electrically operated veneer-sheathed doors.
On the fifth floor itself, the doors are compartmentalized
by similar steel-lined doors."
' 'It's a bloody fortress!"
"The chateau is a fortress," Carter replied. "The fifth
floor is a fortress inside a fortress. When all hell starts, my
guess is that Charmont, his mistress, and one of the female
guests will go like hell for the fifth floor. I want you at the
bottom of those stairs waiting for them. If they get in there
and shut those doors, I'll never get to them."
Lola's eyes narrowed and she got that little catlike grin
he knew so well, the one that showed her eyeteeth.
"What's on that fifth floor that you set this Whole bloody
caper up for?"
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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He told her, and added, "That's what I want. What's up
there for you is a bearer certificate for ten million Swiss-
francs in gold. Are you in?"
"Like I say, mate, I'm yer girl. Who's the bird going up
with Charmont and the mistress?"-
"Bella Arksanova. She's the wife of the Paris rezident,
and a KGB major."
"Well now, luv, that kind of explains the whole tickle,
Carter smiled. "I love it when you talk dirty. You'd
better get some sleep. You have to relieve Paco at midnight. ' '
"Nick, Nick, wake up!"
He came awake slowly from a deep slumber. Had it been
anyone but Lola he would have been alert immediately, but
the second he heard her voice he fought wakefulness,
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Our boy, Paco. He got a case of the hots and took off
for the village on one of the bicycles."
Carter sat up instantly. "What?"
"He made some moves on me toward the shift change.
When I politely told him to go play with himself, he took
off."
'All right, crawl in and get some extra sack time yourself.
I'll take the rest of your watch."
"You mean you're not going after him?"
"No use," the Killmaster replied. "Whatever damage
he's done is done by now."
He dressed, grabbed himself a cup of coffee from the
always-going pot in the kitchen, and headed for the granary.
Tommaso arrived just before four, at the normal end of
Lola's watch, and was surprised to find Carter there. The
Killmaster explained, and both men settled down in gloomy
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NICK CARTER
silence to wait for their horny colleague.
"What will you do, Signore Rolf?"
"Teach him some manners."
"Me, I would kill him."
"Me," Carter said, "I would like to, but we need him
too much. "
Paco Torres rode into the compound just at first light.
He dropped the bicycle carelessly and, whistling, walked
toward the main house. Carter met him halfway.
"You won't learn, will you, Paco," he growled.
The young man shrugged. "I am not cut out to be a
soldier. Don't worry, there was no problem."
"I'll shoot you between the eyes if you step out of line
once 'more," Carter said with restraint, but not enough tc
keep his voice from quivering.
Torres's lips curled. He went for a knife at his belt. Carter
chopped his wrist. The knife dropped to the ground. Carter
brought up a right hand and caught him behind the ear.
The Killmaster moved in, but he didn't count on the other
man's skills as a matador. Torres feinted and got an elbow
in Carter's throat. The Killmaster staggered back, gasping
for breath.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see that the others
had drifted from the main house. They stood now, silently
watching.
Torres danced in slowly, sure of himself. His eyes were
steady, his face showing nothing.
Carter waited until he was close, and made his own move
when Torres swung. Carter grabbed the outstretched arm
and twisted it with every ounce of strength he had. He got
it behind Torres and pulled upward on it. Then he chopped
the Spaniard on the neck with his free hand and Torres went
down, face first, •into the dirt.
He got up quickly, choking for breath, his face full of
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mud, and made a lunge. Carter brought his knee up quickly
and caught him in the pit of the stomach and, when he
slumped over, chopped him on the neck again.
He lunged at Caner from a sitting position. The Killmaster
sidestepped and let him fall headlong into the grass and
mud, straddled him quickly, and rapped him a half-dozen
times on the neck. Paco turned blue and began to struggle
for breath, then slumped out cold.
Carter turned to the others. "Drag him inside and clean
him up. We get back to work in an hour."
All that day he worked them hard, Torres especially. By
nightfall, all of them were too dead tired to think about
anything but bed . . . alone.
The next day was no-easier. That night Carter went over
the escape plan, detail by detail, and had each one parrot
back his part in it.
"Paco, after you've nailed the two in the television
monitor room/ get to the parking area. I want every car
except our Bentley and one other out of commission. Is that
understood?"
"Tommaso, the Bentley is in place?"
"It is in the parking lot of the bank in Pau."
' 'We'll drop you. Lola, and Paco off there. Paco, does
the suit-of-lights costume fit you?"
"Tight, but, yes, it fits."
"Gabin, the cars you rigged in Avignon . .
they are
Fullmer nodded. "They areoin a deserted barn outside
the village of De Flores. It's about four miles from the
frontier over the mountains."
Carter smiled. ' 'That means we have a twenty-seven-mile
stroll tomorrow. We leave at first light. I suggest everyone
get a good night's rest."
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SIXTEEN
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It was a cold, clear, crisp night with a big moon hanging
above the Chåteau Charmont. Its light created a kaleidoscope
of shadows over the house and gardens.
From his position on the hill nearly a mile away, Carter
noted the arrival of every car. He counted the number of
people, and noted if there was a chauffeur.
All had gone well during the crossing, They had picked
up the two cars—a Citroen and a large Renault—and driven
on to Pau. There, Lola and Paco and Tommaso had gone
their own way in the Bentley.
In the Citroen and Renault, they had driven hard all day
and hidden the cars again in Montpellier. From there they
had taken buses and the train on into Arles, as if they were
mountain hikers returning from a Pyrenees vacation.
Separately , they had hiked from Arles to the hillside where
they had rejoined at dusk.
