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31-40 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter

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  Carter Nick
  
  31-40 Killmaster Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  31. Macau http://flibusta.is/b/778157/read
  
  Makao
  
  32. Operation Lunar Rocket http://flibusta.is/b/607240/read
  
  Operation Moon Rocket
  
  
  33. Judas the Spy http://flibusta.is/b/610599/read
  
  Judas Spy
  
  34. The Hood of Death http://flibusta.is/b/610990/read
  
  Hood of Death
  
  35. Amsterdam http://flibusta.is/b/681332/read
  
  Amsterdam
  
  36. The Temple of Fear http://flibusta.is/b/612612/read
  
  Temple Of Fear
  
  37. 14 seconds to hell http://flibusta.is/b/633698/read
  
  14 Seconds to Hell
  
  38. The defector http://flibusta.is/b/607232/read
  
  The Defector
  
  39. Carnival of Murders http://flibusta.is/b/633954/read
  
  Carnival for Killing
  
  40. Rhodesia http://flibusta.is/b/631088/read
  
  Rhodesia
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Macau.
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton.
  
  
  Original title: Makao.
  
  
  
  
  THE KILLING SEASON.
  
  
  * Two members of a notorious London sex club found stabbed to death, ego, body hacked to bloody pieces... * Portugal's top agent shot dead in broad daylight on a street filled with passers-by-
  
  * What a private investigator he is by Brooklyn is stabbed to death in a then-fold dollar intervention in international espionage...
  
  All they had in common was Princess de Gama, Nick Carter's partner in ego's new assignment. A beautiful, lecherous woman who is engaged can save or destroy the world... depending on which side satisfies her lecherous desires more!
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  LONDON WAS SWELTERING. It was the last Sunday in July, and the thermometer had been nearing eighty for several days. In the British roast, and quite for estestvenno, that the consumption of beer, mild and bitter, and nutty ale, is directly proportional to degrees Fahrenheit. Portobello Road. There was no air conditioning, and this dirty little public space was filled with the stench of beer and tobacco, cheap brass and human smoke. At any moment, the landlord, a fat man, would tap on it and sing the words that drunks and lonely people are so afraid of. "Opening hours are over, gentlemen, empty your glasses." In the back booth, out of earshot of the other patrons, six men were whispering to each other. Five of the men were Cockney, as was evident from their speech, dress, and manner. The sixth man, who kept talking, was a little harder to find. The Swedes ' ego was conservative and well-cut, his shirt was clean but with frayed cuffs, and he was wearing the tie of a famous regiment. The ego's name was Theodore Blacker - Ted or Teddy for the ego of friends, of whom he had very few left.
  
  He was once a captain in the Royal Ulster Fusiliers. Up to dismissal for stealing regimental money and card fraud. Ted Blacker finished speaking and looked around at the five Cockneys. - Do you all understand what they want from you? Any questions?" If so, ask now - there won't be time later. Standing around the men, a short guy with a knife-like nose raised his empty glass. " Uh ... I don't have a corkscrew, Teddy. "How about we pay for the ale before that fat guy announces the closing time?" Blacker kept the disgust out of his voice and expression as he beckoned to the bartender. He needed these types for the next few hours. He needed them badly, it was the corkscrew of life and death-the ego of life-and there was no doubt that when you were dealing with pigs, you were bound to get some dirt on them. Ted Blacker sighed inwardly, smiled outwardly, paid for his drink, and lit a cigar to get rid of the smell of unwashed flesh. Just a few hours - a day or two at most-and then the case would be blocked and he would be a rich man. Emu will have to leave England, of course, but that doesn't matter. Before them was a large, wide, beautiful world. He always see the hotel South America. Alfie Doolittle, a Cockney leader by size and quick wit, wiped beer suds off his rta and stared over the top of his chair at Teda Blacker. Ego's eyes, small and sly in his large face, were fixed on Blacker. He said, " Now look, Teddy. There shouldn't be any murders? Maybe a beating, if necessary, but not murder... Ted Blacker made an exasperated gesture. He glanced at Zhirinovsky's expensive gold wristwatch. "I've explained it all," he said irritably. "If there are any problems , which I doubt very much, they won't be big. Allegedly, there will be no murders for sure. If anyone around my, uh, clients just "goes all out", all you men have to do is tame ih. Hers, I thought I'd made it clear. All you men have to do is make sure that nothing happens to me and that nothing is taken away from me. Especially the latter. In the evening I will show her some very valuable goods. There are certain parties that would like to have this cargo and not pay for it. Now, do you finally understand everything?"
  
  Dealing with the lower classes, Blacker thought, might be too unpleasant! They weren't even smart enough to be good ordinary criminals. He glanced at his watch again and stood up. "I'll meet you in Rivne at two-thirty. My clients are coming in at three. I hope that you will come separately and not attract attention. You know all about the constable in the area and the ego schedule, so there shouldn't be any difficulties here. Now, Alfie, what's the address again?" "Number fourteen Muse Street." Near Morgate Road. In that building, on the fourth floor."
  
  When he was gone, the little cockney with the pointed nose chuckled, " Thinks he's a real gentleman, doesn't he? But he's not an elf.
  
  Another person said: "I think he's quite a gentleman for me. If anything, the ego fives are good." Alfie downed his empty mug. He gave everyone a shrewd look and chuckled. -"You wouldn't recognize a real gentleman, no one around you, if he came over and gave you a drink. Her, no, I'll know him as a gentleman when I first see him. He dresses and talks like a gentleman, but I'm sure it's not him!" The fat proprietor pounded on the counter with a hammer. "Time, gentlemen, please!" Ted Blacker, a former captain of the Ulster Fusiliers, left in a taxi in Cheapside and walked down Moorgate Road. Half Crescent Mews was about halfway to Old Sturt. Number Fourteen was at the very end of the stables, a four-story building of faded red brick. It was in the early Victorian period, and when all the other houses and apartments were stables, a thriving carriage repair shop. There were times when Ted Blacker, who was not very imaginative, thought he could still smell the mixed scents of horses, leather, flowers, varnish, and wood floating around the stables. Entering a narrow cobbled alley, he took off his greatcoat and loosened his regimental tie. Despite the lateness of the hour, the air was still warm and clammy. Blacker wasn't allowed to wear a tie for us, or anything related to the ego regiment. Disgraced officers do not have such privileges. It didn't bother him. The tie, like Shvedov's ego, his speech and manners, were now needed. Part of the ego image needed for the role he should play in a world he hated, a world that treated him very badly. The world that elevated the ego to officer and gentleman allowed the emu a glimpse into Paradise only to throw the ego back into the gutter. The real reason for the blow - and Ted Blacker believed it with all his heart and soul - the real reason wasn't that ego was caught cheating at cards, or that ego was caught stealing regimental money. The real reason was that his father was a butcher, and his mother was a maid before her marriage. For this and only for this, he was kicked out of the service penniless and without a name. He was only a temporary gentleman. When they needed it, everything was great! When they don't need him, get out! Return to poverty to earn a living. He went to number fourteen, unlocked the gray-painted front door, and began the long climb up the stairs. The stairs were steep and worn; the air was humid and stuffy. Blacker was sweating profusely when he reached the last landing. He pauses to catch his breath, and I tell myself that he's very out of shape. He has to do something about it. Perhaps when he gets to South America with all the money, emu will be able to get back in shape. Drive away the abdomen. He was always immersed in exercise. Emu was only forty-two years old now, and he was too young to afford it.
  
  Money! Pounds, shillings, pence, US dollars, Hong Kong dollars... What's the difference? It was all money. Great money. They could be used to buy any items. If you had them, you were alive. Without them, you were dead. Ted Blacker caught his breath and fumbled in his pocket for a key. Opposite the stairs was a large, dark wooden door. It was painted black. On it, there was a large, golden dragon spewing flames. That day sticker, in Blacker's opinion, was just the right exotic touch, the very first hint of forbidden generosity, of the joys and illicit pleasures that lurked behind the black door. Ego's carefully selected clientele consisted mostly around current young people. There were only two things Blacker needed to join the Dragon Ego Club: caution and money. A lot of both. He stepped through the back door and closed it behind him. The darkness was filled with the soothing and expensive hum of air conditioners. They had cost the emu a considerable sum, but it was necessary. And it was worth it, after all. The people who came to the Dragon Ego Club were left stewing in their own sweat as they engaged in their various, sometimes complicated, love adventures. At one time, separate booths were a problem, but in the end it was solved. At a higher cost. Blacker grimaced, trying to find the light button. At the moment, he had less than fifty pounds, half of which was paid to Cockney bullies. July and August were definitely the hottest months in London, too. What's the deal? Sergei's reserved demeanor slowly seeped into the long, wide, high-ceilinged room. What's the deal? Who cared? He, Blacker, wouldn't last long. Our horseradish is not possible. Not with two hundred and fifty thousand pounds due to Emu. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. Seven hundred thousand American dollars. That was the price he had asked for twenty minutes of film. He will get his price. He was sure of it. Blacker went to the small bar in the corner and poured himself a weak whiskey and soda. He was not an alcoholic and had never touched the drugs he sold: marijuana, cocaine, pot, various pep pills, and last year, LSD... Blacker opened the small refrigerator to get ice for his drink. Yes, there was money from selling drugs. Still, not too much. The really big money was earned by the big boys.
  
  
  They didn't have any notes worth less than fifty pounds, and they'd have to give half of them away! Blacker took a sip, grimaced, and was honest with himself. He knew his problem, knew why he was always poor. Ego's smile was painful. Horses and roulette. And he's the most miserable bastard that ever existed. Even now, at this very moment, he owed Raft more than five hundred pounds. Recently, he has been hiding, and soon the security forces will come looking for him. I shouldn't think about it, Blacker told himself. I won't be here when they come looking. I'll come to South America safe and sound and with all this money. Just change your name and lifestyle forever. I'll start it all over again, with a clean slate. I swear it. He glanced at his gold watch. Just a few minutes, then an hour. Enough time. The egos of the Cockney bodyguards are coming in at two-thirty, and he's got it all figured out. Two in front, two in the back, big Alfie with him.
  
  
  No one, no one, had to leave unless he, Ted Blacker, said the Word. Blacker smiled. He had to be alive to say that word, didn't he? Blacker drank slowly, looking around the large room. In a way, he hated leaving it all behind. It was the brainchild of ego. He built an ego around nothing. Em didn't like to think about the risks he'd taken to get the capital he needed: robbing a jeweler; a cargo of furs stolen from an East Side attic; even a couple of blackmail cases. Blacker could smile grimly at the memory - both of them were notorious bastards he'd known in the army. And so it was. He's got it, damn the tailor! But it was all dangerous. Terribly, terribly dangerous. Blacker was not, and he admitted it, a very brave man. Another reason why he was ready to run away as soon as he got the money-the money for the film. It was too much for a faint-hearted man who was afraid of Scotland Yard, the Narcotics Division, and now even Interpol. The tailor is with them. Sell the movie to the highest bidder and run away.
  
  
  To hell with England and the world, and to hell with everyone but himself. Such were the thoughts, accurate and true, of Theodore Blacker, formerly of the Ulster Regiment. To hell with the ego, too, if you think about it. And especially the damned Colonel Alistair Ponanby, who had crushed Blacker forever with a cold look and a few carefully chosen words. The colonel said: "You are so despicable, Blacker, that I can't feel anything but pity for you. You seem incapable of stealing or even cheating at cards like a gentleman."
  
  The words came back to him despite Blacker's best efforts to block them out, and his narrow face twisted in hatred and agony. He threw his glass across the room with a curse. The Colonel was dead now, out of ego's reach, but the world hadn't changed. Ego enemies are not lost. There is a lot of Ih left in the world. She was alone around them. Princess. Princess Morgana da Gama. Ego's thin lips curled into a grin. So everything worked out fine. She, the princess, could pay for everything. Dirty little bitch in shorts like she used to be. He knew about her... Pay attention to the beautiful arrogant manner, cold disdain, snobbery and royal bitchiness, cold green eyes that looked at you without really seeing you, without noticing your existence He, Ted Blacker, knew everything about the princess. "A hell of a lot of people are going to find out soon enough when he sells the tape. The thought gave him intense pleasure, and he glanced at the big sofa in the middle of the long room, and he grinned. What he had seen the princess do on that baharev, what he had done to her, what she had done to him. God! Emu would love to see this image on every front page of every newspaper in the world. He took a long drink and closed his eyes, imagining the main story on the social pages: the beautiful Princess Morgana to Goma, the noblest woman of Portuguese blue blood, the harlot.
  
  
  Reporter Aster is in town today. In an interview with this reporter in Aldgate, where Nah has a Royal suite, the princess said that Ay was looking forward to getting into the Dragon Club and doing more esoteric sexual acrobatics. The haughty princess, when questioned in more detail, said that it was ultimately a matter of semantics, but insisted that even in today's democratic world, such things are reserved only for the noble and noble-born. The old-fashioned way, said the Princess, was still quite suitable for the peasants. . . .
  
  Ted Blacker heard laughter in the room. A hideous laugh, more like the screeching of hungry, mad rats scratching at the hull. With a shock, he realized that the laughter was his own ego. He immediately dismissed the fantasy. Maybe he went a little crazy with this hatred. It must be issued annually. The hate was fun enough, but it didn't pay off on its own. Blacker wasn't going to run the movie again until three men arrived, the clients ' egos. He'd watched it a hundred times. But now he picked up his glass, walked over to the special sofa, and pressed one of the small mother-of-pearl buttons so artfully and unobtrusively sewn into the armrest. There was a faint mechanical hum as a small white screen descended from the ceiling at the far end of the room. Blacker pressed another button, and behind him, a projector hidden in a groan shot a bright beam of white light at the screen. He took a sip, lit a long cigarette, crossed his ankles on the leather ottoman, and relaxed. If it wasn't for showing it to potential customers, it would be the last time he sees the movie. He offered both negatives and wasn't going to cheat. He will enjoy his money. The first figure that appeared on the screen was egoist. He was checking the hidden camera for the correct angles. Blacker studied the ego image with rather grudging approval. He had a chance. And he was unkempt with his comb and brush-the ego bald spot was too obvious. It occurred to Em that now, with Ego's new wealth, he might be able to afford a hair transplant. He watched Yevgeny sitting there, lighting a cigarette, fidgeting with the creases in his trousers, frowning and smiling in the direction of the camera.
  
  Blacker smiled. He recalled his thoughts at that particular moment, he was worried that the princess would hear the hum of the hidden camera. He decided not to worry. By the time he turns on the camera, she'll be safe on her LSD journey. She won't hear us camera, us much else. Blacker checked his gold watch again. It's a quarter to two now. There's still plenty of time. The movie only lasted a minute or so around half an hour. The flickering image of Blacker on the screen suddenly turned its head toward Day. It was the Princess who knocked. He watched as Sam reached for the button and turned off the camera. The screen went blinding white again. Now Blacker in the flesh pressed the button again. The screen went black. He stood up and took out new cigarettes from each of the jade packs. Then he went back to the couch and pressed the button again, activating the projector again. He knew exactly what he was about to see. It had been half an hour since he'd let her in. Blacker recalled every detail with perfect clarity. Princess da Gama expected others to be present. At first, she tried not to be alone with him, but Blacker used all his charm, gave her a cigarette and a drink, and persuaded her to stay for a few minutes... This was enough time for emu, because her drink was filled with LSD. Blacker knew even then that the princess had only stayed with him out of sheer boredom. He knew that she despised him, just as her ego despised the rest of her world, and that she considered ego less than the dirt under her feet. That was one of the reasons he'd chosen her for blackmail. Hate for everyone like you. There was also the pure joy of knowing her in a carnal way, forcing her to do nasty things, lowering her to his level. And nah had the money. And very high connections in Portugal. Her uncle's high position, he couldn't remember the man's name, he held a high position in the cabinet.
  
  
  Yes, Princess da Gama was supposed to be a good investment. As much good - or bad - as Blacker could not have imagined at the time. All this came later. He was now watching the movie unfold with a smug expression on his rather handsome face. Odin's ego of fellow officers once said that Blacker looked like a " very handsome advertising executive." He turned on the hidden camera only half an hour after the princess unknowingly took her first dose of LSD. He watched as her demeanor gradually changed as she fell quietly into a half-trance. She didn't mind when he led her to a special sofa. Blacker waited another ten minutes before turning on the camera. In that interval, the princess began to talk about herself with devastating directness. Under the influence of the drug, she considered Blacker an old and dear friend. He smiled now, remembering some of the words she'd used - words that weren't usually associated with a blood princess. One of her first comments really struck Blacker. "In Portugal," she said, " they think I'm crazy. Totally crazy. They'd put me away if they could. To stay out of Portugal, you see. They know all about me, my reputation, and they really think I'm crazy. They know I drink and take drugs and sleep with any man who asks me to - well, almost any dude. I still sometimes draw a line under it." That, Blacker remembered, wasn't how he'd heard it. This was another reason why he chose her. It was rumored that when the princess was drunk, which was most of the time, or under the influence of drugs, she would sleep with Hema anywhere in pants or, faute de nue, skirts. After the rush of conversation, she almost lost her mind, only smiling vaguely at em as he began to undress. It was, he remembered now, watching the movie, like undressing a doll. She didn't resist or help when her legs and arms moved to any desired position. Her eyes were half-closed, and she seemed to really think that she was alone. Her wide red mouth was half open in a vague smile. The man Eugene felt his ego loins start to react when he saw himself on the screen. The princess was wearing a thin linen dress, not quite a mini, and she obediently raised her slender arms as he pulled the ego over her head. She wore very little underneath. A black bra and tiny black lace pants. Garter belt and long textured white stockings. Ted Blacker, watching the movie, started sweating a little in the air-conditioned room. After all these weeks, the damn thing still bothered him. He enjoyed it. He confessed that it will always remain one of his most precious and cherished memories. He undid her bra and slid his ego down her arms. Her breasts, larger than he'd imagined, with pinkish-brown tips, stood out firmly and snow-white around her ribcage. Blacker stood up, standing behind Nah, and he played with her breasts with one hand, while with the other he pressed another button to turn on the zoom lens and catch a close-up of her. The princess didn't notice anything. In the close-up, so clear that the tiny pores on her nose were visible, her eyes were closed, and there was a gentle half-smile between them. If she felt the ego of the hand or responded, it wasn't noticeable. Blacker still wore her garter belt and stockings. Garters were an ego fetish, and by this time he was so engrossed in arousal that he'd almost forgotten the real reason for this sexual charade. Money. He began to put those long, long legs - so curvy in their long white stockings-exactly the way Emu wanted, Eugene. She obeyed every ego command, never once telling us or objecting. By this time, the princess was already far away, and if she noticed egoism at all, it was only in the vaguest form. Blacker was a vague addition to the scene, nothing more. Over the next twenty minutes, Blacker forced her through the entire sexual gamut. He called himself all the poses. All the things that a man and a woman could have done to each other, they did. Again and again...
  