The only remaining part of phase one was the kidnapping
of Manolo, which would trigger the phone call that would
send the Bentley on its way. It was nearly eight o'clock and
it had not yet arrived.
"Three got out of that last one," Arturo reported softly
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NICK CARTER
to Fullmer. He lowered the binoculars. "One woman, two
men."
"Chauffeur?" Fullmer asked, marking down the count.
"Just one, " replied Arturo, and studied the house again.
"What's the count?" Carter asked Fullmer.
"Thirty-eight men, forty-seven women."
"There will be many more than that. Twice that many
at least," Carter said,
"Only ten chauffeurs so far. Most of them are driving
their own cars. "
"Jesus," Caylin suddenly breathed. "An Arab and four
flunkies in the sweetest-looking Rolls I ever saw!"
' 'Those are the bodyguards," Fullmer said. S 'Check what
they are wearing so we can check them out later. "
"The big guy's in those funny white Arab robes, the
others are in tuxedos," Caylin replied, eyes on the gate,
looking through the binoculars.
"That car will be bulletproof, if I know my Arabs,"
Carter growled. "I suggest we use that one to make our
getaway from the villa."
"Arturo," Fullmer hissed, "make a note where they park
it."
It went on like that, cars arriving every few minutes, until
the asphalt parking area and much of the lawn down to the
river was heavy with cars. Eventually they were using even
the open area between the woods and outside the fence.
In the villa garden, the mass of people were milling around
the tables, and it wasn't too difficult to single out the guards
by their stiff posture and slow, deliberate movements around
the buffet tables. Music from two orchestras filtered up,
and the laughter and the tinkle of glasses caressed the night
and complemented the music. For a half hour after ten there
had been no new arrivals.
And then Arturo piped up from the far left. "They're
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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here. Tommaso just let Lola and Paco out in the front, and
now he's parking the Bentley."
Carter sighed with relief and checked his watch.
It was nearly 10:40.
The first—and worst—part for Lola and Torres was being
greeted by the host, René Charmont. They both passed with
flying colors and moved to the center of the party in the
great room on the second floor.
There were about seventy-five people in the wildest cos-
tumes imaginable milling and sipping cocktails. Even so,
Torres in his suit of lights stood out. As Manolo, his costume
wasn't part of the masquerade and he drew a crowd at once
who knew he would be in attendance.
Torres was obviously nervous. "Easy," Lola whispered,
squeezing his elbow. "Just be your usual conceited, egotis-
tical self."
There were few Spaniards in the group. Most of the men
had grown fat with age and wealth, and the women were
fair-haired and light-skinned no matter what their age.
Torres shook hands with the men and bowed galantly to
the women as either Solange or Charmont introduced him.
Lola, as befitted her station, was ignored, which suited her
just fine.
"Bloody awful sport, " said one oafish man who trickled
champagne down an astronaut's suit when he drank.
A plump middle-aged woman dressed as Madame de Pom-
padour brazenly ran her hand along Torres's thigh. "How
in the world do you get into those?" she asked in terribly
pronounced Spanish.
Torres stared insolently at her heavily embroidered gown,
which was cut to reveal masses of powdered flesh. She wore
pendant earrings of diamonds and enormous emerald rings
on both her hands. As his eyes went from one adornment
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to another his grin grew wider.
"The same way we get out of them, sefiora. With help, "
The woman giggled and Torres guided her toward the
stairs.
Lola shook her head, The matador in his stolen suit of
lights was starting early. But there was nothing she could
do about it.
She evaded several interested men and drifted out to the
flower-bedecked enclosure over the pool. By the time she
had come back in, she had placed six of the small plastique
charges. She planted two more on the first floor, and the
final three on the second. By the time she reached the mas-
Sive great room on the third floor where the gambling tables
had been set up, it was after eleven o'clock.
Carter raised the walkie to his lips and depressed the
button. "Arturo, are you set?"
"Si, right on the edge of the river."
"I am directly opposite you, ready to go."
' 'Prepare yourselves to move in,' ' Carter said, and turned
to Fullmer. "Ready?"
"All set."
"Berets andnasks," Carter said.
They slipped on the berets and pulled them low over the
black makeup they had applied to their faces earlier. Then
they tied the masks and slipped on the thin gloves. Fullmer
carried the nylon rope ladder slung in even coils over his
shoulder. Carter slung the lines with the rubber-tipped grap-
pling hooks over his shoulder. Both of them carried shot-
guns.
Again Carter raised the walkie. "Synchronize watches ...
on the mark it will be exactly eleven-forty." He watched
the second hand climb around to the top of the face. ' 'Mark ! ' '
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Somewhere in the night, Arturo slipped into the river.
On a hill nearly a mile and a half away, Caylin would be
moving down through the trees toward his part of the fence.
Inside the compound, Tommaso would be setting the rest
of the chauffeurs up in the servants quarters.
Carter and Fullmer went down their own hill, jogging in
the darkness. When they reached the woods adjacent to the
property they slowed. Emerging from the trees, they moved
between the cars parked outside the fence.
' 'Here, " Carter said, dropping to the ground twenty yards
from the fence.
It was five minutes before midnight.
There was a burly guard at the bottom of the stairs in an
ill-fitting tuxedo. Lola had already tried to lure him from
his with her eyes and her swaying body. He would
have none of it.
Traffic in the hall was light. She moved down to the
nearest bedroom where she could watch the guard and the
stairs, and darted inside.
An obese man dressed in a ridiculous harlequin costume
snored loudly on the bed. He reeked of wine.
Lola shook him. When there was no response, she patted
him down until she found his wallet. It contained twenty
thousand francs. She pushed the largest of the bills into her
bodice, slipped a diamond ring from his little finger into
her pocket, and, humming, moved back to the door to watch
and wait.