  
  She played her part, he used a zoom lens for close range - Blacker had certain apparatuses on hand - some of the Dragon Club customers did have very strange tastes-and he used ih all on the Princess. This she also accepted with equanimity, not showing us her sympathy, we like it. After all, during the last four minutes of the film, after showing off his sexual ingenuity, Blacker sated his lust in her by beating her up and fucking her like an animal. The screen went blank. Blacker turned off the projector and walked over to the small bar, checking his watch. The Cockneys will be here soon. Insurance that he would survive the night. Blacker had no illusions about what kind of men he was going to meet tonight. Ih will be thoroughly searched before being allowed to climb the stairs to the Dragon Club. Ted Blacker came downstairs, leaving the air-conditioned room. He decided not to wait for Holly Doolittle to speak to him. For one thing, Al's voice was hoarse, and for another, the phones might have been connected in some way. You would never know that. When you were playing for a quarter of a million pounds and your life, you had to think well of everything. The tiny lobby was damp and deserted. Blacker waited in the shadows under the stairs. At 2:29 p.m., Alfie Doolittle entered the lobby. Blacker hissed at him, and Angell turned to stare at him, one meaty hand instinctively reaching for the front of his shirt. "Geez," Alfie said, " I thought you wanted it blown up?" Blacker put a finger to his lips: "Keep your voice down, Bella boga! Where are the others? "Joe and Iri are already here. Ih sent her back, like you said. Two more will be here soon. Blacker nodded in satisfaction. He headed for the Cockney special. "What do you have tonight?" Let me see, please, Alfie Doolittle, with a contemptuous smile on his thick lips, quickly take out a knife, a pair of brass knuckles and a pair of brass knuckles.
  
  "Brass knuckles for beating, Teddy, if necessary, and a knife if there's an emergency, you might say. All the guys have the same thing as me. Blacker nodded again. The last thing he wants is murder. Very good. I'll be right back." Stay here until your men arrive, and then come up. Make sure they know their orders - they have to be polite, courteous, but they have to search my guests. Any weapons found will be confiscated and will not be returned. I repeat - do not return it back."
  
  
  Blacker thought it would take some time for the ego "guests" to acquire new weapons, even if they meant violence. He intended to make the most of this time to say goodbye to the Dragon Club forever and hide until they came to their senses. They will never find the ego. Alfie frowned. "My men know their orders, Teddy." Blacker headed back upstairs. Over his shoulder, he said curtly, " Just so oni ih isn't forgotten." Alfie frowned again. Fresh sweat broke out on Blacker as he climbed. He couldn't find a way around it. He sighed and paused on the third landing to catch his breath, wiping his face with a scented handkerchief. No, Alfie should be there. No plan has ever been perfect. "I don't want to be alone, unprotected, with these guests. Ten minutes later Angell knocked on the door. Blacker let him in, gave Em a bottle of ale, and showed him where he should sit in a straight-backed chair. ten feet to the right of the huge sofa, and on the same plank as it. "If it's not trouble," Blacker explained, " you have to act like they're three monkeys. I don't see anything, I don't hear anything, I don't do anything...
  
  He added reluctantly: "I'm going to show the film to my guests. Of course, you will also see the ego. She wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone else if she were you. it could get you into a lot of trouble."
  
  
  "I know how to keep my mouth shut."
  
  
  Blacker patted ego's special shoulder, em didn't like the contact. "Then know what you will see. If you look closely at the film, you might learn something." Ade gave ego a blank look. "I know everything I need to know." "Lucky man," Blacker said. It was a pathetic joke at best, completely useless to a big cockney. The first knock on the back door came a minute later, then three. Blacker pointed a warning finger at Alfie, who was sitting as still as a Buddha in his chair. The first customer was small, immaculately dressed in a pale yellow summer suit and an expensive white panama hat.
  
  He bowed slightly as Blacker opened the door. "Forgive me, please." I'm looking for Mr. Theodore Blacker." Is that you?" Blacker nodded. Who are you? The little Chinese man held out a card. Blacker glanced at nah and saw the elegant black script: "Mr. Wang Hai." Nothing more. Our words about the Chinese Embassy. Blacker stood off to the side. "Come in, Mr. Hi. Please take a seat on the big sofa. Your place is in the left corner. Would you like a drink?" "Nothing, please. The Chinaman didn't even look at Angell Doolittle as he took his seat next to her. Another knock on the door. This guest was very large and shiny black with distinctly negroid features. Nen was wearing a cream-colored suit, slightly stained and out of fashion. The lapels were too wide. In one huge black hand he held a battered, cheap straw hat. Blacker stared at the man and thanked God for Angell's presence. This Negro was formidable. "Your name, please?" The nigger's voice was soft and slurred, with some kind of accent. Ego's eyes, with their dull yellow cornea, stared into Slacker's.
  
  
  The negro said: "My name doesn't matter. Well done=) as a representative of Prince Sobhuzi Askari. That's enough." Blacker nodded. Please have a seat." On the couch. In the right corner. Would you like a drink or a cigarette? The negro refused. Five minutes passed before the third customer knocked on the door. They passed in uneasy silence. Blacker kept casting a quick, sly glance at the two men sitting next to him. They didn't talk or look at each other. while... and he felt his ego nerves start to shake. Why didn't the bastard come? Did something go wrong? Please God, not forever! Now that he's so close to that quarter of a million pounds. He almost whimpered with relief when the knock finally came. The man was tall, almost thin, with a shock of curly dark hair that needed cutting. He wasn't wearing a hat. her hair was bright yellow.He wore these black socks and handmade brown leather sandals.
  
  "Mr. Blacker?" The voice was a light tenor, but the contempt and disdain in nen cut like a whip. Ego the English was good, but with a pronounced Latin twist. Blacker nodded, looking down at the bright shirt. “yeah. Her Blacker. You used to...? " He didn't quite trust it. Major Carlos Oliveira. Portuguese intelligence. Let's get down to it?"
  
  
  The voice said what the words didn't: pimp, pimp, garbage rat, dog dung, the most disgusting shit of reptiles. The voice in some strange way refuted the reports that appeared in the media to Blacker about the Princess. Blacker didn't lose his cool, speaking the language of his younger clients. There's too much at stake. He pointed to the couch. "You'll be sitting there, Major Oliveira. In the middle, please. Blacker locked the door twice and bolted it. He took out the usual postcards with stamps in three pockets. He handed each of them two men and a card.
  
  
  Moving a little away from them, he gave his little prepared speech. "You will notice, gentlemen, that each postcard is addressed to a mailbox at Chelsea. Needless to say, I won't be taking the cards in person, even though I'll be around. Of course, close enough to see if anyone makes any effort to follow the person who picks up the card. I wouldn't recommend this if you really want to run a business. "You're going to have a half-hour movie every year. The film is sold to the highest bidder-more than a quarter of a million pounds. I won't accept a bid lower than that. There will be no cheating. There is only one print and a negative, and both are sold at the same price... The little Chinese man leaned forward a little.
  
  
  "Please, do you have a guarantee for this?"
  
  Blacker nodded. "My word of honor.
  
  
  Major Oliveira laughed savagely. Blacker blushed, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and continued. Since there can be no other guarantee, you will have to take my word for it. He said with a smile that almost disappeared. "I assure you that I will keep it. I want to live out my life in peace. And my asking price is too high so I don't have to resort to betraying her. ..
  
  The nigger's yellow eyes pierced Blacker. - Please continue with the terms and conditions. There isn't much
  
  Blacker wiped his face again. Did the damn air conditioner shut down? "Of course. It's very simple. Everyone around you, and after you have time to consult with your supervisors, will write the amount of your bid on a postcard. Only numbers, no dollar or pound symbols. also write down the phone number where you can be contacted in complete privacy. I think I can leave that up to you. After I get the cards and study nu, I'll call the highest bidder in due course. Then we will arrange payment and receipt of the film. This, as I said, is very simple.
  
  
  "Yes," said the little Chinese gentleman. "Very simple." Blacker met his gaze and felt like he was seeing a snake. "Very ingenious," said the Negro. Ego's fists formed two black maces in his lap. Major Carlos Oliveira said nothing, just looked at the Englishman with empty, dark eyes that could have been anything. Blacker struggled with his nerves. He walked over to the couch and pressed the pearl button on the armrest. With a small gesture of bravado, he pointed to a waiting screen at the end of the room. "And now, gentlemen, Princess Morgana, to participate in one of the most interesting moments." The projector whirred. The princess smiled like a lazy, half-asleep cat as Blacker began to unbutton her dress.
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  THE DIPLOMAT, one around London's most luxurious and exclusive clubs, is housed in a swanky Georgian house near Three Kings Yard, near Grosvenor Square. It was a hot, sticky night, and the club was boring. There were only a few well-dressed people coming and going, mostly leaving, and playing at the twenty-one table and in the poker rooms was really stuffy. The heatwave that engulfed London was relaxing the sports crowd, depriving ee of gambling. Nick Carter was no exception. The humidity didn't bother ego much, although it might have been possible to do without it, but the weather didn't bother ego. The truth was that Killmaster didn't know, really didn't know, that ego was bothering him. All he knew was that he was restless and irritable; he had previously been in the embassy's eye and danced with his old friend Jake Todhunter in Grosvenor Square. The evening was less than that. Jake set Nick up on a date, a beautiful little Limey with a cute smile and bumps in all the right places. The girl did her best to please, showing every sign that she was at least compliant. There was a big YES written all over her, in the way she looked at Nick, clung to his arm, and snuggled too close to him.
  
  
  Her father, Lake Todhuuter said, was an important man in the government. Nick Carter didn't care. He had been struck - and only now was beginning to understand why-by a severe case of what Ernest Hemingway called "the galloping stupid donkey." After all, Carter was as close to being rude as a gentleman could get. He excused himself and left. He went out and loosened his tie, unbuttoned his white tuxedo, and walked with a long stride through the burning concrete and asphalt. Via Carlos Place and Mont Sturt to Berkeley Square. There were no nightingales singing. Finally, he turned back and, after passing the Briefcase, impulsively decided to stop in for a drink and refreshment. Nick had a lot of cards in a lot of clubs, and the "Diplomat" was one around them. Now that he had almost finished his drink, he sat down alone at a small table in the corner and found the source of his irritation. It was simple. Killmaster had been inactive for too long. It had been almost two months since Hawk had given em a mission. Nick couldn't remember being out of a job for so long. No wonder he was upset, sullen, angry, and difficult to get along with! Counterintelligence must be going pretty damn slowly - either that, or David Hawke, the ego boss, didn't put Nick in the fight for his own reasons. In any case, something had to be done about it. Nick paid and prepared to leave. He called Hawke first thing in the morning and asked for assignments. So a person could rust. In fact, it was dangerous for a person in the ego field to be idle for too long. It is true that what we have to work out every day, no matter in which part of the world we find ourselves. Yoga was a daily routine. Here in London, he worked out judo, jujitsu, Aikido, and karate with Tom Mitubashi at the last meal gym in Soho. Killmaster now had a 6th degree black belt. None of this mattered. Practice was fine, but what emu needed right now was the real deal. He still had a ferret vacation. Yes. He would. He would drag the old man around the trash - it was still dark in Washington-and demand an immediate assignment.
  
  
  Things might be slow, but Hawke could always come up with something if pressed. For example, he had a small black book of death where he kept a list of the people he most wanted to see destroyed. Nick Carter was just leaving the club when he heard laughter and applause to his right. There was something strange, strange, false about the sound that caught the ego's attention. It was a little disturbing. Not just drunk - he'd been drunk before - but something else, a high, piercing note that didn't feel right. Ego's curiosity was aroused, and he stopped and looked in the direction of the ship. Three wide, shallow steps led up to the Gothic archway. The sign above the archway read in a modest black hand:: "Private bar for men". The high-pitched laughter rang out again. Nick's alert eye and ear picked up the sound, and the sign, and matched ih. A men's bar, but there was a woman laughing. Drunkenly, almost madly laughing. Nick went down the three steps. He's the one to see the hotel. When he decided to call Hawke, and his good mood returned. After all, it could be one of these nights. Beyond the archway was a long room with a bar along one side. The place was gloomy, except for the bar, where lamps, apparently picked up here and there, had turned the ego into a sort of makeshift podium. Nick Carter hadn't been to a burlesque theater in years, but he recognized the scene immediately. He doesn't know a beautiful young woman who didn't make such a fool of herself. This, he thought, even then, wouldn't be so odd in the scheme of things, but it was a pity. For she was beautiful. Delicious. Even now, with one perfect chest sticking out and her doing what appeared to be a rather sloppy combination of "go-go" and "hoochie son of a bitch," she was beautiful. Somewhere in a dark corner, American music was playing around an American jukebox. Half a dozen men, all in tailcoats, all in their fifties, greeted her, laughing and applauding as she paced and danced up and down the bar.
  
  
  An elderly bartender with an expression of rejection on a long man stood silently with his arms crossed over his chest in white robes. Killmaster had to admit to a slight shock that was unusual for him. After all, this was the Diplomat Hotel! He would set his bottom dollar on the fact that management doesn't currently know what's going on in the men's barre. Someone was moving in the shadows nearby, and Nick instinctively turned like a flash to face the possible threat. But it was only a servant, an elderly servant in club livery. He was grinning at the dancing girl in the bar, but when he caught Nick's eye, his ego expression immediately changed to pious disapproval. The ego nod to Agent AX was obsequious.
  
  -"It's a shame, isn't it, sir? It's a pity, it's true. You see, it was the gentlemen who pushed her to do it when they shouldn't have. She wandered in here by mistake, poor thing, and they, who should know better, picked her up instantly and danced." For a moment, the piety vanished, and the old man almost smiled. "I can't say she resisted, though, sir. Entered openly in the spirit of, yes. Yes, she's a real horror, this one. It's not the first time I've seen her do these tricks. Ego was interrupted by another round of applause and shouts from the small group of men at the bar. Odin circled them, cupped his hands, and shouted: "Do it, Princess. Take it all off!" Nick Carter looked on, half pleased, half angry. She was too good to humiliate herself with such things. "Who is she?" "What is it?" he asked the servant. The old man, without taking his eyes off the girl, said: "Princess, to make a ruckus, sir. Very rich. Very high muck in the world. Or was, at least. Some of the piety is back. "I'm sorry, sir, as I said. So pretty, and with all her money and blue blood, and-oh, my God, sir, I think she'll take it off! The men in the bar were now insistent, shouting and clapping their hands.
  
  
  Chant was getting louder: "Take it off... take off... take it off..." The old servant glanced nervously over his shoulder, then at Nick. "And now the gentlemen are going too far, sir. My work is worth finding here." "Then why," Kilbnaster suggested softly, " don't you go?" But the voice was an old man. Ego's watery eyes were fixed on the girl again. But he said: "If my boss ever interferes with this, they will all be banned for life in this institution-each one of them." The ego of the boss, Nick thought, would be the manager. Ego's smile was light. Yes, if the manager suddenly showed up, there would definitely be hell to pay. In a quixotic way that I don't really know and don't care why he did it, Nick moved into the thread bar. Now the girl is immersed in an unabashed punching routine and can be heard that couldn't have been more straightforward. She was wearing a thin green dress that reached to mid-thigh. Just as Nick was about to tap his glass on the bar to get the bartender's attention, the girl suddenly reached out to grab the hem of her miniskirt. In one swift motion, she pulled ego over her head and threw him away from her. It glided through the air, hovered for a moment, and then came down, light and fragrant and smelling of her body, on Nick Cartr's head. Loud shouts and laughter from other men in the bar. Nick pulled free of the fabric - he recognized Lanvin perfume and a very expensive Zhirinovsky-and put the dress on the counter next to him. All the men were looking at him now. Nick returned their unflappable gaze. One or two of them, in the most sober conditions, shifted uneasily and watched
  
  The girl-Nick thought he must have heard the name somewhere before-was now wearing only a tiny bra, her right breast exposed, a pair of thin white panties, garter belts, and long lace panties. black stockings. She was a tall girl with slender, rounded legs and exquisitely shaped ankles and small feet. She was wearing open-toed patent-leather ballet pumps and high heels. She danced with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her jet-black hair was cut very short and close to the target.
  
  
  Nick had the fleeting thought that she might have several wigs and use them. The record on the jukebox was a medley of old American jazz tunes. Now the band briefly moved on to a few hot bars of Tiger Rag. The girls ' writhing pelvis caught the rhythm of a tiger's roar, tuba's hoarse um-pa. Her eyes were still closed, and she leaned far back, legs spread wide, and began to roll and squirm. Her left breast now slid out around the small bra. The men below were shouting and smashing time. "Hold that tiger, hold that tiger! Take it off, princess. Shake it, princess!" One of the men, a balding guy with a huge belly, dressed in an evening suit, tried to climb up on the counter. Ego comrades dragged back. The scene reminded Nick of an Italian movie whose title he couldn't remember. Killmaster, in fact, was in an ambivalent position. Part of his ego was a little outraged at the sight, feeling sorry for the poor drunk girl in the bar; another part of Nick, a bestial one that couldn't be denied, started reacting to the long, perfect legs and swaying bare breasts. Because of his bad mood, he didn't have a woman on Sundays. He was on the edge of arousal now, and he knew it and didn't want it. Not like that. Emu couldn't wait to leave the bar. Now the girl noticed ego and danced in ego's direction. Screams of annoyance and indignation came from the other men as she strutted over to where Nick was standing, still shaking and shaking his toned buttocks. She was looking at him openly, but he doubted she really saw it. She couldn't see much. She stood frankly over Nick, her legs spread wide, her hands on her hips. She stopped all movement and looked down at him. Ih's eyes met, and for a moment he saw a faint glimmer of intelligence in the green, alcohol-soaked depths.
  
  
  The girl smiled at emu. "You, pretty boy," she said. "I like you. I want you. You look like... I can trust you... please take me home. Brylev's eyes went blank, as if a light switch had been flipped. She leaned into Nick, her long legs beginning to buckle at the knees. Nick had seen it happen before, but never to him. This girl was losing consciousness. It's coming, it's coming... A prankster in a group of men shouted, " Timber!" The girl made one last attempt to strain her knees, achieved some rigidity, immobility of the statue. Her eyes were blank and staring. She fell slowly off the counter, with a strange grace, into the waiting arms of Nick Carter. He easily caught and held her, her bare breasts pressed against her large chest. What now? He's a woman's hotel. But in the first place, he didn't particularly like drunk women. Emu liked women who were lively and energetic, agile and sensual. But he needed her if he wanted a woman, and now he thought he did, he had a whole book full of London phone numbers. The fat drunk, the same man who tried to climb on the counter, tipped the scales. He approached Nick with a scowl on his plump red face. "I'll take the girl, old man. It's ours, you know, not yours. I, we have plans for a little princess. Killmaster decided immediately. "I don't think so," he said quietly to the man. "The lady asked me to take her home. You heard me. I think I'll do this:. He knew what "plans"were. "On the outskirts of New York or in a posh club in London. Men - they are also animals, dressed in jeans or evening suits. Now he glanced at the other men in the bar. They stood apart, muttering to each other, and looking at him and ignoring the fat man, Nick picked up the girl's dress from the floor, walked to the bar, and turned to the servant who still lingered in the shadows. The old servant looked at him with a mixture of horror and admiration.
  
  
  Nick tossed the dress to the old man. "You." Help me get her to the dressing room." We'll get her dressed, and... -
  
  
  Wait a minute, take the tailor, " the fat man said. "Who the hell are you, tailor, Yankee, to come here and run off with our girl? I've been buying that whore drinks all night and, if you think you can... uhltirimmppfxxxx",
  
  Nick tried very hard not to hurt the man. He extended the first three fingers of his right hand, flexed his ih, turned his palm up, and hit the man just below the sternum. It might have been a fatal blow if he'd known that, but AX-man was very, very gentle. The fat man suddenly collapsed, both hands clutching at his swollen body. Ego's flabby face turned gray, and he groaned. The other men muttered and exchanged glances, but made no attempt to interfere.
  