Torres's body was bathed insweat and his hands were
shaking as he worked the two picks into the locks. There
were few locks in the world he couldn't master, but this
one was proving troublesome.
Finally the last tumbler clicked open and he was in the
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room. Quickly he pulled open the massive panel of the
alarm system and frantically searched through the maze of
wires. At last he found the three Fullmer had told him about,
and jammed the cutters into the panel..
"Shit!" he hissed.
had cut one of the power-feeder lines as well as the
three to the main alarm. It dangled, spitting sparks each
time it hit the steel casing.
He cursed again, then drew the stun gun from beneath
the red sash at his waist and rushed up the stairs.
It was midnight.
As Carter and Fullmer crouched, watching, the dock lights
at the river went out. A second later the rear terrace and
the lights in the pool enclosure dimmed and then they too
went out.
"The ass!" Fullmer cursed. "He's cut one of the power
feeds and it's shorting!"
"Nothing we can do about it," Carter said. "Let's go,"
In seconds they were over the fence and running toward
the house, Halfway there, they passed Tommaso running
toward the front.
' 'The help is bottled up," he whispered as he wenéby
them.
They ran through the last of the gardens to the side of
the chateau. Carter had the rope uncoiled and divided in his
hands the moment they stopped.
"Make it good," Fullmer hissed. "Someone is going to
be alerted the minute they find that cut line. "
Carter stepped back ten feet from the side of the villa,
exposing himself in the light from the gambling rooms, and
sent the hook singing around his head for momentum . .
and let fly.
For what seemed an eternity there, was silence and only
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NICK CARTER
room. Quickly he pulled open the massive panel of the
alarm system and frantically searched through the maze of
wires. At last he found the three Fullmer had told him about,
and jammed the cutters into the panel..
"Shit!" he hissed.
had cut one of the power-feeder lines as well as the
three to the main alarm. It dangled, spitting sparks each
time it hit the steel casing.
He cursed again, then drew the stun gun from beneath
the red sash at his waist and rushed up the stairs.
It was midnight.
As Carter and Fullmer crouched, watching, the dock lights
at the river went out. A second later the rear terrace and
the lights in the pool enclosure dimmed and then they too
went out.
"The ass!" Fullmer cursed. "He's cut one of the power
feeds and it's shorting!"
"Nothing we can do about it," Carter said. "Let's go,"
In seconds they were over the fence and running toward
the house, Halfway there, they passed Tommaso running
toward the front.
' 'The help is bottled up," he whispered as he wenéby
them.
They ran through the last of the gardens to the side of
the chateau. Carter had the rope uncoiled and divided in his
hands the moment they stopped.
"Make it good," Fullmer hissed. "Someone is going to
be alerted the minute they find that cut line. "
Carter stepped back ten feet from the side of the villa,
exposing himself in the light from the gambling rooms, and
sent the hook singing around his head for momentum . .
and let fly.
For what seemed an eternity there, was silence and only
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INVITATION TO DEATH
163
the whispering of the nylon cord uncoiling at his feet. Then
a distant thump. Carter swung his weight on it.
It held.
Silently, they began scrambling up the thin ladder. Full-
mer's added weight tightened the ladder and made it easy
to climb.
On the roof, they hauled the line to the top. Incredibly,
Carter had heaved the grappler into the chimney, which he
saw was the only place it could have gotten a hold on the
slate roof.
They could hear footsteps to their left. Just as they turned,
the two roof guards came around the corner of the chimney.
Before Carter could even raise his own stun gun, Fullmer's
had nailed both of them.
"Well, well," Carter said.
Fullmer chuckled. "The Prussian eye. "
Carter went to the walkievOfÅrturo?"
'I saw you go up. am alone here, five guards,poof. ' '
"Good," Carter whispered. "Close and lock the side
gates. Caylin?"
"I'm at the guards' quarters. I'll wait for Arturo and take
them. "
'Check," Carter said. "Gabin, let's find the trapdoor!"
Torres threw the snap lock on the inside of the television
room and, with one last look at the two unconscious men
on the floor, slammed the door shut.
He sprinted back toward the front of the villa and almost
ran into two men in tuxedos.
"I am sorry, monsieur, no one is allowed—"
That was all he got out. Torres zapped him and got the
other one just as he was pulling a Beretta automatic from
under his coat.
Torres stuffed the Beretta into his sash and ran on,
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In the rear corner overlooking the garden, Carter and
Fullmer found what they were looking for. It was locked
from the inside, but with the flat steel jimmy tools, they
pried it open. The door came up and Fullmer slipped inside
instantly, dangling his feet into the dark hole and disappear-
ing into the darkness. Carter slipped in after him, found the
ladder, and lowered the trap.
Carter's flash revealed a bare storage room with a few
trunks, dressmaking dummies, and dust a half-inch thick
covering forgotten oil paintings, The music and laughter
from inside the house were more distinct now.
They found a door and opened it slowly. Steps ip a dimly
lighted stairwayled downto a second door. They went
down carefully.
Fullmer eased the door open onto along, wide hall separat-
ing bedrooms. The music and the noise of the gambling
rooms hit them solidly now. They could hear the croupier's
call and the light click of dice and wheels.
"Down there, the stairs," Carter hissed. "I'll take this
end. "
In the one-piece coveralls, sneakers, black berets, blacki
makeup and mask, they like two grotesques padding,
down the hall. Fullmer passed a door just as it opened. An
enormous fat man stepped into the hall and immediately
began roaring with laughter.
"Bloody marvelous costumes!" he shouted.
Carter zapped him with a stun gun and pushed him back
into the bedroom.
In the shadows at the top of the stairs, one on each side,
they crouched in the darkness. Again Carter brought the
walkie to his lips.
"Regis, Arturo .
Caylin's voice came back. "We nailed only ten guards
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INVITATION TO DEATH
165
in their quarters. That means there will be a bloody lot of
them floating in the house."
"Can't be helped," Carter replied. "Both ofyou get set
at the pool and terrace exits. Tommaso?"
"Si. We now have two sleeping guards at the front gate,
and it is locked."
"Good," Carter growled. "You take the front door and
come in at the first charge. Regis, Arturo . . . you do the
"Check," came the reply from all three of them.
Carter checked his watch. "In ten seconds, we move."
Tensely, they waited, Carter glanced at Fullmer and
nodded. The other man stood up with a stun gun in his right
hand and the shotgun in his left, the butt balanced on his hip.
Carter did the same. "You go right to the center of the
room.. I'll take the bottom of the stairs. Use the shotgun
right away, to let them knowNtenean business."
"Check," Fullmer replied. "And good luck."
Carter hit the red button on the small 'send' ' unit attached
to his belt. Two seconds later the first charge went off
somewhere on the terrace. Almost at once the screaming
began.
"Here we go," Carter said into the walkie,mnd released
the button.
Together, they started down the stairs.
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SEVENTEEN
Carter had guessed almost perfectly. Seconds after the
first charge went off, René Charmont and the tall, beautiful
Solange rushed up the stairs from the fourth floor. Without
pausing for a breath, they ran toward the guard and the door
he protected.
Pulled along by Solange, almost reluctantly, was Bella
Arksanova.
"What is it, Monsieur Charmont?" the guard cried.
"A robbery," Charmont replied breathlessly, "a stupid
robbery! Close the doors behind us—
Before Charmont could finish his orders, Lola was in the
hall, running toward them, screaming her head off. Her
purse was draped over her shoulder, the stun gun hidden in
her right hand by the ruffles of her skirt.
"My God, we're going to be killed . . . we're all going
to be killed
The guard whirled, a 9mm Beretta in his hand. For a
second he was stunned by Lola?s hysterics.
It was just long enough. Lola triggered two jolts into his
b(O, sending him through the open door into the stairwell.
She halted four feet short of Charmont, with the gun covering
him and the two women.
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NICK CARTER
"Through the door and up the stairs," she said in a quiet,
modulated voice, "Any try for me and you get what he got,
in spades."
Solange was cool, almost defiant, but she moved. Char-
mont was visibly agitated as he followed his mistress, but
Lola could tell that his mind was working, slowly figuring
out the situation, She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw
a faint smile on the Russian woman's face.
Lola was just through the door when she felt a gun muzzle
bore into the small of her back. She turned her head just
far enough to Paco Torres out of the corner of her eye.
"So I was right, huh, partner? The real profit is on the
fifth floor."
"You ass. . . "
"Give me your gun. The automatic I have in your back
is real. It won't stun you, it will rip your spine apart."
Lola had no choice: She handed over the gun. They were
at the top of the stairs now.
' 'What is the procedure, partner? Lock the bottom door
and wait for your lover?"
Lola decided it was best to go along with him and let
Carter handle it. She nodded.
"You, rich French pig, close the bottom door!"
Charmont punched a sequence of numbers into a tele-
phone-type keyboard on the wall, and the door below them
closed with a whooshing sound.
"Now, in there, all of you, Sit where I can watch you! ' '
They did as they. were told.. Torres ejected the stun
mechanism from Lola's gun and tossed it into her lap. Then
he took a chair just inside the door.
"Now we will wait," he said, and added a satisfied
chuckle.
They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs before they
were spotted. A stout woman turned away from a small
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INVITATION TO DEATH
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knot of people and stared at Carter. She opened her mouth
to scream, but nothing came out.
Fullmer was halfway across the room before a few people
realized and started shouting. The others stood with quizzi-
cal, almost amused expressions, as ifthe two men with guns
and in outlandish terrorist costumes were part of the enter-
tainment.
The charges had all gone off by then, and their noise was
being replaced below by the booming roar of shotguns.
"This is a robbery!" Carter shouted. "Everyone against
the wall, men on this side, women over there!"
The group before Carter who had been hesitating now
understood. The scream finally erupted from the stout
woman's mouth and all hell broke loose.
Nearby, a guard in a tuxedo went for his gun. Carter
stunned him and he fell to the floor like a rock. The others
surged forward.
'Get back!' Carter shouted, and emphasized it by pump-
ing two rounds from the shotgun into the chandelier.
It worked like magic. The crowd in front of Carter parted,
the men one way, the women the other.
There was more gunfire from downstairs. Screams and
the sound of running feet filtered through the chatter in the
huge gambling room. Seconds later, people surged through
the side and end doors, their hands high in the air. Without
being toldthey separated by sex and joined the others in
the room.
The majority fell strangely silent, staring at Carter with
wide-eyed fascination.
"This is a robbery," he repeated. "We want cash and
jewelry. If there is any resistance, we will use these." He
waved the shotgun.
A tall, immaculately dressed man with gray hair and a
walrus mustache stepped from the crowd and strolled toward
Carter. "You wouldn't dare shoot .
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NICK CARTER
Carter stunned him and he toppled forward. Blood from
his nose ran across the floor, shocking the others into silence
and compliance.
"The chateau is surrounded. All the telephone lines are
cut, and the guards, chauffeurs, and other servants have
been locked away. Do as you're told and no one will get
hurt. "
"Line up!" Fullmer bawled from the other end of the
room. "Men to the right, women to the left. Move!"