  Nick gave ih a hard smile. "Thank you, gentlemen, for your patience. You're smarter than you think. He pointed to the fat man still panting on the floor. It'll be fine as soon as he gets his breath back." The unconscious girl was waddling over Ego's left arm...
  
  Nick snapped at the old man. "Turn on the saint." When the dim yellow glow came on, he straightened the girl up, holding her under his arms. An old man was waiting with a green dress. "Wait a minute. With two quick movements, Nick pushed each velvety white breast back into the cradle of her bra. "Now, put this over your head and pull it down." Nick grinned at emu, " What's up, veteran? Have you never seen a half-naked woman before?"
  
  
  The old servant of a vast country is the last vestiges of dignity. "No, sir, about forty years old. This, sir, is a bit of a, uh, shock. But I'll try to manage. You'll do it, " Nick said. "You can handle it. And hurry up with it. They threw the dress over the girl's head and pulled her ego down. Nick held her sincerely, his arm wrapped around her waist. "Do you have a purse or something? Women usually have it. "I believe there was a purse in there, sir." I seem to recall her having an ego somewhere in the bar. Maybe I can find out where she lives-if you don't know?" The man shook his head. — I don't know. But I think I read in the papers that she lives at the Aldgate Hotel. You found out, of course. And if I may say so, sir, you can hardly take the lady back to Aldgate in this.".. "I know," Nick said. "I know. Bring your wallet. Let me worry about the rest. The man ducked back into the bar. Now she was leaning against him, standing up quite easily with self-support, resting her head on emu's shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed. "my wide red earlobe was a little wet. She was breathing easily. Nah smelled faintly of whiskey mixed with a subtle perfume. Killmaster felt the itch and ache in his loins again. She was beautiful, she was desirable. Even in this state. Killmaster said no to the temptation to go and jump on nah with a run. He'd never gone to bed with a woman who didn't even know what she was doing - he wasn't going to start tonight. The old man came back with a bag of white alligator skins. Nick tucked it into his jacket pocket. Around the other pocket, he pulled out a pair of pound notes and handed ih to the man. "Go and see if you can call a taxi." The girl tilted her face to the ego's face. Her eyes were closed. She was dozing peacefully. Nick Carter sighed.
  
  
  
  "You're not ready? You can't do that, can you? But I have to do it all. Okay, so be it."He slung it over his shoulder and walked out through the dressing room. He didn't look in the bar. He went up the three steps under the archway, and turned toward the lobby. "You're there! The voice was thin and grumpy. Nick turned to the owner of the voice. The movement caused the girl's thin skirt to rise slightly, billowing, exposing her taut thighs and tight white panties. Nick pulled off his dress and straightened it. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did you say something?" Nibs - no doubt it was him-stood yawning. Ego's mouth continued to move like a fish drawn around water, but there were no words. He was a thin, balding blond man. Ego's thin neck was too small for a stiff collar. The flower on the lapel denied the media reports to Niku shchegolei. AX-man was smiling charmingly, as if having a pretty girl perched on his shoulder with her head and breasts hanging forward was a daily routine.
  
  He says, " Did you say something?" The manager looked at the girl's feet, his mouth still moving silently. Nick pulled off the green dress to cover the white strip of flesh between the top of her stockings and her panties. He smiled and started to turn away.
  
  "I'm sorry again. I thought you were talking to me."
  
  The manager finally found his voice. It was thin, high, and filled with indignation. His small fists were clenched, and he shook them at Nick Carter. I mean, I mean, I demand an explanation of all this, what the hell is going on in my club? Nick looked innocent. And puzzled. "Continue?" I don't understand. I'm just leaving with the princess and - " The manager pointed a trembling finger behind the girl. "Alaa is the Princess of da Gama. Again! Drunk again, I assume?" Nick shifted Alenka's ee onto his shoulder and grinned. "I suppose you could call it that, yes. I'll take her home. " - Okay, - said the manager. "If you would be so kind." Be so kind as to make sure that she never comes back here.
  
  
  He clasped his hands together in what might have been a prayer gesture. "She's my terror," he said.
  
  "She's the bane and bane of every club in London. Go ahead, sir. Please go with her. Immediately." "Sure," Nick said. "I take it she's staying at Aldgate, eh?"
  
  The manager turned green. Ego's eyes bulged around his head. -"Oh my God, man, you can't take her there!" Even at this hour. Especially not at this hour. There are a lot of people there. Aldgate is always full of newspapermen, wicker columnists. If these parasites see her, and she talks to them, tells them she was here tonight, I'll be there, my club will be there... Nick was tired of playing games. He turned back to the foyer. The girl's arms dangled like a doll's from her chest. "Stop worrying," he said to the man.
  
  "She won't talk to Hema and me for a long time. I'll take care of it." He gave the man a meaningful wink, and then said, " I don't know.: "You really have to do something about these baths, these brutes." He nodded toward the men's bar. -"Do you know they're trying to take advantage of this poor girl?" Hotels and further use, rape explicit in the bar when its come. She was preserved by her honor. If it wasn't for him-well, talk about the headlines in the papers! You'd be shut down tomorrow. Nasty steam engines, they're all there, all of them. Ask the bartender about Tolstoy with a bad stomach. I had to hit this man to save the girl. Nibs staggered. He reached for the railing at the side of the stairs and gripped it, " Sir. Did you hit someone? Yes-rape. In my men's barre? "It's just a dream, and I'm going to wake up soon. I - ""Don't bet on it," Nick said cheerfully. "Well, the lady and I had better retire. But you'd better take my advice and cross off a few people on your list. He nodded toward the bar again. "There's bad company down there. Very bad company, especially in one with a big life. It wouldn't surprise me if he was some kind of sexual pervert." A new look of horror gradually appeared on the manager's pale face. He stared at Nick, his face twitching, his pleading eyes straining. Ego's voice trembled.
  
  
  
  
  "A big man with a big belly? With a ruddy face? Nick's answering gaze was cold. "If you call this fat and flabby guy a nobleman, then it might be that person. Why? Who is he? The manager put a thin hand to his forehead. Now he was sweating profusely. "emu owns a majority stake in this club." Nick peered through the glass door of the foyer and saw an old servant call a cab to the curb. He waved at the manager. "How nice for Sir Charles now. Maybe, for the good of the club, you can get ego to play blackball yourself. Good night. And the lady also wanted emu to say good night. The man didn't seem to hear the hints. He was looking at Carter as if he was a devil who had just come out of hell. "Did you hit Sir Charles?" Nick chuckled. "Not exactly. Just tickled my ego a little. Your health
  
  The old man helped him load the princess into the car. Nick gave the old man a fiver and smiled at em. "Thank you, Father. You'd better go now and get some smelling salts - Nibs will need them." Goodbye." He told the driver to go to the Kensington area. He studied the sleeping face that rested so lightly on his big shoulder. He caught the smell of whiskey again. She must have been drinking too much tonight. Nick ran into a problem. He didn't want to bring her back to the hotel like this. He doubted that nah had a reputation to lose, but even so, it wasn't something that could be done to a lady. And she was a lady, and even in this state. Nick Carter, at various times and in various parts of the world, had shared a bed with enough ladies to recognize one around them when he saw that she might be drunk, loose, or whatever, but she was still a lady. He knew the type, madcap, harlot, nymphomaniac, bitch - or whatever she might have been. But his features and stance, his regal grace, were impossible to hide even in the throes of drunkenness. This Nibs man was right about one thing: the Aldgete, although a posh and expensive hotel, was not at all level-headed or conservative in the current London sense. The huge lobby will be bustling and bustling at this hour of the morning, and even in this heat there are always a few swingers in London - and there will definitely be a reporter or two and a photographer lurking somewhere in a wooden house. He looked back at the girl, then the taxi hit a pothole, an unpleasant springy bounce, and the girl fell away from him. Nick pulled her back. She muttered something and put one arm around ego's neck. Her soft, wet mouth slid down ego's cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Again," she muttered. "Please do it again." Nick pulled her hand free and patted her cheek. He couldn't leave her to the wolves. "The Prince's Gate," he said to the driver. "Knightsbridge Road. You know that..."I know, sir." He would take her to his apartment and put her to bed. "...Killmaster admitted to himself that he was more than curious about the Princess de Gama. He vaguely knew who she was now. From time to time, he'd read about it in the papers, or maybe he'd even heard it discussed by his ego friends. Killmaster wasn't a" public face " in any conventional sense - like very few highly qualified agents - but he remembered the name. Her full name is Morgana da Gama. A completely real princess. royal Portuguese blood. Vasco da Gama was her distant ancestor. Nick smiled at his sleeping girlfriend. He smoothed the smooth dark cap of his hair. Maybe he wouldn't call Hawke first thing in the morning, after all. Forever give hey some time If she was so beautiful and desirable drunk, what could she be sober with?
  
  
  Maybe. Nick shrugged his broad shoulders. He can afford to be a hell of a disappointment. This will take some time. Let's see where the trail leads. They turned onto Prince's Gate and continued on to Bellevue Crescent. Nick pointed to his apartment building. The driver pulled up to the curb.
  
  
  "Do you need help with her?"
  
  
  "I think," said Nick Carter,"I can handle it." He paid the man, then dragged the girl through a taxi onto the sidewalk. She sat swaying in his arms. Nick tried to get her to go, but she refused. The driver watched with interest.
  
  "Are you sure you don't need any help, sir?" I'd be glad to see her... "No, thank you. He slung her over his shoulder again, feet first, her arms and legs dangling behind him. It was meant to be. Nick smiled at the driver. "See. Nothing like that. Everything is under control." These words will haunt him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  KILLMASTER stood in the ruins of the Dragon Club, Fourteen Crescent Mew, and pondered the unspeakable truth of the old proverb about curiosity and the cat. Ego my own professional curiosity almost killed the ego - not yet. But this time, because of that - and his ego's interest in the princess - he was in a hell of a mess. It was five minutes past four. There was a hint of coolness in the air, and the false dawn was blatant under the horizon. Nick Carter had been there for ten minutes. From the moment he entered the Dragon Club and sniffed fresh blood, the playboy in nen was gone. He was now a fully professional tiger. The Dragon Club was destroyed. Broken into pieces by unknown people who wanted something. That something, Nick thought, would be a movie or movies. He duly noticed the screen and projector, and found an artfully hidden camera. There's no film in it, they found what they wanted. Killmaster returned to where a naked body was sprawled out in front of a large sofa. Emu felt a little sick again, but he got over it. A bloody pile of the dead man's clothes lay nearby, soaked with blood, as was the sofa and the floor around it. The man was first killed and then mutilated.
  
  Nick felt sick as he looked at the genitals - someone had cut off the ih and put the emu in his mouth. It was a disgusting sight. He turned his attention to the pile of bloody clothes. In ego's opinion, the position of the genitals was made to look disgusting. He didn't think it was done by his anger, there was no frenzied beating of the corpse. Just clean, professional throat-slitting with genital cutting-that's obvious. Nick took out his wallet one at a time and examined Ego...
  
  
  He carried a .22-caliber pistol, as deadly at close range as his own Luger. And with a silencer. Nick put the small pistol back in his pocket with a hard grin. Amazing things that can sometimes be found in a woman's purse. Especially when this lady, Princess Morgana da Gama, who is currently sleeping in the ego apartment in Prince Gate. The lady was going to answer a few questions. Killmaster headed for the door. He's been at the club too long. There's no point in getting involved in such a gruesome murder. Part of his ego's curiosity was satisfied - the girl couldn't have killed Blacker - and if Hawke ever found out, he'd have convulsions! Get out while you can. When he arrived, the Dragon's door was ajar. Now he covered it with a handkerchief. He didn't touch anything at the club except his wallet. He hurried down the stairs to the small vestibule, thinking that he could walk to Threadneedle Sturt by cutting across Swan Alley and find a place to pack. This was the opposite direction from where he had come from. But when Nick peered through the large, iron, latticed glass door, he saw that getting out would not be as easy as getting in. Dawn was imminent, and the world was flooded with mother-of-pearl light. He could see a large black sedan parked in front of the stable entrance. The driver was a man. Two other men, big men, roughly dressed, wearing scarves and cloth work caps, were leaning against the car. Carter couldn't be sure in the dim light, but they looked like Negroes. This was new - he'd never seen a nigger treat vendor before. Nick made a mistake. He was moving too fast. They saw a flicker of movement behind the glass. The man behind the wheel gave the order, and the two big men went down to the stables and the front door of number fourteen. Nick Carter turned and ran lightly to the back of the lobby. They looked like goons, the two of them, and except for the derringer he'd taken around the girl's purse, he was unarmed. He was having fun in London using a pseudonym, and ego Luger and stiletto lay under the floorboard in the back of the apartment.
  
  
  Nick found a door that led around the lobby to a narrow passageway. He picked up speed, pulling a small .22-caliber pistol from the pocket of his doublet as he ran. It was better than nothing, but he would have given a hundred pounds for the familiar Luger emu in his hands. The back door was locked. Nick opened it with a simple key, slipped inside, took the key with him, and locked it from the outside. This will delay ih by a few seconds, or even more if they don't want to make any noise. He was in a littered courtyard. Dawn was breaking fast. A high brick wall topped with broken glass enclosed the back of the yard. Nick tore off his jacket as he ran. He was about to throw his jacket over the broken bottle glass on the ridge of the fence when he saw his leg sticking out of the son of a bitch's trash cans. What now, tailor take it? Time was precious, but he lost a few seconds. Two of the thugs were hidden behind garbage cans, Cockney by the look of them, and both had their throats neatly cut. Drops of the can formed in Killmaster's eyes. This case took the form of a battle. He stared for a moment at the dead man closest to him, his nose like a knife, and his striking right hand clutching the brass knuckles that ego hadn't saved. Now, on the second day, there was a commotion. Time to go. Nick threw his jacket over the glass, jumped over the nah, went down the other side, and pulled the jacket down. The fabric was torn. He wondered, as he pulled on his ragged jacket, if old Throg-Morton would allow it to be included in his AX expense account. It was in a narrow passageway running parallel to Moorgate Road. Left or right? He took a left and ran along it, heading for the rectangle of light at the far end of the passageway. As he ran, he looked back and saw a vague figure riding on a brick moan with one arm raised. Nick ducked and ran faster, but the man didn't fire. Got it. They don't make any more noise than he does.
  
  
  
  
  
  He made his way through the maze of passageways and stables to Zyl-sturt. He had a vague idea of where he was right now. He turned onto New Broad Sturt and then on to Finsbury Circus, always looking for a taxi. The streets of London have never been so deserted. Even a lone milkman wasn't supposed to be inconspicuous in the steadily increasing light, and certainly not the welcome silhouette of Bobby's helmet. As he entered Finsbury, a large black sedan turned the corner and purred in his direction. Their earlier bad luck with it. And now there was nowhere to run. It was a block of houses and small shops, locked and forbidding, all mute witnesses, but no one offered to help. A black car pulled up beside him. Nick kept walking, the .22-caliber revolver in his pocket. He was right. All three were Negroes. The driver was small, the other two were huge. One of the big guys rode in front with the driver, the other in the back. The Killmaster went out quickly, not really looking at them, using his wonderful peripheral vision to look around. They were watching him just as intently, and emu didn't like it. They will know the ego again. If ever there was "again". But right now, Nick wasn't sure if they were going to attack. The big black man in the front seat was mistletoe-ing something, and it wasn't a pea shooter. Then Carter almost did his own trick, almost fell and rolled to the side in front, almost got into a fight with the .22. His ego muscles and reflexes were ready, but something stopped him. He's betting that these people, whatever they are, don't want an open, noisy showdown in Finsbury Square. As Nick continued walking, the black man with the gun said, " I'm not sure.: "Stop, mister. Get in the car. We want to talk to you." There was an accent Nick couldn't quite place. He kept walking. With the corner of his rta, he said, " Go to hell." The man with the gun said something to the driver, a torrent of hurried words layered on top of another, another in a language Nick Caner had never heard before. It reminded Emu a little of Swahili, but it wasn't English.
  
  
  But all he knew now was that it was an African language. But what the devil do the Africans want with him? Stupid corkscrew, simple rheumatism. They were waiting for ego inside the fourteen semicircular stables. They saw that the ego is there. He ran. Now they can talk to him. About the murder of Mr. Theodore Blacker? Probably. About what they'd taken all over the place that they didn't have, or they wouldn't have bothered with it. He turned straight ahead. The street was empty and deserted. Corner mde, tailor take it, have you all been? It reminded Nick of one of those stupid movies where the hero runs endlessly through lifeless streets without finding a person who can help him. He never believed those pictures.
  
  He was outspoken in the midst of eight million people and couldn't find us alone. Only ih cozy four - he and three Negroes. The black car turned the corner and chased after them again. The black man in the front seat said, " Dude, you better get in with us, or we'll have to fight. We don't want that. All we want to do is talk to you for a few minutes." Nick kept walking. "You heard me," he snapped. "Go to hell. Leave me alone, otherwise you might get hurt." The black man with the gun laughed. "Oh, man, this is so funny." He spoke to the driver again in a language that looked like English, but wasn't. The car lurched forward. It flew fifty yards and crashed into kerbside again. Two big niggers in cloth caps jumped out around the car and headed back to Nick Carter. The short man, the driver, slid sideways in the seat until he was halfway around the car, a short black submachine gun in one hand. The person who had spoken earlier said, " You'd better come and talk to me, mister... We don't want to hurt you, really. But if you make us, we'll give you a good beating." The other Negro, who was silent all the time, was a step or two behind. Killmaster knew immediately that real trouble had arrived, and that he had to make a decision quickly. To kill or not to kill?
  
  He decided to try not to kill, even though it might be forced on the emu. This second Negro was six feet six inches tall, built like a gorilla, with huge shoulders and chest, and long, swinging arms. Black as the Ace of spades, with a bloody nose and a face full of wrinkled scars. Nick knew that if this man ever got into a melee, if he ever got his ego into a bear hug, he would be finished. The leading Negro, who had hidden the pistol, took out his doublet again. He flipped his ego and threatened Nick with the butt of his gun. "Are you coming with us, man? "said Nick Carter. He took a step forward, leapt high, and turned to kick, meaning to drive his heavy boot into the man's jaw. But this man knew his stuff, and his ego reflexes were fast.
  
  He swung the gun in front of his jaw, protecting it, and tried to grab Nick's ankle with his left hand. He missed, and Nick knocked the gun right out of his hand. He fell into the gutter with a crash. Nick fell on his back, softening the blow with both hands at his sides. The Negro lunged at him, trying to grab him and get closer to a bigger, stronger man who could do real work. Carter's actions were as controlled and smooth as quicksilver. He hooked his left foot on the man's right ankle and kicked him hard on the knee. I kicked as hard as I could. Every tribe broke like a weak hinge, and the man screamed loudly. He rolled into the gutter and lay there, now speechless, holding on to every tribe member and trying to find the gun he'd dropped. He hadn't realized yet that the gun was under him.
  
  The gorilla-man approached silently, his small, glittering eyes fixed on Carter. He saw and understood what had happened to his partner's ego. He walked slowly, arms outstretched, pinning Nick to the front of the building. It was a storefront of some sort, and there was an iron security grate across it. Now Nick felt the iron on his back. Nick flexed the fingers of his right hand and poked the huge man in the chest. Much harder than he'd hit Sir Charles in The Briefcase, hard enough to cripple him and cause excruciating pain, but not hard enough to tear his aorta and kill him. It didn't work out. His fingers hurt. It was like hitting a concrete slab. As he approached, big nigga's lips twitched in a grin. Nick was now almost pinned against the iron bars.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He kicked him in the knee and wounded the man, but not enough. Odin was hit by his ego around the giant fists, and the world swayed and spun. Ego's breathing was getting harder now, and he could bear to start sobbing a little as the air whistled in and out of ego's lungs. He poked the man's eyes with his fingers and got a second's respite, but this gambit brought his ego too close to those huge hands. He backed away, trying to move out of the way to get out of the closing trap. Uselessly. Carter flexed his arm, flexing his thumb at a right angle, and slammed it into the man's jaw with a killer karate kick. The crest from his little finger to his wrist was rough and callused, hard as planks, and could have broken a jaw with a single blow, but the big Negro did not fall. He blinked, his eyes turning a dirty yellow for a moment, then he moved forward disdainfully. Nick hit Ego again with the same punch, and this time he didn't even blink. Long, thick arms with huge biceps wrapped around Carter like boa constrictors. Now Nick was scared and desperate, but as always, his ego was working, and he was thinking ahead to everything. Em managed to get his right arm through the waist of his doublet, around the butt of a .22-caliber pistol. With his left hand, he groped in the massive throat, as well as the outdoor pool, trying to find a pressure point to stop the flow of blood to the brain, which now had only one thought - to crush it. Then, for a moment, he was as helpless as a baby. The huge black man spread his legs wide, leaned back a little, and lifted Carter off the sidewalk. He hugged Nick to him like a long-lost brother. Nick's face was pressed against the man's chest, and he could smell the ego, the smell, the sweat, the lipstick, and the flesh. He was still trying to find the nerve in the man's neck, but his fingers were getting weak, and it was like trying to dig through thick rubber. The Negro chuckled softly. The pressure grew and grew.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly, the air came out of Nick's lungs. Ego, his tongue popped out and his eyes bulged around his head, but he knew that the man wasn't really trying to kill ego. Oni hotels take ego alive to talk. The man only intended to make Nick lose consciousness and break several of the emu's ribs in the process. More pressure. The huge hands moved slowly like a pneumatic vise. Nick would have groaned if he'd had enough breath. Something was going to break soon - the ribs, all the ribs, the whole chest. The agony was becoming unbearable. Eventually, the emu will have to use a gun. The silenced pistol he'd taken out of the girl's purse. Ego's fingers were so numb that for a while he couldn't find the trigger. Finally, he grabbed ego and pulled him out. There was a pop, and a small pistol kicked the ego in his pocket. The giant continued to squeeze the ego. Nick was furious. Stupid fool, he didn't even know he'd been shot! He pulled the trigger again and again. The gun kicked and wriggled, and it smelled like gunpowder. The Negro dropped Nick, who fell to his knees, panting. He watched, breathless, mesmerized, as the man took another step back. He seemed to have forgotten all about Nike. He looked down at his chest and waist, where small red spots were oozing out from under his clothes. Nick didn't think he'd seriously injured the man: he'd missed a vital spot, and shooting a big guy like that with a .22 caliber was like shooting an elephant with a slingshot. It was the blood, his own blood, that really scared the big man. Carter, still catching his breath, trying to get up, stared in amazement as the Negro tried to kill the ego of clothing with a small bullet. Ego's hands were now slick with blood, and he looked like he was going to cry. He looked at Nick reproachfully. "Bad," said the giant. "The worst part is that you shoot and I bleed.
  
  A scream and the sound of a car engine jolted Nick out of his daze. He realized that only seconds had passed. The smaller man jumped out around the black car and dragged the man with the broken knee into it. At the same time, he shouted commands in an unfamiliar language. It was almost dawn, and Nick realized that the little man had a mouthful of gold teeth. The little man scowled at Nick as he pushed the wounded man into the back of the car. "You'd better run, mister. You've won so far, but maybe we'll see you again, eh? I think so. If you're smart, you don't plot with the police." The big black man was still staring at the blood and muttering to himself. The shorter man snapped at him in a Swahili-like language, and he obeyed like a child, climbing back into the car.
  
  The driver got behind the wheel. He waved threateningly at Nick. "I'll see you another time, mister." The car sped away. Nick pointed out that it was a Bentley and that the license plate was so covered in mud that the ego couldn't be read. Intentionally, of course. He sighed, felt his ribs carefully, and began to pack... He took a deep breath. Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo....What a brute! He glanced to his left just in time to see a pair of police helmets at the far end of the street. Bobby. Nick turned straight around and started walking away from them. He'll go back to the apartment and ask a few questions. It will also get some answers if the emu has to squeeze out ih over nah. If he had to, he would hold her in an icy shower until she screamed for mercy. He'd pour hey, black coffee until she choked on it. He waited until he found the tube entrance, where he boarded the Inner Circle train to Kensington Gore. He thought of the princess again. Maybe, for example, she was waking up in someone else's trash can, terrified and in the throes of a terrible hangover. The thought pleased him. Let her have a little patience. He felt his ribs again. Ltd. In a way, she was responsible for all of this. Then Killmaster laughed out loud. He laughed so unabashedly in front of a man sitting a little further down the train, reading the morning paper, that the man gave him a strange look. Nick ignored him. This is all nonsense, of course. Whatever it was, it was ego's fault. For sticking my nose in something that wasn't my business. Emu was bored to death, wanted action, and now he got ih. Without even calling Hawke. Maybe he wouldn't have called Hawke, but would have just taken care of this little entertainment on his own. He picked up a drunk girl and Stahl witnessed the murders, and was attacked by some Africans. Killmaster began humming a French song about naughty ladies. Ego's ribs didn't hurt anymore. He felt good. This time it might be fun - no spies, no counterintelligence, no Goshawk, and no official restrictions. Lust for a good old murder and a pretty, perfectly lovely girl who needed to be saved. Ripped out by rework, so to speak. Nick Carter laughed again. It can be fun playing Ned Rover or Tom Swift. Yes. Ned and Tom had never had to go to bed with their ladies, and Nick couldn't imagine him not going to bed with his own. However, first the lady must speak out. She was up to her butt in this murder, even though she couldn't have killed Blacker herself. However, on the bad side, this is evidenced by the red ink scrawled on the card. And the .22-caliber pistol that saved the emu's life, or at least its ribs. Nick was looking forward to his next visit to the princess to have fun. He'd be sitting there, candid by the bed, with a cup of black coffee or tomato juice, when she'd open those green eyes and ask the usual corkscrew question:"Where is he?"
  
  The man in the aisle was looking over the top of the newspaper at Nick Carter. The man looked bored, but also tired and sleepy. Ego's eyes were puffy, but very alert. Nen was wearing a pair of cheap rumpled trousers and a bright yellow sports shirt with a purple pattern. Ego's socks were thin and black, and he wore brown leather sandals with open toes. Ego's chest hair, where it was visible all over the wide V-neck of his shirt, was sparse and tinged with gray. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his hair was in dire need of a haircut. When Nick Carter got off at the Kensington Gore bus stop, the man with the newspaper followed him like a shadow.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was sitting there, candid by the bed, with a cup of black coffee, when she opened those green eyes and asked the usual corkscrew, " Where is he?"
  
  She stared into the emu's face with a certain amount of composure. He had to give her an A for her effort. Whatever she was, she was a lady and a princess... He was right about that. Her voice was under control when she asked: "Are you a police officer? Has she been arrested?" Killmaster lied. It was a long time before he was due to meet Hawk, and emu needed her cooperation to get her there. This would save you from the problem all around. He said: "Not exactly a cop. I have an interest in you. Unofficially at the moment. I think you have a problem. Maybe I can help you. We'll know more about it later when I bring you to someone." "See who?" Ee Stahl's voice is stronger. Now it was beginning to harden. He'd seen the effects of booze and pills on nah. Nick smiled his most ingratiating smile.
  
  "I can't tell you that," he said. "But he's not a cop, either. Maybe he can help you too. They will definitely want to help you. Hawke might have been able to help - if there was anything in it for Hawke and AX. It means the same thing. The girl grew hot. "Don't try to treat me like a child," she said. "Maybe her drunk and stupid, but her not a child." She reached for the bottle again. He took the bottle from Nah. "No booze yet. Are you coming with me or not?" He didn't want to put Nah in handcuffs and drag her along. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed longingly on the bottle. She tucked her long legs under her, making no attempt to lower her skirt. Not even a hint of sex. Anything to drink, even give yourself away. Her smile was uncertain. "We didn't sleep together last night, did we?" You see, I have such blackouts in my memory. I don't remember her. It would be the same with Hawk if this deal failed again. The EOW code meant exactly that - what this mess would be to us, and what part of it would be to us.
  
  
  
  Princess, for the Game to play, it was deadly serious. Life and death. Nick went to the phone and picked it up. He was bluffing, but she didn't know it. He made his voice rough, angry. And vulgar. "Okay, princess, for now we'll just stop this shit. But I won't do you a favor - I won't call the police. I'll call the Portuguese Embassy and they'll pick you up and help you, because that's what the embassy is for." He started typing in any numbers, looking at Nah with narrowed eyes. Her face crumpled. She fell down and started crying. "No... no!" I'll go with you. His... I'll do whatever you say. But don't give me away to the Portuguese... they want to put me in a madhouse. "This," Killmaster said cruelly. He nodded toward the bathroom. "I'll give you five minutes there. Then we'll go."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  The Rooster and Bull Inn is located in an old paved courtyard that was used as a place of hanging and beheading in the early Middle Ages. The inn itself was built in the time of Christopher Marlowe, and there are scholars who believe that this is where Marlowe was killed. Today, the Rooster and Bull isn't a bustling establishment, though it does have its fair share of regulars; it stands semi-isolated, away from East Indian Dock Road and close to the Isle of Dogs, an anachronism around pink brick and timbered timber, immersed in the busy rush and bustle of modern transport and shipping. Very few people know about the cellars and secret rooms that are located under the "Rooster and Bull". Scotland Yard can know MI5 and the Special Branch, but if they do, they don't show any signs, turning a blind eye to certain violations, as is customary between friendly countries. Nevertheless, David Hawke, the hot-tempered and stubborn head of AX, was well aware of his responsibilities. Now, in one of the basement rooms, modestly but comfortably furnished and air-conditioned, he stared at his Odin number and said: we're all on slippery ground.Especially the Negroes - they don't even have a country, let alone an embassy!
  
  And the Portuguese aren't much better. They should be very careful with the British, who more or less support ih at the UN on the Angolan issue.
  
  They don't want to twist the lion's tail - that's why they didn't dare kill the princess before. Nick Carter lit a gold-tipped cigarette and nodded, and while some things were clearing up, a lot of things were still hazy and uncertain. Hawke was making it clear, yes, but in his usual slow and agonizing way. Hawk poured a glass of water from a nearby decanter. he dropped a large round pill, watched it sizzle for a while, and then drank the water. He rubbed a life that was surprisingly sturdy for a man of ego years. "My stomach hasn't caught up with me yet," Hawk said. "He's still in Washington." He glanced at his wristwatch and . Nick had seen that look before. He understood. Hawk belonged to a generation that didn't quite understand jet propulsion. Hawke said that just four and a half hours ago, he was sleeping in his room. The phone rang. It was the Secretary of State. Forty-five minutes later, I was on a CIA plane, flying over the Atlantic at two thousand miles an hour." "Too fast for my guts." The secretary himself called, the supersonic plane, this rush and meeting. The Portuguese started yelling. I don't understand. The ego boss didn't seem to hear him. He grumbled, half to himself, as he put an unlit cigar in his thin mouth and chewed it. "CIA plane," he muttered. . "AX should already have its own supersonic. I already have enough time to request..." Nick Carter was patient. It was the only way when old Hawk was in this mood. "a basement complex under the care of two burly matrons."
  
  
  
  Hawk gave the order to get the lady to her feet, sober, intelligent, ready to talk, in twenty-four hours. Nick thought it would take some effort, but the AX ladies, both RN, were quite capable. Nick knew that Hawke had hired quite a few "employees" for this job. In addition to the women, there were at least four burly AX field fighters - Hawk preferred his muscles, big and strong, if a little obvious, rather than the pampered Ivy-type moms that the CIA and FBI sometimes used. Then there was Tom Boxer - there was only time for a nod and a short hello-whom Cillmaster knew as N 6 or 7. This basically meant that the Boxer also had the title of Master Assassin. It was unusual, highly unusual, that two people of this rank had ever met. Hawk pulled up a wall map. He used an unlit cigar as a pointer. - A good corkscrew is about the Portuguese. Do you think it's weird that a country like the United States jumps when they whistle? But in this case, we did it - I'll explain why. Have you ever heard of the Cape Verde Islands? "Indeterminate. I've never been there. Do they belong to Portugal?"
  
  
  Hawke's wrinkled farm face crinkled around his cigar. In his disgusting jargon, he said, " Now, boy, you're beginning to understand. Portugal owns them. Since 1495. Watch this." He pointed with his cigar. -"There. For example, three hundred miles off the west coast of Africa, where it extends farthest into the Atlantic. Not so wouldnt be far from our bases in Algeria and Morocco. There are quite a few islands, some big, some small. On one or more of them-I do not know which one, and I do not want to know - the United States has buried some treasure." Nick was tolerant of his boss. The old man enjoyed it. "Treasure, sir?" "H-bombs, boy, a hell of a lot of ih. A whole fucking huge ih forest." Nick pursed his lips in a silent whistle. So that was the lever that the Portuguese pulled. No wonder Uncle Sammy sent ego! Hawk tapped the map with his cigar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Can you imagine the picture? Only about a dozen men in the world know about it, including you right now. I don't need to tell you that this is top secret. Calmaster just nodded. The ego level of approval was as high as that of the President of the United States. This was one of the reasons why he had been carrying a cyanide pill with him lately. All the Portuguese have to do is hint, just hint that they might have to change their mind, that maybe they want these bombs out of there, and the State Department is jumping like a lion and through hoops. Hawk put the cigar back in his mouth. For estestvenno, we have other caches of bombs all over the outdoor pool. But we're pretty sure - almost one hundred percent - that the enemies don't know about this deal in Cape Verde. We went to great lengths to keep it that way. If we have to move, then, of course, the whole deal will fall through. But it wouldn't have come to that. All some high-ranking Portuguese official has to do is drop a hint in the right place, and our croup is in danger. Hawk returned to his chair at the desk. "You can see, son, that this case has ramifications. This is a real scorpion jar.
  
  Killmaster agreed. He still didn't understand everything too clearly. There were too many angles. "They didn't waste any time," he said. "How can the Portuguese government react so quickly?" He told Hawke everything about his crazy tomorrow, starting with the moment he picked up the drunk girl at the Briefcase. Ego boss shrugged. "It's easy. This Major Oliveira, who was shot, probably followed the girl and tried to grab her without attracting attention. The last thing he wants is publicity. The British are very annoyed about kidnapping. My guess is that he was a little on edge when she got into that club, saw you take her out, recognized you - the major worked in counterintelligence, and the Portuguese have files-and made a couple of phone calls. Probably one minute fifteen. The Major called the embassy, they called Lisbon, Lisbon called Washington. Hawk yawned. "The secretary called me... Nick lit another cigarette.
  
  
  
  That murderous look on Hawke's face. He'd seen it before. It's the same look a dog gets when it knows where a piece of meat is, but it's better to keep it to itself for now. "It's a coincidence," Nick said sarcastically. "She fell into my arms and 'fell at this moment'. Hawk smiled. "It happens, son. Coincidences do happen. It's, well, providential, you might say.
  
  Killmaster didn't fall for the bait. Hawk will draw the hook when the time comes. Nick said: "What makes the princess so important to Gama in all of this?" David Hawke frowned. He tossed the chewed cigar into the trash cans and removed the cellophane from the new one. "To be honest, I'm a little puzzled about it myself. She's kind of an X-factor now. I suspect her of being a pawn being pushed, stuck in the middle. "In the middle of what, sir.".. He flipped through the papers, picking out one from time to time and placing it on a chair in some sort of order. The smoke from the cigarette burned Nick's eyes, and he closed his eyes for a moment. But even with his eyes closed, it was as if he could still see Goshawk, a strange-looking Goshawk smoking a cigar in a linen suit the color of oatmeal, like a spider that sat in the dead center of a tangled web, watching and listening, and occasionally pulling one around the threads. Nick opened his eyes. An involuntary shiver ran through the ego of the special ones. Hawk looked at him curiously. "What's wrong, boy: Did someone just walk over your grave?" Nick chuckled. "Perhaps, sir..."
  
  Hawke shrugged. "I said I don't know too much about it yet, and what makes it important. Before leaving Washington, she received a phone call from Delle Stokes asking her to get everything she could. Maybe I know her differently from what I've heard or read in the papers, that the princess is an activist, a drunkard, and a public fool, and that she has an uncle who holds a very high position in the Portuguese government.
  
  She also poses for dirty photos. Nick stared at him. He remembered the hidden camera in Blacker's house, the screen and projector. It's just a rumor, " Hawke continued. "I have to clarify this, and I do. Dealing with a lot of material from one of our people in Hong Kong. Mentioned in passing, you might say. Back then, the princess was in Hong Kong and broke, and that she posed for several photos to get money into her hotel account and travel. This is another way that the Portuguese tried to get ee back - they invested in it to cut off ee funds abroad. Her, I believe, is pretty well stranded by now ." "She's staying at Aldgate, sir. This requires money." Hawk squinted at him.
  
  
  
  
  "Now I have a person who does this. One of the first things I did was del-tut ... " The phone rang. Hawk took ego and said something curtly. He hung up and gave Nick a grim smile. "She now owes Aldgate more than two thousand dollars. Rheumatism or corkscrew? Nick started to notice that it wasn't Corkscrew's ego, but then forgot about it. The boss looked at him strangely and sharply. When Hawke spoke again, his tone was oddly formal. "I have very rare medicinal advice to give you, really."No, sir. You don't advise me." "Now you need it for very rare medicinal purposes. Maybe you need it now. Don't mess with this woman, this princess, to become an international drifter with an appetite for booze and drugs, and nothing more. You can work with it, and if something works out, you will do it, of course, but let it stop there. Don't get too close to her." Killmaster nodded. But he was thinking about what she'd looked like in Ego's apartment just a few hours ago...
  