Arturo, Tommaso, and Regis Caylin spilled into the room
behind the stragglers. All three smiled when they saw the
docile, glittering group,
Caylin trotted to Carter. "The outside is completely se-
cure."
"All right, let's get to work."
With Fullmer at one end of the room and Carter at the
other, the remaining three started down the lines with plastic
bags. When they were moving well, Fullmer opened his
own bag and scooped vast amounts of currency into it from
the gambling tables.
"Don't forget the drawers," Carter said.
"Got 'em," Fullmer replied.
Tommaso was approaching a tall, heavily bejeweled,
smoldering woman. Just as he stopped in front of her, she
ripped off her rings and the emerald necklace she wore and
thrust them down the front of her dress. She screamed an
oath at Tommaso and stared at him defiantly.
The stocky Italian reached out and caught the top of her
gown. With one hard yank he ripped it to the waist, exposing
her hard-tipped little breasts and flat belly.
The jewelry clattered to the floor and Tommaso scooped
the precious pieces into his bag.
By this time Fullmer had reached Carter's side. "Keep
it moving," the Killmaster murmured. "I'm going up and
see if Charmont's safe is bulging."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
171
Carter charged up the stairs and down the hall to the
paneled, steel door. He jabbed the button to the intercom
system and, when itbuzzed, spoke: "It's me,"
He waited ten seconds, and when nothing happened, he
punched the button again. "Open up, dammit!"
The door whooshed open and he charged up the stairs.
The moment he hit the elaborate, high-ceilinged office he
knew something was wrong. It was in Lola's eyes, the way
they seemed to stare right through him.
But he put it together a millisecond too late,
"Slowly, sefior, bend over and put the shotgun and the
stun gun on the floor. "
Carter froze. He started to turn, but stopped when the auto-
matic in Torres's hand roared and a slug tore into the carpet
an inch from his sneaker.
' 'Do as I say, sefior;or the nextone will be in your back. "
"You're a fool," Carter snarled.
"I do not think so, sefior. You and the puta are after the
big money. I think I will cut myself in for a slice of it."
Charmont piped up. ' 'There is a hundred thousand Amer-
ican dollars in my safe. Take it and go!"
"That will do for a start," Torres said, "The guns, Sefior
Boss."
"I'm warning you," Carter growled, "this is too big for
you."
s 'I spit on your warning. It is bullshit. Do as I say!"
Slowly, Carter leaned forward and gently placed both
guns on the carpet. As he moved, his eyes met Lola's and
blinked.
She came slowly off the chair so as not to alarm Torres,
only distract him. "All right, brave one, you win . . ' '
"Sit down, puta!" The Beretta wavered between her and
Carter.
"There is much money .
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Carter tensed his right forearm. The spring in Hugo's
chamois sheath activated and the hilt of the eight-inch stiletto
settled into his palm.
His movement was smooth, not fast, just even. He came
halfway up, turning at the same time,
Lola was still four steps away from Torres. There was
just enough room. The gun was coming back to Carter when
his arm whirled outward from his body.
The gun dropped to the floor when the blade hit Torres
in the neck. His hands came up to grip the hilt, but they
never got above his chest. He was dead before he hit the
floor.
Both Solange and Charmont dived for the des\qt Lola had
already retrieved the Beretta.
"Don't. "
They stopped as one.
"Where's the safe?" Carter growled.
Charmont went too willingly to a shelf near the bay win-
dow. He removed several books to reveal the safe.
Carter didn't expect to find anything, but he had to go
through the motions. "Open it!"
Charmont opened the safe and stepped aside. Carter rifled
it, pulling out letters and documents. There were two heavy
bundles of cash and a diamond ring the size of his thumb.
These he tossed on the desk. Lola promptly stuffed them
into the pockets of her skirt.
"Where are they?" Carter said.
"You have the money," Charmont said.
"The documents," Carter hissed. "The Brandeis docu-
ments you had hijacked from the courier in England. "
Charmont's jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide. "You
are intelligence. The robbery is a sham."
"Smart, " Carter said, slapping him a ringing blow across
the face. "Where are they?"
"Go to hell, monsieur."
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INVITATION TO DEATH
173
Carter punched him twice in the gut and he fell to the
floor, gasping. The Killmaster crossed to Torres's corpse
and pulled the stiletto free, He wiped it clean and returned
to Charmont. Gingerly, he put the razor-sharp point an inch
up Charmont's right nostril.
"When this goes into your brain, you'll never feel it. "
"False bottom in the safe .
. second combination,"
Charmont stuttered.
Again, Carter thought, too easyz "Open it."
The documents were there, all in order, neatly clipped in
the same Brandeis folder that had held them when they were
lifted.
Carter took them to the fireplace. One by one he wadded
them up and tossed them in. Then he lit the pile. As it
burned, he watched Charmont and the two women's faces.
Bella Arksanova suddenly looked like death. She hadn't
expected this.
Even more interesting was the look that passed between
Charmont and Solange. That told him a lot.
"So much for the originals. Now, Charmont, where are
the copies?"
"Copies .
He was a lousy liar and the sudden spark in Solange's
eyes told Carter that she was part of the deception. Carter
took the Beretta from Lola and pointed it at Charmont.
"The copies."
"I swear . .
Carter shot him between the eyes and turned to Solange.
He put the muzzle of the Beretta under her chin.
"Where?"
She didn't hesitate. "Microfilm, in his teeth. "
Carter slipped the double dentures from Charmont's sag-
ging mouth and placed them on the desk. Then he cracked
them with the butt of the Beretta. The back molars shattered,
revealing a pencil-thick twist of dark film.
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"Bastard son-of-a-whore!" Bella Arksanova hissed in
Russian. "He was going to sell them twice!"