  
  
  
  
  KILMASTER-desperately trying to pull himself together. He did it, to a certain extent. No, he didn't agree with Hawk. There was something good about her somewhere, no matter how much it was lost or buried now. Hawk crumpled the sheet of paper and tossed it into the trash. "Forget about her for now, "he said," we'll get back to her later. There's no crazy rush. You two will be here for at least forty-eight hours. Later, when she feels better, let her talk about herself. Now, I want to know if you've ever heard of these two men: Prince Solahuaye Ascari and General Auguste Boulanger. Every top AX agent was required to be sufficiently familiar with world affairs. A certain amount of knowledge was required. From time to time, unexpected seminars were held and questions were asked. Nick said, " Prince Askari is an African. I think he was educated at Oxford. He led the Angolan rebels against the Portuguese. He's had a few successes against the Portuguese, won some important battles, and won territory." Hawk was pleased. "Well done. What about the general?" This corkscrew was tougher. Nick racked his brain. General Auguste Boulanger has not been in the news lately. Gradually, the ego's memory began to produce facts. "Boulanger is a renegade French general," he said. He was a terrorist, one of the leaders of the SLA and never gave up. The last time I read it, he was sentenced to death in absentia in France. Is this the right person? "Yes," Hawk said. "He's also a damn good general. This is why the Angolan rebels have been winning lately. When the French stripped Boulanger of his titles and sentenced him to death, he was able to go along with it. He contacted this Askari Prince, but very secretly. And what's more, it was Prince Askari and General Boulanger who found a way to raise money. A lot of money. Huge amounts of money. If they continue like this, they will win the MACAU war in Angola.
  
  There will be another new country in Africa. Even now, Prince Askari thinks that he will rule this country. My bet is that if it works out at all, General Auguste Boulanger will be in charge. He will make himself a dictator. He's just that type. He's capable of other things, too. He is a libertine, for example, and an extreme egotist. It would be nice to remember these things, son. Nick stubbed out his cigarette. Finally, the essence began to emerge. "Is this a Russian locality, sir? Am I going up against this General Boulanger? Or Prince Askari? Both of them?'
  
  He didn't ask why. Hawk will tell em when he's ready. Ego boss didn't answer. He picked up another thin piece of paper and studied it for a while. "Do you know who Colonel Chun-li is?" It was easy. Colonel Chun Li was Hawk's opposite number in Chinese counterintelligence. Two men were sitting on the other side of the world, one on the other, moving pieces on an international chessboard. "Chun-Li wants you dead," Hawk said now. - Quite suitable for estestvenno. And hers, I want him dead. It's been in my black book for a long time. I want to get my ego out of the way. Especially since he's been gaining a lot of momentum lately - he's lost half a dozen good agents to that bastard in the last six months." "So this is my real job," Nick said.
  
  "That's right. Kill this Colonel Chun Li for me." "But how do I get close to him? Just like he won't be able to get close to you." Hawke's smile was unspeakable. He waved a gnarled hand over all the things on his desk. "The vote where all this is starting to clear up is . The princess, adventurer Blacker, two Cockneys with their throats cut, Major Oliveira dead, all of them. No one is important on their own, but everyone contributes. He didn't quite understand Nick yet, and that made Ego a little sullen. The hawk was a spider, the tailor's ego be damned! And a damned spider with its mouth shut.
  
  
  
  Carter said coldly."You forget the three Negroes who killed me, " and killed the major. They're also involved, aren't they? Hawk rubbed his hands together in pleasure. "Oh, them too... But not too important, not now. They wanted something from Blacker, actually, and probably thought it was from you. Anyway, they want to talk to you. Nick felt a pain in his ribs. "Unpleasant conversations". Hawk grinned. "That's part of your job, isn't it, son?" I'm just glad you didn't kill anyone around them. As for Major Oliveira, that's a pity. But these negroes were Angolans, and the Major was Portuguese. And they didn't want him to get the princess. They want the princess for themselves."
  
  "Everyone wants a princess," Killmaster said irritably. "Damn her if I don't understand why." "They want a Princess and something else," Hawk corrected. "From what you've told me, I assume it was some kind of movie. Some kind of blackmail film - another assumption - very dirty shots. Don't forget what she did in Hong Kong. Either way, to hell with it." with all that, we have a princess, and we're going to keep her.
  
  "What if she doesn't cooperate? We can't force her." Hawk looked stony, " I can't do it? I think so. If she does not agree to cooperate, I will hand her over to the Portuguese government to do it for free, gratuitously. They want to put her in a mental institution, really? She told you that.
  
  Nick said yes, and she told em that. He remembered the look of horror on her face. "She'll play," Hawke said. "Now go get some rest. Ask me everything you need to know. You won't leave this place until we put you on a plane to Hong Kong. With the Princess, of course. You will travel as husband and wife. I am currently preparing your passports and other documents." Kinmaster stood up and stretched. He was tired. It was a long night and a long morning. He looked at Hawke. "Hong Kong? Is that where I'm supposed to kill Chun-Li?" In Macau. And that's where I'm supposed to kill you, Chun Li! He's setting a trap right now, and it's a very neat trap.
  
  I admire that. Chun is a good player. But you'll have the advantage, son. You will fall into the ego trap with your trap.
  
  Killmaster has never been as optimistic about these issues as ego boss. Perhaps it was because Shay's ego was at stake. He said: "But it's still a trap, sir. And in Macau, it's practically in his backyard." Hawk waved a hand. "I know. But there is also a Chinese saying-sometimes a trap falls into a trap. "Bye, son. Question the princess as soon as she wants. Odin. I don't want you there helpless. Let you listen to the tape. Now go to sleep." Nick left ego shuffling his paperwork and twirling a cigar in his mouth. There were times, and this was one around them, when they thought their boss was just a monster. Hawke didn't need blood - there was coolant in his ego's veins. This description suited us, one to the other in mathematics.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  KILLMASTER always knew that Hawke was skilled and cunning in his difficult work. Now, when he listened to the tape the next day, he discovered that the old man had a reserve of courtesy, a capacity for empathy - though it might be pseudo - empathy-that Nick didn't know about. Nor did he know that Hawke spoke Portuguese so well. The tape was running. Hawke's voice was gentle, yet openly good-natured. "Nleu nome a David "Hawk". Como eo sea name?" Princess Morgana da Gama. Why ask? Hers, I'm sure you already know that. Your name doesn't mean anything to me - who are you, Molly? Why am I being held captive here against my will? We're in England, you know, I'll put you all in jail for this:. Nick Carter smiled with hidden pleasure as he listened to the rapid flow of Portuguese. The old man was seizing the moment. It wasn't like her spirit was broken. Hawke's voice was flowing, smooth as molasses. "I will explain everything in due course, Princess da Gama. In the meantime, are you like a naiad if we speak English? I don't understand your language very well." "If you like." I don't care. But you speak very good Portuguese.
  
  
  "I don't even speak English as well as you do." The hawk purred like a cat that sees a deep bowl of thick yellow cream. "Obrigado. She went to school in the States for many years." Nick could imagine her shrugging. The feed began to rustle. Then a loud crack. Hawke strips the cellophane off his cigar. Hawk:"How do you feel about the United States, Princess?" Girl: "What? I don't quite understand." HAWKE: Then let me put it this way. Do you like the United States? Do you have any friends there? Do you think that the United States, while attracting global conditions with its brilliant teaching skills, is really doing its best to maintain peace and goodwill in the world? Girl: "Then it's politics! So you're some kind of secret agent. You are a CIA " Hawk: "It's not through the CIA. Answer my corkscrew question, please. For me, for example, to perform a job that is engaged in can be dangerous. And well-paid. What do you think about it?
  
  Girl: "Me... I could have. I need money. And I have nothing against the United States. I hadn't really thought about it. I'm not interested in politics. Nick Carter, who was familiar with all the nuances of Hawke's voice, smiled at the dryness in the old man's response. "Thank you, Princess. For honest rheumatism, if not enthusiastic. "Her. Are you saying you need money? I happen to know it's true. They blocked their funds in Portugal, didn't they? Uncle Luis da Gama is responsible for this, isn't he?" A long pause. The feed began to rustle. Girl: "How do you know about all this stuff? How do you know about my uncle?": "I know a lot about you, my dear. Very much. You've had a hard time lately. You were in trouble. You're still in trouble. and try to understand.If you cooperate with me and my government - you will have to sign a contract to that effect, but it will be kept in a secret vault, and only two people will know about it - if you do that, perhaps I can help you.
  
  With money, with hospitalization, if necessary, maybe even with an American passport. We'll have to think about it. But most importantly, Princess, I can help you regain your self-esteem. Pause. Nick had expected her response to be indignant. Instead, he heard weariness and resignation. She seemed to be running out of steam. I tried to imagine her shaking, craving a drink, or a pill, or a shot of something. The two AX nurses seemed to do a good job with her, but it was cool, and it must have been hard.
  
  Girl: "My self-esteem?" She laughed. Nick flinched at the sound. "My self-esteem is long gone, Mr. Hawke. You seem to be some sort of wizard, but I don't think even you are capable of performing miracles. Hawk: We can try, Princess. Should we start now? I'm going to ask you some very personal questions. You must answer them-and you must answer them sincerely." Girl: "And if you don't?"
  
  Hawk: "Then I'll arrange for you to be picked up by someone from the Portuguese embassy here. In London. Her confident that they would consider it a great favor. You've been embarrassing your government for a long time, Princess. Especially your uncle in Lisbon. Hers, I believe he holds a very high position in the cabinet. As I understand it, he would be very happy if you returned to Portugal. Only later, much later, did Nick understand what the girl had said. She said with complete disgust in her voice, " My uncle. This... it's a creature! " Pause. Hawk waited. Like a very patient spider. Finally, with treacle dripping, Hawkeye said: "Well, young lady?" Showing defeat in her voice, the girl said: Good. Ask your questions. I don't want to, I don't need to be sent back to Portugal. They want to put me in a madhouse. Oh, they won't call it that. They'll call it a convent or a nursing home, but it'll be a shelter. Ask your questions. I won't lie to you. Hawk said, " Better not forever, Princess. Now I'm going to be a little rude. You'll be ashamed of yourself. It can't be helped.
  
  Photo voting. I want you to look at it. It was made in Hong Kong a few months ago. How I got it is none of your business. So, this is your picture? A rustle on the tape. Nick remembered what Hawke had said about the princess taking dirty photos in Hong Kong. At this time, the old man said nothing about the fact that he actually had any photos on Della Street. Sobs. She was breaking down now and crying quietly.
  
  "Y-yes," she said. "It's hers. Hers... I posed for this photo. I was very drunk at the time." Hawk: "This man is Chinese, isn't he? Do you know ego's name?" Girl: "No. Her ego never saw us, us later. He was... just the person I met in the ... studio." Hawk: "It doesn't matter. It's not important. You say you were drunk at the time - isn't it true, Princess, that you've been arrested for drunkenness at least a dozen times in the last couple of years? In several countries - Have you ever been arrested in France for drug possession? Girl: I can't remember the exact number of times. I don't remember her very much, usually after drinking. .. I know... I was told that when I drink it, I meet terrible people and do terrible things. But I have complete blackouts-I don't really remember what I'm doing."
  
  Pause. The sound of breathing. Hawk lights another cigar, and Hawk shuffles papers on his desk. Hawk, with a terrible softness in his voice: "That's all, Princess... I think we have determined that you are an alcoholic, that you sometimes use drugs, if not a drug addict, and that you are generally considered a woman of loose morals. Do you think that's fair?"
  
  Pause. Nick expected more tears. Instead, her voice was cold, tart, angry. In the face of Hawke's humiliation, she lied: "Yes, tailor take it, its like this. Are you satisfied now?" Hawk: "My dear young lady! It's nothing personal, nothing at all. In my, uh, profession, I sometimes have to dig into these issues. I assure you, this is as distasteful to me as it is to you."
  
  Girl: "Let me question that, Mr. Hawk. Are you finished?" Hawk: "Finished? My dear girl, its just started. Now let's get straight to the point - and remember, no lying. I want to know everything about you and this Blacker guy. Mr Theodore Blacker, now dead, murdered, lived at number fourteen Hugh Crescent Mews. What did Blacker have on you?" Did he have something? Did he blackmail you?" A long pause. Girl: "I'm trying to cooperate, Mr. Hawke. You have to believe it. She's scared enough not to try to lie. But about Teddy Blacker, it's such a complicated and complicated operation...
  
  Hawk: Start at the beginning. When did you first meet Blacker? Where? What happened?" Girl: "I'll try. That was a few months ago. One night she came to him. I've heard of the ego Club, the Dragon Club, but I've never been there. She was supposed to meet some friends there, but they didn't show up. So I was left alone with him. He... he was a terrible little worm, actually, but at that moment I had nothing else to do. I drank it. Hers was almost broke, hers was late, and Teddy had drunk a lot of whiskey. I had a few drinks, and I don't remember any of it afterwards. The next morning, she woke up in her hotel.
  
  Hawk: "Blacker drugged you?" Girl: "Yes. He admitted it later. He gave me LSD. Her ego has never accepted her before... hers must be like going on a long trip. HAWKE: He took pictures, you know, movies, didn't he? Videos. While you were on drugs?" Girl: "Y-yes. In fact, Della Street had never seen these films, but he showed me an excerpt around a few frames. They were... they were terrible.
  
  HAWK: And then Blacker tried to blackmail you? Did he demand money for these films?" Girl: "Yes. Ego's name suited emu. But he was wrong - I didn't have any money. At least not for that kind of money. He was very disappointed and didn't trust me at first. Later, of course, he trusted in it."
  
  
  Hawk: "Have you returned to the Dragon Club?" Girl: "No. She never went there again. We used to meet in bars, pubs and similar places. Then one night, the last time I saw Blacker, he said I should forget about it. He stopped blackmailing me after all."
  
  Pause. Hawk: "He said that, didn't he?" Girl: "I thought so. But she wasn't happy about it. In fact, Della Street felt worse. Those awful photos of me would still be in circulation - he said so, or actually did it." Hawk: "What exactly did he say? Be careful. This can be very important. A long pause. Nick Carter could picture the closed green eyes, the high white brows drawn together in thought, the beautiful, not yet completely disfigured face strained with concentration. Girl: "He laughed and said what I needed" - Don't worry about buying the film. He said that he has other applicants for it. Bidders willing to pay with real money. He was very surprised, I remember her. He said bidders were going all out of their way to get in line."
  
  Hawk: "And you never saw Blacker after that?" A trap! Don't fall for it. Girl: "It really is. Ego never saw her again. Killmaster groaned loudly.
  
  Pause. Stahl's voice was sharp: "That's not quite true, is it, Princess? Want to revisit this rheumatism issue? And remember what I said about lying! She tried to protest. Girl: I - I don't know what you mean. I never saw Blacker again. The sound of the mailbox opening. Hawk: Are these your gloves, Princess?" Here. Take ih. Study it carefully. I should advise you to tell the truth again."
  
  Girl: "Y-yes. These are mine. Hawk: Do you want to explain why there are bloodstains on them, too? And don't try to tell me that they came from around the cut on your knee. You didn't have gloves then.
  
  Nick frowned at the tape recorder. He could not, even if the ego's life depended on it, explain his sense of duality. How the hell had he ended up on her side against Hawke? The big AX agent shrugged. Maybe she'd become such a hell of a mess, sick as hell, helpless, depraved, and deceitful.
  
  Girl: "This puppet of yours doesn't miss much, does it?
  
  Hawk, having fun: "A puppet? Haha, I'll have to tell em about this. Of course, this is not the case. He's too independent at times. But that's not our goal. How about some gloves, please?"
  
  Pause. The girl is sarcastic: Good. Blacker had it. He was already dead. Oni ... mutilated him. There was blood everywhere. I tried to be careful, but I slipped and almost fell. I held on to it, but there was blood on my gloves. She was scared and confused. Ih took it off and put it in her purse. She tried to get rid of them, but forgot."
  
  Hawk: "Why did you stop by Blacker's place early this morning? What are you doing?" What could you expect?
  
  Pause. Girl: I... I really don't know. It doesn't make much sense now that she's sobered up. But she woke up in a strange place, I was woken up creepy, sick and hungover. She took a few pills to stay on her feet. I didn't know if she'd come home with hema or, well, what we were doing. She couldn't remember what the man looked like.
  
  Hawk: Were you sure that was true?"
  
  Girl: I'm not sure, but when I'm being filmed, I'm so drunk, and I usually am. Either way, she had to leave before he got back. I had a lot of money. I was thinking about Teddy Blacker once, and I guess I thought he'd give me some money if I..... if I...
  
  A long pause. Hawk: "If you're what?" Nick Carter thought about it: "Merciless old bastard! Girl: "If I... were nice to him." Hawk: "I see. But you got there, and you found the ego dead, killed, and, as you say, disfigured. Do you have any idea who might have killed ego?" Girl: "No, not at all. Such a bastard must have a lot of enemies."
  
  
  
  Hawk: "You didn't see anyone else around? Nothing suspicious, no one chased you or tried to interrogate or obstruct you?" Girl: "No. I haven't seen her anywhere. I didn't really look at it - I just ran away as fast as I could. She just ran away." Hawk: "Yes. You ran back to Prince Gale's, back to where you'd just left. Why? I really don't understand her, Princess. Why? Answer me."
  
  Pause. Prolongation of sobbing. The girl, Nick thought, was almost at her limit. Girl: "I'll try to explain. One thing was that I had enough money to pay for a taxi back to Prince Gale, not to my apartment. The other thing is-I'm trying, you know - I'm afraid of my entourage - I'm afraid of the hotel, not the stage-but I suppose the real reason was that now she... she might be involved in a murder! Whoever he was would have given me an alibi. She was terribly scared because, you see, she really didn't know what I'd done. I thought this man might tell me. And I needed the money.
  
  Hawk, relentlessly: "And you were ready for anything - your word, I believe her, you were ready to be nice to a stranger. In exchange for money and possibly an alibi?"
  
  Pause. Girl: Y-yes. She was ready for this. I've done this before. I confess. I recognize it all. hire me now." Hawk, genuinely surprised: "Oh, my dear young lady. Of course, she was asked to hire you. They, or the other qualities you just mentioned , are the qualities that make you eminently fit for my, uh, field of work, you're tired, princess, and a little unwell. Just one more minute and I'll let you go." Now that you have returned to Prince's Gate, an agent of the Portuguese government has tried to ... kill you. We'll call it that. Do you know this man?" Girl: "No, not an ego name. Ego didn't know her very well before, but she'd seen her a few times. Here in London. He was watching me. I had to be very careful. My uncle is behind this, I think. Sooner or later, if you hadn't caught me first, they would have kidnapped me and somehow smuggled me out of England. I would have been taken to Portugal and placed in an orphanage. "Thank you, Mr. Hawk, for not letting them have me. No matter who you are or what I have to do, will it be better than this?"
  
  Killmaster muttered: "Don't bet on it, honey." Hawke: "I'm glad you see it that way, my dear. This is not exactly an unfavorable start. Just tell me what you remember openly right now about the person who drove you home on the Way? The man who saved you from a Portuguese agent?
  
  Girl: I don't remember being in the Diplomat at all. Not least of all. All I remember about this man, your puppet, is that he seemed to me to be a large and rather handsome man. exactly what he did to me. I think he might have been violent. Was that all - was I too ill to notice?
  
  Hawk: "You did a great job. Not a bad description, as far as it goes. But if I were you, Princess, I wouldn't want her to use that word "puppet"again. You will be working with this gentleman. You will travel together to Hong Kong and possibly Macau. You will travel as husband and wife. "My agent, as long as we call the ego that, my agent will be with you. In truth, he will have a life-or-death power over you. Or what, in your case, you seem to think is worse than death. Remember, Macau is a Portuguese colony. One act of treachery on your part, and he'll turn you in in a minute. Never forget that." Her voice is shaky: "I understand. I told her I'd be working, didn't I?.. I'm afraid. I'm terrified.
  