"Kind of looks that way," Carter said, turning to face
her. "Where's the gold certificate?"
"What?"
"You had to bring it. Charmont was never going to get
it because your husband knew I was going to lift the docu-
ments before you could make the exchange. But you had
to bring it to show Charmont good faith."
She stood, tight-lipped and stoic.
It was Solange who told the tale. -"It is rolled into the
sash around her waist. "
"Stupid bitch!" Bella hissed.
Solange shrugged. "You were going to cheat us."
Carter unrolled the sash and passed the gold certificate
to Lola, who jammed it into her purse with a smile. He
picked up the stungun, pointed it at Solange, and put her
on the floor.
"Let's go."
' 'What about him?" Lola asked, nodding toward Torres's
body.
"He has no identification, and it will be at least twenty-
four hours before they can check his fingerprints."
Carter grasped Bella Arksanova's arm and pushed her in
front of him out of the room.
"What are you doing?" she cried.
"Taking you with us. You're going to play out this little
charade right down to the last scene."
The looting had been completed by the time they reached
the third floor.
"We're ready/' Caylin said.
Carter nodded. "We'll have to use the shotguns on the
tires of as many cars as possible.'"
"Torres?" Fullmer asked.
"Yeah," Carter said. "He got greedy."
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"Where is he?"
"He didn't make it. Let's go!"
175
They descended the stairs as a group. They were heading
toward the cars before it dawned on the others that they had
an extra passenger.
"Why the woman?" Tommaso asked.
"I decided we may need a hostage."
The upstairs rooms erupted into screams of hysteria when
the guests realized that their attackers were gone. This abated
a little when Carter and the others started shooting out the
tires on enough cars to bottle up pursuit.
Tommaso appeared with the Arab's Rolls. Arturo was
close behind them with the Bentley. They split up between
the cars, with Carter shoving Bella Arksanova into the Rolls
between himself and Lola.
In seconds the two cars were screaming past the chåteau.
"Slow down a little*' Cartereaid. "Don't forget, we
want them to spot the cars and the license plates. "
"Sit " Tommaso said, and almost idled the Rolls past the
white faces in the windows.
No one said a word as the cars swung through the gates
and speeded up.
"You know the route, Tommaso."
"Si, all back roads to Montpellier. "
Carter grunted and opened the bar in the Rolls. He took
a good pull from a bottle of expensive brandy and, smiling,
held it up to the Russian woman.
Her face was colorless in fear and her lower lip trembled
as she shook her head to decline.
On the other side of her, Lola was staring at the gold
certificate and muttering.
"Shit, oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit. .
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Outside Montpellier, they switched to the Citroén and
Renault. Both cars had been rigged with police and military
band radios. These they switched on as they dumped every-
thing that had been used in the robbery into the Bentley,
When the two big cars werewell hidden, they hit the-
road again. On the walkie, Carter instructed Caylin and
Fullmer in the back seat of the second car.
"Lola and I have our share from the safe. It's more than
enough. Split the cash into four equal shares and load your
money belts."
"Right," Caylin replied. "And Torres's share?"
"He has no share," Carter growled. "Split the jewelry
into four shares as well, and bag it. I'll explain about it
later. "
"Check."
They had cut east and were running parallel to the high
ranges of the Pyrenees that hid the tiny country of Andorra,
when the first bulletin came over the police radio.
The alert was for ten men. There was no mention of any
women. Paco Torres was listed as dead under the name of
the Spanish matador, Manolo. It was assumed that the
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thieves were escaping in a Bentley and a Rolls-Royce, and
were headed for the frontier crossing at Port-Bou on the
Mediterranean coast.
Carter smiled. They hadn't found the Bentley and the
Rolls yet, and the assumption was normal that they would
go out either by sea or over the frontier at Port-Bou. It was
the fastest exit route south from Arles.
So far, he thought, so good.
They hurtled on through the night, passing through sleep-
ing villages without any incident.
It was getting lighter as they approached the outskirts of
Laruns, where they would turn south and start climbing into
the Pyrenees. Tommaso slowed to drive through the narrow
streets. Here and there a light revealed an early riser, but
it would still be a good hour before the first light of dawn.
Then they were through and starting to climb.
A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, followed by
a distant roll of thunder. And almost at once, unannounced,
strong gusts of wind scooped up snow from the side of the
road, blasting the car.
It began to rain, slowly at first, the big heavy drops of
water splashing on the windshield. They were less than
twenty miles from the Spanish border when the storm broke
powerfully out of the east and threw itself violently onto
the road.
"This will turn to snow closer to the top, " Tommaso said.
"l know," Carter replied. S 'More speed. We'll take ad-
vantage of it."
"Anything you say,. signore," Tommaso chirped from
behind the wheel. "Hang on!"
They raced through the whiteness, slipping and sliding
on the narrow, dangerous roads.
Another bulletin chattered over the radio. They had found
the Bentley and the Rolls. It was assumed that the thieves
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were now trying to escape by sea, and all available boats
and planes. were combing the French coastline from Canet-
Plage south to the Spanish frontier.
"Caylin?" Carter barked into the walkie.
"Here."
"How far?"
"About four miles."
"And the cart road?"
About two hundred yards to your right, " Caylin replied.
"I see it," Tommaso said, and they swerved into the
rutted lane.
A mile later the snow was too deep for the cars.
"All right," Carter said, "this is it. From here we walk.
Break out the parkas and the snowshoes. "
"I will go no farther!" Bella Arksanova exclaimed.
"You'll go," Carter said, "or I'll you where you
sit. "
She climbed out of thé car.
Caylin led the way along a narrow cart track. The going
was slow. By Carter's watch it was nine o'clock, and they
had covered only a couple of miles.
The storm was reaching its peak. It was difficult to see
more than a few hundred yards ahead. The wind whistled
and drove the snow into their eyes and faces with stinging
ferocity. Carter didn't know how many times he fell to the
ground and pulled himself back up, only to be staggered by
the wind, Heavy black clouds raced across the sky and
seemed close enough to touch.
Full light and the sky was black. There was no way of
telling whether they had crossed the border. The rocks rose
around them in' an impossible barrier. Countless times they
passed along the trail beside dropoffs of more than a hundred
feet, and after that, the snow closed in and left the imagina-
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NICK CARTER
tion to dwell on what lurked below the impenetrable mists.
Suddenly they stopped and Caylin made his way back to
Carter.
"We are over the frontier now," he said. "Here the trail
splits. The right fork leads directly down to my ranch. It is
dangerous, ' '
' 'How far?"
"About twelve miles. It is the way I planned to go, but
I didn't count on the storm."
"What's to the left?"
"A small village, Contalet. There might be a car there
we could buy or rent to take us to the ranch. "
Carter stared directly into the other man's eyes. *"Regis,
we're not going to the ranch."
"What?"
s 'I have reason to believe that we will have a welcoming
party there. You may not be able to go back to your ranch
for several weeks, maybe never. "
Caylin stared at Carter for a long moment, and suddenly
shrugged, patting the money belt inside his parka around
his waist.
' 'The property is leased anyway, and I am due for a long
holiday. "
g 'Good man," Carter said. "How many trails over e
mountains in this area0"
"Four. These two, and two larger ones to the east."
"Tell the others to relax for a bit."
Carter grasped Bella Arksanova by the arm and drew her
away from the others.
"There are four trails here down the Spanish side of the
mountain. How many of those are being watched by your
men ?
She away without a word.
"l could take my chances and just strip you and leave
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INVITATION TO DEATH
you up here. You'd freeze in a half hour."
She still said nothing.
181
Carter sighed. "Anything for the cause, ehi Major? Give
your all for Mother Russia and have the Red Banner draped
over an empty grave?"
She turned and spit at Carter, but the wind carried it away.
The Killmaster took the film out of his pocket and held
it in front of her eyes. She reached for it, but he was quicker.
Shielding the flame of his cigarette lighter with their
bodies, he touched it to the strip. It sizzled, and in seconds
it had disintegrated.
"Now, Major, you have no cause to die for. What's it
to be?"
Her shoulders sagged and the fight went out of her. "There
is a team of ten men at Caylin's ranch. They are backup.
All four of the trails are covered."
"How many men?"
"I don't know for sure. I think six."
Carter left her and returned to Caylin. "We take the left
trail to Contalet. "
The trail dropped sharply, and about three hundred yards
below they could make out the cottages, small buildings,
and the spire of a church.
It was Contalet,
"Something's wrong," Caylin said. "It's noon. Even in
this storm there should be some activity."
"I've got a pretty good idea what it is," Carter said,
passing his Luger to Caylin. "Somewhere down there I'm
going to find some wheels. Lola has a Beretta. The two of
you cover me, and keep checking behind you."
"And if you get a car?"
"I'll drive it to the end of the village, there behind the
church. "
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"But what then?"
Carter smiled. "You'll see." He started away.
"Wait. .
"Yeah?"
"This is not the border police you fear, is it?"
"No, it isn't. But that's not up to you."
Carter took off in a zigzag pattern toward the village.
The truck was behind one of the cottages under a crum-
bling lean-to. It looked in decent shape with fair tires.
Carter darted a quick look around, then tEgan to slither
across the open area. But he never made it. A tall man in
a fur coat and hat stepped around the corner of the cottage
and leveled an automatic at him.
' 'Good afternoon, Carter. My name is Orlov. Please coop-
erate. My orders are to take the documents from you and
let you and your group proceed on your way."
Carter moved his hands out from his sides.
"I am not
armed. "
"That is good. Bodies are so messy. The documents
please. "
"Orlov, is it?"
"Yes."
"I don't have the film, Orlov."
"Please, please .
"But I do have Major Arksanova."
The surprise on his face was genuine. This new develop-
ment made his concentration stray just enough.
Carter jumped, got hold of the gun, and held on. It fired
wildly. The Killmaster butted Orlov with his head, catching
him on the chin. Orlov went down, the gun flying into the
snow.
Carter rushed him, swung an intentional wild right, and
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INVITATION TO DEATH
183
jerked back as Orlov tried to block it. He was open in the
stomach. Carter hit him as hard as he could. Orlov bent
over and landed in the snow, then sprang back up, lunging
at Carter. They went down together.
The Rusian had Carter around the throat, riding him with
his weight and forcing his face into the snow. No matter
what the Killmaster tried, he couldn't free himself and he
was having trouble breathing.
Suddenly the weight was gone. Carter rolled to his knees.
Orlov was staggering to his feet. Beside him, Lola stood,
a huge hunk of shattered wood in her hands. As Orlov
moved, she laid it across his back again, and it shattered
completely.
"We spotted him," she said. "l followed you."
"I can see. Where are his friends?"
"Guarding the road on the downside ofthe village ...
Orlov came off the ground like a roaring bull to plant his
shoulder in Lola's belly. She sailed, and the Russian scram-
bled in the snow for his gun.
It was obvious to Carter now that Orlov assumed he was
bluffing about his superior's wife. Carter ran at him and
kicked him in the face, Orlov went down and Carter kicked
him again.
The Russian turned and tried to crawl away, but Carter
ran alongside him, kicking him like a dog.