  Hawk: "You can go now. Call the nurse. And try to pull yourself together, princess. You don't have more than twenty-four hours. Make a list of the things you need, clothes, whatever, and they will all be provided... Then you will go to your hotel. This will be monitored by, uh, certain groups." The sound of a chair being pushed back.
  
  Hawk: "Here, one more thing. Could you please sign the contract that hers mentioned? Read it if you want. This is a normal form, and it binds you, just for this mission. Well, the voice. "He's on the line where he put the cross." Scratch the feathers. She hadn't bothered to read the ego. The door opened, and heavy footsteps clattered as one of the matrons entered.
  
  Hawk: "I'll talk to you again, Princess, before I leave. Goodbye. Try to get some rest. The door closes.
  
  
  Hawk: Vote like this, Nick. It is better to study this feed carefully. It's suitable for this job - more suitable than you think right now - but if you don't need it, you don't need to take it. But I hope you do. I'm playing a guessing game, and if my guess is correct, the Princess is our ace up our sleeve. I'll send her for you whenever I want. It doesn't hurt to practice a little on the shooting range. However, I assume that there, in the mysterious East, everything will be very difficult. See you...
  
  
  A ribbon thread. Nick pressed RWD, and the tape spun. He lit a cigarette and stared at Nah. The ego hawk was constantly astounding; the facets of the old man's character, the depth of the ego of intrigue, the fantastic knowledge, the basis and essence of the ego of the intricate web-all of this left Killmaster with a strange sense of humility, almost inferiority. He knew that when the day came, he would have to take Hawke's place. At this point, he also knew that he could not replace the ego. Someone knocked on the door of Nick's booth. Nick said: "Come in." It was Tom Boxer, who was always hiding somewhere. He grinned at Nick. "Karate, if you like." Nick chuckled at rheumatism: "Why not? At least we can work hard. Wait a minute."
  
  
  He went to the desk and picked up the holstered Luger. I think I'll shoot her a little more today. Tom Boxer glanced at the Luger. - Another person's best friend. Nick smiled and nodded. He ran his fingers along the shiny, cool trunk. It was the damn right thing to do. Nick was beginning to guess that. The Luger's barrel was cold now. Soon it will be red-hot.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  They flew in on a BOAC 707, having made the long journey with a stopover in Tokyo to give Hawk time to settle some issues in Hong Kong. The girl slept most of the way, and when she wasn't, she was sullen and taciturn. Hey, new clothes and luggage had been provided, and she looked frail and pale in a light-fi suit with a moderate-length skirt. She was docile and passive. Ee web flash so far of the ferret was when Nick was leading her on board the plane in handcuffs, ih wrists were bound but hidden by a cape. The handcuffs weren't put on because they were afraid that she would run away - they were insurance against catching the princess at the last moment. When Nick was handcuffed in the limousine that was being hauled by ih to London airport, the girl said: "You're not exactly a knight in shining armor," the Killmaster smiled at Hey. This needs to be done... Shall we go, Princess?" Before they left, Nick was locked up with his boss for more than three hours. Now, an hour's drive from Hong Kong, he looked at the sleeping girl and thought that the blonde wig, even though it radically changed her appearance. I didn't do anything to ruin her beauty. He also recalled that last briefing with David Hawke...
  
  When Nick walked into his boss's office, he said: "Everything is starting to fall into place wonderfully" - " Like Chinese boxes. They must be in it," Killmmter said, surprised, and looked at him. He'd thought about it, of course - you always have to look for Chinese Communists in everything these days - but he hadn't realized how much the red Chinese could stick their long fingers in this particular Medvedev. Hawke smiled good-naturedly and pointed to a document that obviously contained up-to-date information.
  
  "General Auguste Boulanger is currently in Macau, probably to meet with Chun Li. He also wants to meet you. And emu needs a girl. He told you he was a libertine. Hong Kong, and it triggered ego. Now he has a Blacker movie. He recognizes the girl and wants her to be part of the deal. A girl - and we have to agree to take a few million dollars of raw Almazov's ego hands..."
  
  Nick Carter, sel. He stared at Hawke as he lit a cigarette. "You're in too much of a hurry for me, sir. Chinese gold will make sense, but what about raw almazov?" "It's simple once you know. The voice is where Prince Askari and Boulanger get all the money to fight the Portuguese. Angolan rebels are raiding South-West Africa and stealing rough diamonds. They even destroyed some Portuguese diamond mines. in Angola itself. The Portuguese, for estestvenno, are tightly censored because they have the first native uprising in their hands, and at the moment they are losing. Rough diamonds. Hong Kong, or in this case Macau, is a natural place to meet and make deals." Killmaster knew it was a stupid spin, but he asked it anyway. "Why the hell do the Chinese want rough diamonds?" Hawke shrugged.- "The communist economy is not like
  
  No, they need diamonds, just like they need bobcats. They have corners, for estestvenno. Common problems, for example. Another bait and levers. They can make this Boulanger and Prince Askari dance to ih's tune.
  
  He had nowhere else to sell his rough diamonds! This is a tough, strictly controlled market. Ask any dealer how difficult and dangerous it is to make a living selling diamonds on a freelance basis. That's why Boulanger and Ascari want us to be in the della. Another market. We can always bury ih in Fort Knox along with the gold. Killmaster nodded. "Understood, sir. We offer General and Prince Askari a better deal for ih rough diamonds, and they frame Colonel Chun Li for us.
  
  For me, "Hawke poked the cigar into his mouth," it's true. - Partially. Boulanger, of course, rat type. We play both ends against the middle. If the Angolan uprising succeeds, he plans to cut Askari's throat and seize power. I'm not sure about Prince Askari - our knowledge of nen is a bit sparse. As far as his ego is concerned, he is an idealist, honest and well-intentioned. Maybe I'm lazy, maybe I'm not. I just don't know her. But you got the idea, I hope it's hers. I'm throwing you in a real shark pool, son.
  
  Killmaster stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. He started walking around the small office. More than usual. "Yes," Hawk agreed. He didn't know much about all the aspects of the Blacker case, and he said it now, with some vehemence. He was a highly trained agent, and he was the best at his murderous job-literally-than anyone else in the world. But he hated clubs in wheels. He picked up a cigar, propped his feet up on a chair, and began to talk with the air of a man enjoying himself. Hawk liked intricate puzzles. "Quite simply, my son. Some are around these guesses, but I'd bet on it. Blacker began drugging the princess and blackmailing her with dirty movies. Nothing more. He discovers that it is broken. That won't do. But he also somehow finds out that she is
  
  has this very important uncle, Luisa de Gama, in Lisbon. Cabinet of Ministers, money, business. Blacker thinks he'll get a lot. "I do not know how Blacker arranged it, maybe a clip around the movie, by mail or maybe by personal contact. In any case, this uncle played smarter and warned Portuguese intelligence. To avoid a scandal. Especially since her uncle has a high position in the government.
  
  The Profumo affair, if you remember, almost overthrew the British government - and how important can it become? . Prince Ascari, the rebels, has spies in Lisbon. They learn about the movie, and what Blacker is up to. They tell Askari, and, for estestvenno, General Boulanger finds out about it. "Prince Askari decides right away how he can use the film., He can blackmail the Portuguese government, make a scandal in general, maybe bring down this government. A. B. who helps the rebels, through his black people in London. "But General Boulanger, I told you that he is playing the other hand, he wants both the girl and the tape. He wants this girl because he's seen pictures of her before and he's fallen in love with nah; he wants the movie, so he'll have it, but Askari won't.
  
  But he can't fight the Angolan rebels, he doesn't have an organization of his own, so he asks for help from his Chinese friends. They comply and let emu use the militant squad in London. The Chinese killed Blacker and those two Cockneys! We tried to make it look like a sex showdown. General Boulanger got the movie or will get it soon, and now Emu needs the girl personally. It's waiting for you in Macau now. You and the girl. He knows we have it. He told you a rough deal: we'll give Em the girl and buy some diamonds, and he'll frame Chun Li for you. "Or will he frame me for Chun-Li?" Hawk grimaced, " it can be anything, son."
  
  
  Lights came on in English, French, and Chinese: "Fasten your seat belts - no smoking." They were approaching Kai Tak Airport. Nick Carter nudged the sleeping princess and said in a whisper: "Wake up, my beautiful wife. We're almost there."
  
  She frowned. "Do you have to use that word?" He frowned. "I bet I know. This is important, and remember it. We are Mr. and Mrs. Prank Manning, Buffalo, New York. Newlyweds. Honeymoon in Hong Kong." He smiled. "Did you take a good nap, dear?" Shell rain. When they got off, around the plane and headed for customs, the air was warm and humid. Nick, for once, wasn't particularly happy to be back in Hong Kong. He had a very bad feeling about this mission. The sky didn't calm him down at all. One glance at the sullen, tarnished clouds and he knew that storm signals would be sounding in the Hong Kong Island Navy Yard. Maybe just a storm - maybe something lighter. Strong wind. There was a flow in July, a transition in August. A typhoon was possible. But then anything was possible in Hong Kong. Customs went smoothly, as Nick was now carrying a luger and a stiletto. He knew that the ego was well covered by the AX staff, but he didn't try to detect ih. Useless anyway. They knew their job. He also knew that General Boulanger's men were covering for ego. Perhaps Colonel Chun-Li's men, too. They would be Chinese, ih would be impossible to detect in an open public place. Emu was ordered to go to the Blue Mandarin Hotel in Victoria. There he would sit and wait for General Auguste Boulanger to get in touch. Hawk assured him that he wouldn't have to wait long. It was a Mercedes taxi with a slightly bent wing and a small blue cross chalked on the snow-white tire. Nick pushed the girl toward him. The driver was a Chinese man Nick had never seen before. Nick said: "Do you know where the Rat Fink bar is in the hall?" "Yes, sir." The rats gather there. Nick held the door open for her. Ego's eyes met the taxi driver's. "What color are the rats?"
  
  
  "They have a lot of flowers, mister. We have yellow rats, white rats and more recently we have black rats." Killmaster nodded and slammed the door. Good. Head to the Blue Tangerine. Go slower. I want her every year." As they drove away, Nick cuffed the princess again, tying her to him. She looked at him. "For your own good," he said hoarsely. "Many people are interested in you, Princess." In ego's mind, Hong Kong couldn't keep many pleasant memories for Nah.Then he noticed Johnny Wise Guy and for a moment forgot about the girl.Johnny was driving a small red MG,and it was stuck in traffic, three cars behind the taxi.
  
  Nick lit a cigarette and thought about it. Johnny wasn't very careful about himself. Johnny knew that Nick Ego knew - they had once been almost friends, both in the States and around the world - and so Johnny knew that Nick noticed him immediately. The emu didn't seem to care. This meant that Ego's job was simply to find out where Nick and his girlfriend had stayed. Killmaster pulled back so that he could see a red car in the mirror. Johnny had already left five cars behind. Just before they get to that ferry, it's going to get close again.
  
  He wouldn't risk being cut off on the ferry. Nick smiled grimly. How the hell was Johnny Smartass (name changed) going to avoid Nick on the ferry? Hide in the men's room? Johnny-Nick couldn't remember his Chinese name-was born in Brooklyn and graduated from CONY. Nick had heard thousands of stories about how crazy he was, a natural bully who could be human or a black sheep. Johnny got in trouble with the cops a few times, he always won, and eventually he became known as Johnny Smartass because of his flippant, cocky, and know-it-all behavior. Nick, smoking and thinking, finally remembered what had happened. The last he heard, Johnny was running a private detective agency in Hong Kong.
  
  Nick smiled ruefully. The guy was an egomaniac, all right. It took Johnny a lot of powerful magic or money to get his license. But he did. Nick kept his eyes on the red light as they began to merge into the heavy traffic on Kowloon. Johnny Wise Guy moved forward again, now just two cars behind. Killmaster wondered what the rest of the parade participants-Boulanger's Chinese, Chun Li's Chinese, Hawk's Chinese-would have done for Johnny Wise. Nick smiled. He was glad to see Johnny, glad that Johnny had taken action. This might be an easy way to get some answers. After all, he and Johnny were old friends.
  
  
  Nick's smile turned a little grim. Johnny may not see it at first, but he'll come to his senses. The Blue Tangerine was a swanky new luxury hotel on Queens Road overlooking Happy Valley Racetrack. Nick took the handcuffs off the girl in the car and patted her hand. He smiled and pointed to a dazzling white high-rise building, a blue swimming pool, tennis courts, gardens, and a dense stand of pine, cassowary, and Chinese banyan trees. In his best honeymoon voice, he said: "Isn't it beautiful, dear? Just made to order for us." A tentative smile touched the corner of her full red rta. She said: "You're making a fool of yourself, aren't you?" He took ee's hand firmly. "Everyone's at the day's work, "he said, hey. Let's go to heaven. For 500 bucks a day, Hong Kong, that is." Opening the taxi door, he added, "You know, this is the first time I've seen you smile with them ferrets since we left London?" The smile widened slightly, green eyes studying him. -"Ble, can I have a drink soon?" Only... to celebrate the beginning of our honeymoon... -"We'll see," he said shortly. red MG. A blue Humvee with two men pulled up on Queens Road. Nick gave the taxi driver brief instructions and took the girl to the lobby, not letting go of her hand as he checked ih hotel reservations.
  
  
  She obediently sat with her eyes lowered most of the time, playing her part well. Nick knew that every male gaze in the lobby was taking in her long legs and buttocks, her small waist, her nice full breasts. Most likely, they were jealous of the emu. He leaned down to touch her smooth wand with his lips. With a completely deadpan expression, and loud enough for the ego to be heard by the IT department employee, Nick Carter said: "I love you so much, honey. I can't take my hands off you." Out of the corner of a beautiful red rta, softly, she said: "You stupid puppet!"
  
  Klera smiled and said, " The wedding suite is ready, sir. I took the liberty of sending flowers. I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mr. and Mrs. Manning. maybe ... " Nick cut Ego off with a quick thank you and led the girl to the elevator, following two boys with ih luggage. Five minutes later, in a swanky suite decorated with magnolias and wild roses, the girl said: "I really think I deserve a drink, don't you?" Nick glanced at his AX wristwatch. He had a busy schedule, but there was time for that. He had time for that. He pushed her down on the couch, but not gently. She stared at him in amazement, too surprised to show indignation. Killmaster used his roughest voice. A voice that acted like the chill of death on some of the world's toughest ego clients.
  
  "Princess da Gama," he said. "Let's have a smoke. Understand a few things. First , there will be no booze. No, I repeat, there will be no booze! No drugs! You will do as you are told. Exactly. I hope you understand that I'm not joking... I don't want to exercise with you." Her green eyes were stony, and she flashed fiercely inside him, and her mouth was a thin line of scarlet. "You... you're a puppet! You're all about being a muscular man. Big stupid monkey. You like to push women around, don't you? Aren't you God's gift to the ladies?"
  
  He stood over her, looking down, his eyes as hard as agates. He shrugged. "If you're going to throw a tantrum," he said - hey, " throw it now. Hurry up." The Princess leaned back on the sofa. Po fi's skirt was pulled up, exposing her stockings. She took a deep breath, smiled, and puffed out her chest. "I need a drink," she purred. "It was a long time ago. His... I'll be awfully good to you, awfully good to you, if you'll just let me...
  
  With a nonchalance, a smile that was never cruel to us, never kind to us, Killmaster slapped her beautiful face In the room, slapping her face and leaving red spots on her pale cheek. The princess leapt at him, clawing at his face with her nails. I spat on him. Em liked that. Nah had a lot of guts. Most likely, you will need it. When she was exhausted, he said: "You signed the contract. You will match this throughout the mission. After that, I don't care what you do, what happens to you. You're just an employee of Piao, and don't put on airs with me. Do your job and get paid well. If you don't, I'll hand you over to the Portuguese. In a minute, without thinking, just like that... He snapped his fingers.
  
  At the word "piao," she went white as death. This meant "dog" the worst, cheapest, around prostitutes. The princess turned to the sofa and began to cry softly. Carter glanced at his watch again as there was a knock on the door. For example, the pores. He let in two white men, big but somehow plain-looking. It can be tourists, businessmen, government clerks, anyone. They were AX employees delivered across Manila by Hawk. At that time, the AX staff in Hong Kong was quite busy. Odin was carrying a small suitcase around the men. He held out his hand, saying, " Preston, sir. The rats gather. Nick Carter nodded in agreement.
  
  Another man, who identified himself as Dickenson, said: "White and yellow, sir. They're everywhere." Nick frowned. "No black rats?" The two men exchanged glances. Preston said, " No, sir. What black rats. Should they be?" The connection has never been perfect, even in AX. Nick told them to forget about the black rats. He had his own ideas about it. Preston opened his suitcase and began preparing a small radio transmitter. No one around them paid any attention to the girl Eugene. Now she stopped crying and buried her face in the pillows.
  
  Preston stopped fiddling with his gear and looked at Nick. "How soon do you want to contact the helicopter, sir?" I can't do anything to her until I get a call or text. They need to know I'm here. The man named Dickenson smiled. "They should know, sir. You were accompanied by a real cavalcade around the airport. Two cars, including a Chinese one. They seemed to be watching each other, as well as you. And, of course, Johnny Clever. Killmaster nodded approvingly. "Did you send ego too?" Do you happen to know Ego's point of view on this?" Both men shook their heads. "I have no idea, sir. We were very surprised to see Johnny. Maybe it has something to do with the black rats you asked about? "It's possible. I plan to find out. Johnny knew her years ago, and... the phone rang. Nick held up a hand. "Must be oni, he picked up the phone:" Yes?" Frank Manning? A newlywed couple? It was a high-pitched Han voice, speaking perfect English. Nick said, " Yes." This is Frank Manning....
  
  
  
  
  
  Ih can't be fooled by this trick for a long time. Which is to be expected. The goal was to contact General Boulanger without alerting the Hong Kong or Macao authorities. both interesting and not profitable to visit Macau on your honeymoon, right away. No waste of time. A hydrofoil boat will arrive there via Hong Kong in just seventy-five minutes. If you want, we can arrange transportation." Its something, I'll keep the money that you agree to! Nick said: "I'll arrange transportation myself. And I don't think I'll make it today. He looked at his watch. A quarter past one. Stahl's voice is sharp. "It must be today! There is no time to lose." “no. I can't come. ""Then tonight? "" Maybe, but it will be late. Nick smiled into the phone. It was better at night. Emu needed darkness for what needed to be done in Macau. "Very late. Well then. The Sign of the Golden Tiger Hotel is located on Rua das Lorchas Street. You should be there at Rat Hour. With the product. Is that clear?" With the product , it will be recognized.
  
  "I understand. "Odin's income," said the voice. "Just the two of us." If you do not do this, or if there is some kind of deception, we cannot be held responsible for your safety." "We'll be there," Carter said. He hung up and turned to the two AX operatives. "It will be like this. Turn on the radio, Preston, and get this one here by helicopter. Quickly. Then give the order to start a traffic jam on Queens Road. "Yes, sir!" Preston fiddled with the transmitter. Nick looked at Dickenson. I forgot it. "Eleven o'clock in the morning, sir.
  
  Do you have any handcuffs with you?" Dickenson looked a little startled. "Handcuffs, sir?" No, sir. I didn't think - I mean, I wasn't told that it would be necessary. Killmmter tossed his handcuffs to the man and nodded to the girl. The princess was already seated, her eyes red from hollyhocks, but she looked cool and aloof. Nick would have bet she hadn't lost much. "Take her to the roof," Nick said. "Leave her luggage here. In any case, this is just a show-off. You can remove the cuffs when you get her on board, but keep a close eye on her. She's a cargo, and we need to be able to show it. If we don't do this, the whole deal will fall through. The Princess covered her eyes with her long fingers. In a very low voice, she said, " Can I have just one drink, please? Just one?'
  
  Nick shook his head at Dickenson. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing if I don't say it. And don't let Ay fool you. She'll do her best. She's very nice about that." The princess crossed her legs with a nylon slip, exposing a large length of stockings and white flesh. Dickenson grinned at Nick. "I'm happily married, sir. I'm working on it too. Don't worry. Preston was speaking into the microphone now. "Axe-One to Spinner-Odin. Start a mission. Repeat - start the task. Do you hear me, Odin-Spinner?" A tinny voice whispered in rheumatism. "This is Spinner-One for Axe-Odin. Her, roger that. Wilko. It's coming out now. Killmaster gave Dickenson a curt nod. Good. Get her up there quickly. All right, Preston, start the traffic jam. We don't want our friends to follow this "helicopter". Preston looked at Nick. "Have you thought about phones?" "Of course, take the tailor! We have to take the risk. But phones take time, and it's only three minutes to Siouxsie Wong from here. "Yes, sir." Preston started talking into the microphone again. Points. The Welding operation has begun. Repeat the operation - "Welding" has started. Orders started coming in, but there was no sign of Nick Carter. He escorted Dickenson and the girl without handcuffs to the roof of the hotel. I just went down by helicopter. The Blue Mandarin's large, flat roof was the perfect landing pad. Nick, luger in hand, leaned back against the wall of the small service penthouse and watched as Dickenson helped the girl into the helicopter.
  
  
  The helicopter rose, leaning forward, its rotating rotors throwing a cloud of dust and roof particles into Carter's face. Then he disappeared, the loud motorcycle sound fading as he headed north, heading for the Wan Chai area and the waiting junk. Nick smiled. The audience, all of them, should have already been caught in the first big traffic jam, a terrible one even by Hong Kong standards. The Princess will be on board the junk in five minutes. They weren't going to do them much good. They'd lost her. It would take them a while to find her again, and they didn't have time. Killmaster stood for a while looking out over the busy bay, seeing the clustered buildings in Kowloon and the green hills of the New Territories rising in the background. American warships were moored in the harbor, and British warships were moored at government piers. The ferries raced back and forth like raging beetles. What, where, both on the island and in Kowloon, he had seen the black scars from recent fires. There were riots not so long ago. Killmaster turned to leave the roof. He didn't have much time either. The Hour Of The Rat Was Approaching. There was a lot to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  JOHNNY WISE's office was on the third floor of a ramshackle building on Ice House, just off Connaught Road. It was a neighborhood of small shops and nooks and crannies. On a nearby roof, strands of noodles were drying in the sun like laundry, and there was a plastic flower stand at the entrance to the building, and a tarnished brass sign on the doors read: "John Hoy, private investigation." Hoi-Of Course. It's strange that it went out of my head. But Johnny had been called Smart with them the ferret since Carter had first met him. Nick moved quickly and silently up the stairs. If Johnny was inside, he might have caught the ego off guard. Johnny had to answer some questions one way or another. Easy or hard way. On the day of the frosted glass, John Hoya's name was written in English and Chinese. Nick smiled faintly at the Chinese characters , which were hard to express in Chinese. Johnny used a Wire that, in addition to tracking and investigating, could also evade, promote, or push. It meant many other things, too. Some around them can be read as a double cross.
  
  The door was ajar. Nick found that the emu didn't like it, so he did
  
  he opened his raincoat, unfastening the Luger in the new " AH " holster he'd been using lately. He waved his hand to push the door open when he heard the sound of running water. Nick pushed open the door, slid inside quickly, and closed the door, leaning back against it. He took one quick look around the single small room, and its startling contents. He pulled the luger out of its holster to aim it at a tall black man who was washing his hands in a toilet in the corner. The man didn't turn around, but ego's eyes met the AX agent's in the dirty mirror above the bowl. "Stay where you are," Nick said. "No sudden movements and keep your hands in plain sight."
  
  He reached behind him and locked the door. The eyes - big amber eyes-stared back at him in the mirror. If a person was anxious or scared, they didn't show it. He waited calmly for Nick's next move. Nick pointed the luger at the black man and took two steps toward Johnny Smart's desk. Johnny's mouth was open, and there was a trickle of blood around the corner. He was looking at Nick with eyes that would never see anything again. If he could talk - Johnny never spared words - Nick could imagine him saying, " Nikil Palli! An old friend. Give me five." Good to see you, boy. you could use that, buddy. It cost me a lot, so I'll have to-"
  
  It would be something like this. He would never hear it again. Johnny's days were over. The jade-handled paper knife in ego fold dollar made sure that Killmaster shifted the Luger just a little. "Turn around," he said to the black man. "Keep your hands up. Snuggle up to that moan, face it, hands above your head." The man obeyed without a word. Nick slapped and patted Ego's body. He wasn't armed. Ego's suit of expensive-looking light wool with a barely noticeable chalk stripe is soaked through. He could smell Hong Kong harbor. Ego's shirt was torn and his tie was missing. Nen was wearing only one shoe. He looked like a man who had suffered some kind of injury; Nick Carter had had a lot of fun
  
  and he was sure he knew who the man was.
  
  
  Nothing around it showed on his deadpan expression as he waved the luger at the chair. "Sit down." The black man obeyed, his face impassive, his amber eyes fixed on Carter's face. He was the most beautiful black man Nick Carter had ever seen. It was like seeing black Gregory Quarrel. His eyebrows are high, and there is a slight receding hairline at the temples. The nose was massive and strong, the mouth sensitive and well-defined, the jaw strong. The man stared at Nick. It wasn't really black to us-the madonna had flown in and the ebony had somehow merged into smooth, polished flesh. Killmaster pointed to Johnny's body. "You killed ego?"
  
  "Yes, ego killed her. He betrayed me, sold me out, and then tried to kill me." Nick received two distinct and minor blows. He hesitated, trying to make sense of them. The one he found here spoke Oxford or old Eton English. Unmistakable elements of the upper class, the establishment. Another important point was the man's beautiful, dazzling white teeth - they were all filed to the point of sharpness. The man was watching Nick intently. He smiled now, showing more teeth. They glittered like small white spears against the dark skin. In the tone of normal conversation, as if the body of the man he had just confessed to killing was over six feet tall, the black man said: "Do my teeth bother you, old man? I know they make an impression on some people. I don't really blame her ih. But I had to do it, there's nothing I can do about it. Her chokwe, you see, and that's the custom of my tribe. He held out his hands, flexing his strong, well-manicured fingers. "You see, hey, I'm trying to get ih out of the middle of nowhere. Then five hundred years of captivity. So I have to do something that I'd rather not do to her. Identify with my people, you know. The filed teeth flashed again. "Actually, it's just a political ploy. Like your congressmen when they wear suspenders.
  
  "I'll take your word for it," Nick Carter said. "Why did you kill Johnny?" The Negro looked surprised. "But I told you, old man. He did a dirty job for me. She was hired by ego, for a small job - I really miss intelligent people who speak English, Chinese and Portuguese-she was hired by ego, and he sold me. The kill me hotel last night in Macao -- and again a few days ago when I was on the boat back to Hong Kong. Voice why its bleeding out, why its looking like this. I had to swim the last half mile to the shore "I came here to discuss this with Mr. Hoy. Its also a hotel, get some information from it. He was very angry, tried to point a gun at me, and walked her around him. I do have a very bad temper. I recognize her, so before I knew it, she was grabbed by a paper knife and killed by him. Hers was just washing up when you came in. "I see," Nick said. "You killed his voice like that. Sharp teeth flashed at him.
  
  "All right, Mr. Carter. He wasn't really a big loss, was he?" How? " Smile again. Killmaster thought of the pictures of cannibals he'd seen in old issues of National Geographic. I know you, just as you, of course, should know who she is. I have to admit, my own intelligence service is rather primitive, but I have some good agents in Lisbon, and we rely quite heavily on Portuguese intelligence." Smile. "They are really very good. They are very rare medical devices that let us down. They have the most complete file on you, Mr. Carter, that I've been able to photograph. It is now in a room in my headquarters somewhere in Angola, along with many others. I hope you don't mind. Nick had to laugh. "It doesn't do me much good, does it?" So you're Sobhuzi Askari? Blacknail stood up without asking permission. Nick was carrying a luger ,but the amber eyes only looked at the gun and waved it away with disdain. The black man was tall, and Nick would have guessed Ego was six feet three or four inches tall. It looked like a sturdy old oak tree. His dark hair was slightly frosted at the temples, but Nick couldn't tell anyone's age. It can be anywhere from thirty to sixty. "Her Prince Sobbur Askari," Rais said. he said. There was no smile on his face now.
  
  "My people call me Dumba the Lion! I'll let you guess what the Portuguese have to say about me. They killed my father years ago, when he led the first rebellion. They thought that was the end of it. They were wrong. I lead my people to victory. After five hundred years, we will finally kick out the Portuguese!This is how it should be. Everywhere in Africa, in the world, freedom is coming to indigenous peoples.So it will be with us. Angola will also be free. Her, the Lion, swore it."
  
  "I'm on your side," Killmaster said. "This one, anyway. Now, how about we go out through the portal and exchange information. An eye for an Eye. A direct agreement?" Another meaningful smile. Prince Askari has returned to his Oxford accent. "Sorry, antiquities. They tend to be pompous. I know it's a bad habit, but people at home expect it. In my tribe, in fact, too, the chief has no reputation for tableau if he does not indulge in theatrical art." Nick asked, grinning. He was beginning to love the prince. Don't trust emu, or anyone else. "Feel sorry for me," he said. "I think we should get the hell out of here, too." He jerked his thumb at the corpse of Johnny Smart, who was the most disinterested observer of the exchange.
  
  "We wouldn't want to be caught doing this. The Hong Kong police are pretty corny about homicides." The Prince said: "I agree. No one around them wants to mess with the police. But I can't go out and vote like that, old man. Attract too much attention." "You got here well," Nick said shortly. "This is Hong Kong! Take off your second shoe and socks first. Put your coat on your arm and go barefoot. go."Prince Askari took off his shoe and socks. -"I'd better take her with me." Eventually the police will come, and these ballet slippers are made in London. If they find even one...
  
  "Okay," Nick snapped. "That's a good idea, Prince, but come on! The black man looked at him coldly. "You don't talk to a prince like that, old man. Killmaster looked into rheumatism. "I suggest. Now go ahead and make up your mind. And don't try to deceive me. You're in trouble, and I'm in trouble, too. We need each other. Maybe you need us more than her, I need you, but it doesn't matter. How about this? The Prince looked down at Johnny Smart's body. "You seem to have put me at a disadvantage, antiquities. Her ego killed her. He even confessed to you. That wasn't very smart of me, was it? "Depends on who it is...
  
  "If we can play ball together, maybe I won't have to tell anyone." I blurted out to Nick. "You see a beggar," he said. "I don't have an effective staff in Hong Kong. Three of my best men were killed last night in Macau, trapped for me. I have no clothes, no place to spend the night, and very little money until I can contact some friends. Yes, Mr. Carter, I think we'll have to play ball together. I like that expression. American slang is so expressive."
  
  Nick was right. No one paid any attention to the barefoot, handsome, dark-skinned man as they walked through the narrow, busy streets of the Wang Chai district. He left the Blue Tangerine in the laundry van, and at the moment, interested parties will be frantically trying to find the girl. He bought himself some time before Rat Hour. Now he should put it to good use. Killmester had already formulated a plan. It was a complete change, a sharp departure from the fold paper that Hawke had so carefully designed. But now he was in the field, and in the field, he always had carte blanche. Here he is his own boss - and he will bear all the responsibility for failure.Us Hawk, us he couldn't have known that the prince would show up to vote like this, ready for a deal. It would be criminal, worse than stupid, not to take advantage of it.
  
  Killmaster never understood why he chose the Rat Fink bar on Hennessey Road. Sure, they stole New York coffee's name, but he'd never been to a New York place. Later, when he had time to think about it, Nick admitted that the whole aura of the mission, the smell, the miasma of murder and deception, and the people involved, could best be summed up in words: Rat Fink. A regular pimp was loitering in front of the Rat Fink bar. He smiled obsequiously at Nick, but frowned at the barefoot Prince. Killmaster pushed the man aside, I say in Cantonese, " Ugh, ugh, ugh, we have money and we don't need girls. Get lost." If there were any rats in the bar, there weren't too many of them. It was early. Two American sailors were talking and drinking beer in a bar. There were no singers or dancers around. A waitress in stretchy pants and a floral blouse escorted ih to the kiosk and took his order. She was yawning, her eyes were swollen, and she must have just arrived on time. She didn't even look at the prince's bare feet. Nick waited for the drinks to arrive. Then he said: "Very well, Prince. Let's find out if we're doing business - do you know where General Auguste Boulanger is?" "Of course. I was with him yesterday. At the Tai Ip Hotel in Macau. He has a royal suite there. He'd like Nick to look through Corkscrew's ego. "The General," said the Prince, " is delusional. In short, I say, antiquities, he is a little out of his mind. Dottie, you know. Crazy guy. Killmaster was a little startled and very interested. He hadn't counted on it. Just like Hawk. Nothing in ih's raw intelligence reports indicated this.
  
  "He really started to lose his temper when the French were driven out of Algeria," Prince Askari continued. "You know, he was inflexible around all the inflexible ones. He never made up with de Gaulle. As head of the SLA, he condoned torture that even the French were ashamed of. Finally, they condemned the ego to death. The general had to flee. He ran to me in Angola. This time Nick put corkscrew into words. "Why did you take him in if he's crazy?"
  
  I needed a general. this is a jolly fine general, crazy or not. First of all, he knows guerrilla warfare! I learned it in Algeria. This is something that one general of ten thousand doesn't know about us. We've managed to hide the fact that he's a nutcase pretty well. Now, of course, he's completely out of his mind. He wants to kill me and lead a rebellion in Angola, my rebellion. He fancies himself a dictator. Nick Carter nodded. Hawk was very close to the truth. He said: "Did you happen to see a certain Colonel Chun Li in Macau? He's Chinese. Not that you know, but he's a big boss in ih counterintelligence. He's the person I really want." Nick was surprised that the Prince wasn't surprised at all.
  
  He expected more reaction, or at least confusion. The Prince just nodded: "I know your Colonel Chun Li. He was also at the Tai Yip Hotel yesterday. The three of us, General Lee, myself, and Colonel Lee, had dinner and drinks, and then watched a movie. On a truly professional, rather pleasant day. Considering they planned to kill me later. They made a mistake. Two mistakes, really. They thought I would be easy to kill. And because they thought I was going to die, they didn't bother to lie about their plans or hide ih. Sharp teeth flashed at Nick. "So you see, Mr. Carter, you may have made a mistake, too. Perhaps it's just the opposite of what you believe. Maybe you need me more than her, need you. In that case, I must ask you-where is the girl? Princess Morgana da Gama? It is extremely important that I have it, and not the general. Killmaster's grin was wolfish. "You admire American slang, Prince. "What-what that might have reached you - you wouldn't want to know?"
  
  "Of course," said Prince Askari. "I need to know everything. I have to see the princess, talk to her, and try to convince her to sign some documents. I don't want hey, evil, antiquity...She's so cute. It's a pity that she humiliates herself so much.
  
  Nick said: "Did you mention that you watched the movie? Princess movies?" Disgust flickered across the prince's handsome dark features. -- yes. I don't like such things myself. I think Colonel Lee has children, too. After all, the reds are very moral! Except for the murders. It's General Boulanger who's crazy about the princess. Her, saw him drooling and "Working on movies. It repeats the ego view over and over again. He lives in a pornographic dream. I think the general was impotent for many years, and that these films, just the footage, brought the ego back to life." That's why he wants the girl so badly. That's why, if I have it, I can put a lot of pressure on the general and on Lisbon. I want her most of all, Mr. Carter. I owe it to you!
  
  Carter was now acting on his own, without punishment or in connection with Hawke. So be it. If the limb was sawn off, it would be ego croup. He lit a cigarette, gave it to the Prince,and narrowed his eyes as he studied the man through the smoke. Odin around the sailors dropped coins into the jukebox. Smoke filled my eyes. It seemed appropriate. Nick said: "Perhaps we can do business, Prince. Play ball. To do that, we have to trust each other to a certain extent, trust you to the corner with Portuguese Pataca." Smile... Amber eyes flashed at Nick. "Neither do I, Mr. Carter. "In that case, Prince, we'll have to try to make a deal. Let's look at nah carefully - I have money, you don't. I have an organization, but you don't. I know where the Princess is, but you don't know. He's armed, but you're not. On the other hand, you have the information that I really need. I don't think you've already told me everything you know. I may also need your physical help."
  
  Hawk had warned him that Nick must go to Odin's Macau. No other AX agents can be used. Macau is not Hong Kong.", but in the end, they usually cooperated. The Portuguese are quite another matter. They were as perky as any small dog barking at mastiffs. Never forget,"Hawke said," the Cape Verde Islands and what's buried there."
  
  Prince Askari extended a strong, dark hand. "I'm willing to make a contract with you, Mr. Carter. Let's just say for the duration of this state of emergency? Hers is the prince of Angola, and hers has never broken his word to us in front of Hema. For some reason, Killmaster trusted emu. But he didn't touch the outstretched hand. First, let's get this straight. Like the old joke: let's find out who does what to whom, and who pays for it? The Prince jerked his hand away. A little sullenly, he said, " As you wish, Mr. Carter." Nick's smile was grim. "Call me Nick," he said. "We don't need all this protocol between two thugs plotting theft and murder." The Prince nodded. "And you, sir, can call me Aski. That's what they called me at school in England. And now? "Now, Aski, I want to know what you want." Exactly. Briefly. What will satisfy you?
  
  The Prince reached for another of Nick's cigarettes. "It's quite simple. I need a princess to help me. At least for a few hours. Then you can get a nah ransom. General Boulanger has a suitcase full of rough diamonds. This Colonel Chun Li wants Almazov. This is a very serious problem for me. My rebellion always needs money. Without money, I can't buy weapons to keep fighting." Killmaster leaned back a little. He began to understand a little. "We could," he said softly, " just find another market to meet your raw almazov." It was a kind of chatter, a gray lie. And maybe Hawke can do it. At his own discretion, and using his own peculiar and insidious means, Hawk had the same power as J. R. R. Tolkien. Edgar.
  
  Maybe it is. -"And," said the Prince, " General Boulanger must kill her." He was plotting against me almost from the beginning. Even before I went crazy like this. I didn't do anything about it because I needed it. Even now, I don't really want to kill her ego, but I feel like I should. If only my people could get the girl and the tape in London... The Prince shrugged. "But he didn't. You beat them all. Now he must personally see to it that the general is removed from the road. "Is that all?" The Prince shrugged again. "That's enough for now. Maybe too much. In return, I offer my full cooperation. I will even obey your orders. I give orders and don't take ih leniently. I, for estestvenno, will need a weapon." - For estestvenno. We'll talk about this later.
  