Orlov jumped up suddenly, and lunged, managing to get
his thumbs into Carter's throat.
The Killmaster jabbed both hands into the other man's
eyes, pushing with all his strength. Orlov released his grip,
and Carter tore free. At the same time, he lashed the Russian
in the face, jumped behind him, and locked his arms, lacing
his fingers in back of the other's neck.
It was the end.
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"Quit, Orlov," Carter hissed.
The Russian struggled, kicking backward with his right
leg.
Carter tightened his hold. Orlov stomped the ground and
tried to throw Carter off his back. The Killmaster hung on,
applying pressure. More and more pressure. He pulled back
hard, straightening his arms with the last of his strength.
Orlov's neck snapped.
His head fell forward loosely on his chest and he sagged
to the snow. His body quivered, his right leg twitched several
times, and then he lay still.
Carter sank to the ground, his breath coming in short,
desperate gasps. Lola's feet appeared at his side.
"You're all right, aren't you?"
"0h, hell, yes," Carter wheezed. "I'm Superman. See
if the keys are in that damn truck. "
He staggered to his feet and moved after her. Just as they
reached the truck, an old man emerged from the rear door
of the cottage.
"The keys are in the ignition," Lola said.
"Is this your truck, old man?" Carter said. The man
nodded. "We're buying it," he said, and turned to Lola.
"Pay him."
"Witb my money?" she squeaked,
"You bitch'. .
"All right, all right," she said, leaning out the opposite
window and shoving a wad ofbills into the old man's hand.
Carter started the truck and backed from the lean-to in a
swirl of snow.
The truck was behind the cathedral. Tommaso was in the
driver's seat revving the engine. Lola sat beside him. Arturo
and Regis Caylin were in the rear, behind the sideboards.
Gabin Fullmer was helping Carter lash Major Bella
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Arksanova across the grille, With each tightening knot to
her wrists and ankles, she spouted a new stream of curses
at them in Russian.
"Do you think this will work?"
"If it doesn't, she gets it first," Carter replied. "And
my guess is they won't want to answer to her husband for
that."
' 'That does it, ' ' Fullmer grunted, tightening the final knot.
' 'Okay," Carter said, "you get in the back. Those of
you with guns, don't use them unless they fire first and we
have to shoot our way through. " He climbed into the truck.
"Tommaso . . e"
"Go slow, very slow. If they don't move the barricade,
I tell you when to crash it."
The truck rolled slowly forward•
The tension was so thick it would have required a machete
to cut through it.
They couldn't see the KGB agents, but they could spot
the snouts of their guns poking from behind trees and over
fallen logs.
Tommaso inched the u•uck forward in its lowest gear.
About four hundred yards from the makeshift barricade
across the road, one of them fired a warning shot.
"Don't stop," Carter said. "Just keep going slow. They'll
recognize her soon."
"Maybe they won't give a damn," Lola said, her voice
quivering.
Carter shrugged.
At two hundred yards, they recognized the parka-clad
woman across lthe front of the truck. There were
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shouts back and forth across the road, and one man stood
full up to make sure.
"Keep going," Carter said.
At twenty yards from the barricade, Bella Arksanova
broke. She started screaming in Russian at the men in the
trees. Two of them dropped their rifles and ran into the road
waving their arms.
"Stop," Carter said, a sigh of relief in his voice.
Tommaso braked the truck and calmly lit a small cigar.
It took the men fifteen minutes to remove the logs and
debris from the road. When they were finished, Tommaso
eased the truck through. Five pairs of hate-filled eyes
watched their progress.
"Hit it!" Carter hissed.
They careened down the mountain for nearly five miles
as fast as the truck would go.
Bella was shouting at the top of her lungs.
Carter leaned out the window. "What did you say?"
"I am freezing! You are freezing me to death!"
"Won't be long now."
He rolled up the window and lit a cigarette.
Five miles later he called a halt and cut herloose. ' 'Strip. ' '
"Strip, comrade, down to your shoes."
"I will freeze!"
Carter shook his head. "No, you won't. It's warming
down here and the snow has turned to rain. Strip!"
She did, finding new curses for him with each item. When
she was stark naked, wearing only her shoes, she started to
weep.
"Don't cry, Major," Carter growled. "Just start back up
the road, Your friends will catch up with you."
He crawled back into the truck.
"Let's go. Head for Zaragoza!"
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They abandoned the truck in Zaragoza and walked into
the center of the city on foot.
"All right,'" Carter said, calling a halt, "this is it. I
suggest you spread in every direction and get out of the
country as quickly as you can. The jewelry will be insured.
You all know the best deal is to settle with the insurance
company. I'd wait about a year. Just figure you're giving
yourself an annuity. "
In turn they all shook hands.
"You're a fine bunch of honest thieves," Carter said,
grinning, "You'll never really know how fine. And, one
more thing. If I were you, I would forget all about the
Russian you heard back there."
One by one they drifted away. Lola lingered.
"Where to this time?"
She smiled. think Rio. I'venever been to Rio. "
"They'll miss you in London."
She shrugged. "I think it's time Lola went the way of
Serena. Maybe this time I'll be Tereza. That's a good name
for Rio!" She went to her toes and kissed him lightly.
"Adiös, mi amor.
She started off and Carter suddenly remembered, patting
his pockets.
"Hey, Tereza!"
' 'Si?" she said, looking coyly over her shoulder.
"I'm busted. Could you lend me . . . Q'"
She took an American twenty from her purse and pressed
it into his hand.
"Damn, sure you can spare it?"
She shrugged and laughed. "I figure you'll show up again
someday and pay it back. "
Carter waited until she had passed out of sight beyond
the last streetlight before he turned and walked the other way.
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