  Nick Carter beckoned to the waitress and ordered two more drinks. Until they arrived, he idly stared at the dark blue curtain around the gauze covering the tin ceiling. The gilded stars looked prim in the midday light. The American sailors had already left. Apart from themselves, the place was deserted. Nick wondered if the possibility of a typhoon had anything to do with the lack of water. He glanced at his wristwatch, comparing the ih to Penrod's oval-scale watch. Quarter past two, Monkey Hour. So far ferret, all things considered, it's been a good working day. Prince Askari was also silent. When mama-san slipped away with a rustle of elastic pants, he said: "Do you agree, Nick? With these three things?" Killmaster nodded. "I agree. But killing the general is your concern, not mine. If the cops in Macau or Hong Kong catch you, I don't know her, I don't know you. I've never seen you before. "Of course." I'll help you get your rough diamonds back if it doesn't interfere with my own mission.
  
  This girl, her let you talk to her. I won't stop hey from signing the documents if she wants ih to sign. Actually, we'll take her with us tonight. In Macau. As a guarantee of my integrity. Just like bait, bait if we need it. And if she's with us, Aski, it might give you an extra incentive to fulfill your role. You'll want to keep hey alive." Just a look at the sharp teeth. "I can see that you haven't been overestimated, Nick. Now I understand why your Portuguese dossier = I told you that I have photocopies, why it is marked: Perigol Tenha cuidador Dangerous. Be careful.
  
  Killmaster's smile was icy. "I'm flattered. Now, Aski, I want to know the real reason why the Portuguese are so eager to get the princess out all over the world. To put her in a shelter. Oh, I know a little bit about her moral turpitude, about the bad example she sets in the outdoor pool, but it's not enough. There should be more. If every country locked up its drunks, drug addicts, and whores just to protect its image, there would be no cages big enough to hold ih. I think you know the real reason. I think it has something to do with this uncle of hers, this big shot in the Portuguese cabinet, Luis da Gama." They were just echoing Hawke's thoughts.
  
  The old man smelled a large rat and small rodents and asked Nick to test the ego theory, if possible. What Hawke really needed was a source of counter-pressure on the Portuguese, something he could pass up and use to ease the situation in Cape Verde. The prince took another cigarette and lit it before emu answered.
  
  "You're right. There's something else. Much more. This, Nick, is a very unpleasant story. "Vile stories are my job," Killmaster said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  The Macau MINI-COLONY is located about forty miles southwest of Hong Kong. The Portuguese have lived there since 1557, and now this rule is threatened by a giant Red Dragon that spews fire, brimstone and hatred. This tiny green piece of Portugal, precariously attached to the vast Pearl and Vest River Delta, lives in the past and borrowed time. One day, the Red Dragon will raise a claw, and it will be a thread. Meanwhile, Macau is a beleaguered peninsula, subject to all the whims of the people of Beijing. The Chinese, as Prince Askari had told Nick Carter, had taken the city in all but name. "This Colonel of yours, Chung Li," said the Prince, " is now giving orders to the Portuguese governor. The Portuguese are trying to put on a good face, but they're not fooling anyone. Colonel Lee snaps his fingers and they jump. Now martial law and the Red Guards are more than the troops of Mozambique. This was a breakthrough for me, Mozambique and the Portuguese use ih for garrison troops. They're black. Its black. I speak a little ih language. It was the Mozambique corporal who helped me escape after Chun Li and the General failed to kill me. That might come in handy tonight, Killmaster couldn't have agreed to more.
  
  
  Nick was more than happy with the state of affairs in Macau. Riots, looting and arson, intimidation of the Portuguese, threats to cut off electricity and water with Russian President Vladimir Putin - all this will work in their favor. He was going to launch what was known in the AX language as a hell raid. A little chaos will work on his side. Killmaster did not pray to Hung for bad weather, but asked the three Tangar sailors to do so. It seemed to pay off. The big sea-junk had been heading steadily west-southwest for almost five hours, bat-winged rattan sails pulling it as close to the wind as a junk can go. The sun had long since disappeared in a spreading black mass of clouds to the west. The wind, hot and wet, blew erratically, swooping in and out in small bursts of fury and occasional linear squalls. Behind them, east of Hong Kong, half of the sky cup was outlined in dark blue twilight; the other half in front of them was a storm, an ominous, dark mess where lightning flashed.
  
  Nick Carter, a sailor of sorts, along with all the other qualities that a top-notch AX agent should have been, sensed the storm coming. He welcomed it as he had welcomed the riots in Macau. But he's not a tornado - just a tornado. Not a typhoon. The Macao sampan fishing fleet, led by Red Chinese patrol boats, disappeared into the darkness to the west an hour ago. Nick, Prince Askari, and the girl, along with three Tangar men, lay in plain view of the sampan Fleets Cruise, pretending to fish until a gunboat took an interest in them. They were far from the border, but as the Chinese gunboat approached, Nick gave the order and they flew downwind. Nick was betting that the Chinese wouldn't want the incident to happen in international waters, and the bet paid off. It could go either way, and Nick knew it. The Chinese were hard to understand. But there was always the risk: when it got dark, Nick would be two hours away from Penlaa Point. Nick, the prince, and the princess need to be in the hold of the junk. In half an hour they will leave the ego and reach the point. All three of them were dressed like Chinese fishermen.
  
  
  Carter was wearing black denim trousers and a jacket, rubber shoes, and a conical straw rain hat. He's wearing a luger and stiletto, mistletoe, and a garnet belt under his jacket. A trench knife with a brass knuckle handle hung from a leather strap around Ego's neck. The prince also wore a mistletoe trench knife and a heavy .45-caliber automatic pistol holstered on his shoulder. The girl wasn't armed. The junk creaked and groaned and floundered in the rising sea. Nick was smoking a cigarette and looking at the Prince and Princess. The girl looked much better today. Dickenson reported that she did not come well and did not sleep well. She didn't ask for booze or drugs. While smoking a smelly Great Wall cigarette, the AX agent watched the ego comrades talk and laugh over and over again. It was a different girl. Sea air? Release from custody? (She was still an ego captive.) The fact that she was sober and didn't use drugs? Or a combination of all these things? Killmaster looked a bit like Pygmalion. He wasn't sure Em liked the feeling. This ego was annoying.
  
  The Prince laughed out loud. The girl joined in, her laughter softening with a touch of pianissimo. Nick glared at them. Something was bothering Ego, and he'd be damned if he knew X was more than happy with Asuka. Now, he almost trusted this one in math - up to them ferret, as long as ih's interests matched up. The girl was obedient and as compliant as possible. If she was scared, it didn't show in her green eyes at all. She'd given up the blond wig. She had taken off her raincoat and was running a thin finger through her close-cropped dark hair. In the dim light of a single streetlamp, they glittered like a black hat. The prince said something, and she laughed again. No one around them paid much attention to Nika. They got along really well, and Nick couldn't blame her for that. Emu liked Aski, and he was getting better by the minute. Why, then, Nick wondered, was he showing symptoms of the same old darkness that had hit his ego in London? He held out a large hand to the light. Steady as a rock. He's never felt better, never been in better shape. Locality of Russia was going well. He was confident that he could handle it, because Colonel Chun Li was not sure of himself, and this should change the situation.
  
  Why did Odin Poe of the Tangar fishermen hiss at him through the hatch. Nick got up from his motorcade and walked over to the hatch. "What is it, Mina?" The man whispered in Pidgin. "We are very close to Penha bimeby." Killmaster nodded. "How close is it now?" The junk heaved and rocked as a large recreation area hit ee. "Maybe miles... Don't get too close, I guess not. So many Red boats, I think, have a tailor take it! Nick knew the Tangars were nervous. They were good people, provided by the British for a very long time, but they knew what would happen if ih was caught by the Chicoms. There will be a propaganda process and a lot of hype, in the end it will be the same-minus three heads.
  
  Miles was as close as they could hope to get. They would have to swim the rest of the way. He looked back at Tangar. "The weather? A storm? The man shrugged his shiny, sinewy shoulders, which were wet with seawater. "Maybe." Who can tell you? Nick turned to his companions. "Okay, you two. It's all. Let's go." The Prince, his sharp eyes gleaming, helped the girl to her feet. She looked at Nick coldly. "We'll go now, hers, I suppose?" Good. We'll sail. It won't be difficult. The tide is right, and we'll be pulled ashore. Do you understand?" Don't tell me! I'll keep it all in whispers. You'll nod your heads that you understand, if you do. Nick stared at the prince. "Any questions? Do you know exactly what to do? When, where, why, and how?" They repeated it again and again. Aski nodded. "Of course, old man. I literally understood everything. You forget that I was once a British commando. Of course, he was only a teenager back then, but..."
  
  
  "Save it for your memoirs," Nick said shortly. He started to climb the ladder up through the trapdoor. Behind him, he heard the girl's soft laughter. Bitch, he thought, and was again struck by his ego's ambivalence toward her. Killmaster cleared his mind. The time of the murder was at hand, and the final show of vote-vote was about to begin. All the money spent, connections used, intrigues, tricks and machinations, blood spilled and bodies buried - now it was coming to a head. The reckoning was near. Events that had begun days, months, and even years earlier were coming to a head. There would be winners, and there would be losers. The roulette ball goes around in a circle - and where it stops, no one knows. . . .
  
  An hour later, the three of them were huddled among the black, muddy green rocks near Pena Point. Each Swede was wrapped in a thick waterproof bundle. Nick and Prinza held their weapons. The girl was naked, but in small panties and a bra. Nah's teeth chattered, and Nick whispered to Asuka, "Quiet!" This security guard walks openly along the embankment during his rounds. In Hong Kong, Ego was given a detailed briefing on the habits of the Portuguese garrison. But now that the Chinese are actually in control, the emu will have to play by ear. The prince, not obeying orders, whispered in rheumatism: "He can't hear well in this wind, old man. Killmaster elbowed Ego in the ribs. "Shut her up!" The wind carries the sound, you damned fool. It can be heard in Hong Kong, the wind duets and changes direction. The chatter stopped. The big black man put his arm around the girl and put his hand over her mouth. Nick glanced at the glowing watch on his wrist. A sentry, one throughout the elite Mozambican regiments, should pass mimmo at them in five minutes. Nick pointed at the Prince again, " You two stay here. It will pass in a few minutes. I'll bring you this uniform."
  
  
  The Prince said ," You know, I can do it myself. I'm used to killing myself for meat." Killmaster noticed the odd comparison, but dismissed it. To ego's own surprise, nen developed a culture of infrequent cold rage around ego. He placed the stiletto in his hand and pressed the ego to the prince's bare chest. "This is the second time in a minute that you've disobeyed an order," Nick said, not being rude. Asuka didn't flinch away from the stiletto. Then Asuka chuckled softly and tapped Nick on the shoulder. Everything was fine. A few minutes later, Nick Carter had to kill a simple black man who came thousands of miles around Mozambique to anger him, for reproaches that he couldn't understand if he knew ih. It had to be a clean kill, because Nick didn't dare leave any traces of his presence in Macau. He couldn't use his sword, the blood would ruin his uniform, so the emu had to choke the man from behind. The sentry was dying hard, and Nick, panting a little, went back to the water's edge and slammed the butt of his trench knife three times into the rock. The prince and the girl went out through the dress. Nick didn't want to linger. "Up there," he said to the Prince. "The uniform is in excellent condition. There is no blood on nen, no dirt on us. Check your watch with mine, and then I'll take it." It was ten-thirty. Half an Hour to Rat Hour. Nick Carter smiled at the raging dark wind as he passed the mimmo of the old Ma Rooster Miu temple and found a path that engaged, in turn, would join Ego to the paved Harbor Road and stack up the dollar in the city. He trotted, shuffling like a tower, his rubber ballet slippers scraping the dirt. He and the girl had yellow spots on their faces. This and the tower's clothing should be enough to disguise itself in a city gripped by riots and an approaching storm. He hunched his broad shoulders a little more. No one was going to pay much attention to the lonely tower on a night like this... even if it was slightly larger than normal towers.He had never intended to hold meetings in Golden Tiger's Sigh on Rua Das Lorjas.Colonel Chun Li knew that he wouldn't do it.The Colonel never intended to do that.
  
  
  The phone call was just the opening gambit, a way to establish that Carter was indeed in Hong Kong with a girl. Killmarrier reached the paved road. To his right, he saw a neon glow in the center of Macau. He could make out the gaudy outline of a floating Casino with an ego-tiled roof, curved eaves, and fake paddle wheel casings outlined with red lights. A large sign kept flashing: "Macao has Fallen." A few blocks later, Nick found a crooked cobbled street that directly joins Ego's Tai Yip Hotel, where General Auguste Boulanger stayed as a guest of the People's Medicine of the Republic. It was a trap. Nick knew it was a trap. Colonel Chun Li knew it was a trap because he had set it. Nick's smile was grim as he remembered the words Goshawk: sometimes a trap catches a trapper. The Colonel expects Nick to contact General Boulanger.
  
  Because Chun Li You probably knew that the General was playing on both flanks, against the middle. If the prince is right, and General Boulanger is really mad, then it is quite possible that the general has not yet fully decided who he is selling to and who he is framing. Not that it mattered. The whole thing was a setup created by the colonel out of curiosity, perhaps to see what the general would do. Chun knew that the general was mad. As he approached Tai Yip, Nick thought that Colonel Chun-Li probably liked to torture small animals when he was a boy. There was a credit card system behind the Tai-Ip Hotel. On the other side of it, which was usually well filled and brightly lit by high sodium lamps, was a slum. Candles and carbide lamps seeped faintly through the shacks. The babies were crying. It smelled of urine and dirt, of sweat and unwashed bodies, of too many people living in too small a space; it all lay in a tangible layer on top of the dampness and the rising smell of thunderstorms. Nick found the entrance to a narrow alley and squatted down on nen. Just another tower resting. He lit a Chinese cigarette, cupped it in his palm, and his face was covered by a large rain hat, he studied everything across the road. Shadows moved around him, and from time to time there were moans and snores from a sleeping man. He caught the sickly-sweet smell of opium.
  
  Nick remembered a travel guide he'd once had with the fragrance " Come to beautiful Macau-Eastern Garden City." It was, of course, written before our era. In front of Chi-Con. Tai Yip was nine stories high. General Auguste Boulanger lived on the seventh floor, in a suite with a view of the Praia Grande. The fire escape is accessible from both the front and rear. Killmaster thought he'd stay away from the fire escapes. There is no point in simplifying Colonel Chun Li's work. Smoking his cigarette to the last tenth of an inch, tower fashion, Nick tried to imagine himself in the Colonel's shoes. Chun Li might think it would be nice if Nick Carter killed the general. Then he could capture Nick, the AX killer caught red-handed, and set up the propaganda trial of all time. Then cut off the emu's head legally. Two dead birds, and not even one stone. He saw movement on the roof of the hotel. Security guards. They were probably also on the fire escapes. They will be Chinese, not Portuguese or Mozambicans, or at least they will be led by Chinese.
  
  Killmaster smiled in the fetid darkness. Looks like Em will have to take the elevator. The guards were there, too, to make it look legal, so that the trap wasn't too obvious. Chun Li wasn't a blockhead, and he knew that Killmaster wasn't either. Nick smiled again. If he fell into the guards ' arms openly, they would have to grab him, but Chun Li wouldn't like that. Nick was sure of it. The guards were just for show. Chun Li wants Nick to get to Cresson... He got up and walked down a sour-smelling alley deeper into the shacks of the village. It won't be difficult to find what he wants. He didn't have pawar or escudos for us, but Hong Kong dollars would have been fine.
  
  He had plenty of them. Ten minutes later, Killmaster had the tower frame and a sack on his back. The matting bags only contained some nonsense, but no one would know about it until it was too late. For five hundred Hong Kong dollars, he bought this, plus a few other small items. Nick Carter was in the mail business is. He ran across the road and across the parking lot to the service door he'd noticed. In one of the cars, a girl giggled and moaned. Nick grinned and shuffled on, bent at the waist, the harness of the wooden frame creaking slightly on his broad shoulders. A conical rain hat was pulled down over his face. As it neared service day, another tower came out with an empty frame. He glanced at Nick and muttered in soft Cantonese, " No pay today, brother. That big-nosed bitch dog says, income, tomorrow - as if the stomach can wait until tomorrow, because...
  
  Nick didn't look up. I answered in the same language. "Let ih liver rot, and all ih children will be girls!" He went down three steps to the big playground. The door was half open. bales of all kinds. The large room was teetered with 100-watt lights that alternately dimmed and brightened. A stocky, tired-looking Portuguese man wandered among the bales and boxes of A-sheets on a clipboard. He was talking to himself as Nick came in with his loaded frame. Carter estimated that the Chinese must be drowning, on gasoline and transportation.
  
  most of what arrives at the docks now or with Russian President Vladimir Putin will be moved by the tower's power.
  
  
  The Portuguese muttered. "A man can't work like that. Everything goes wrong. I must be losing my mind. But no... we are going... He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, ignoring the big man. "No, Nao Jenne, forever?" It's not hers - it's a cursed country, this climate, this job with no money, these stupid Chinese. The mother herself, I swear... Klera stopped mumbling and looked at Nick. "Qua deseja, stapidor". Nick stared at the floor. He shuffled his feet and muttered something in Cantonese. Clare came up to him, his fat, puffy face angry. "Ponghol, pawn it anywhere, you idiot! Where does this cargo come from? Fatshan?"
  
  
  Nick gurgled, picked his nose again, and squinted. He grinned like a jerk, then chuckled, " Yiyo, Fatshan has to. You're giving odin Raz a lot of Hong Kong dollars, aren't you? Clare looked up pleadingly at the ceiling. "Oh, My God! Why are all these rat eaters so stupid?" He looked at Nick. "No payment today. No money. Maybe tomorrow. Are you a one-time subby?" Nick frowned. He took a step toward the man. "Pure sabbath. Want Hong Kong dolls open now! Ble?" He took another step. He saw a corridor leading to the pre-room, and at the end of the corridor was a freight elevator. Nick looked around. Clare didn't back down. Ego face started to swell from the flag of permission to perform and rage. Towers objects to white in math! He took a step toward her and raised the tablet, more defensive than threatening. Killmaster decided not to. Kill a man. He could have fainted and been knocked out by all this junk. He pulled his arras all over the A-frame straps and dropped the ih with a crash. Little clare forgot his anger for a moment. blockhead There may be fragile items in there - I'll take a look at that and not pay for anything! You have names, don't you?" "Nicholas Huntington Carter."
  
  The man's jaw dropped in perfect English. Ego's eyes widened. Under the turret jacket, in addition to a belt with grenades, Nick wore a belt of strong Manila rope. He worked quickly, gagging math classes with his own tie and tying ego wrists to the ankles behind him. When he was done, he looked at the work with approval.
  
  Killmaster patted the little clerk on the back. "Adeus. You're in luck, my other one. You're lucky you're not even a small shark." The Hour of the Rat is long past. Colonel Chun Li knew that Nick wasn't coming. Not for the Golden Tiger Sign. But the colonel hadn't expected Nick to be there. As he stepped into the freight elevator and began the ascent, Nick wondered if the colonel had thought that he, Carter, had chickened out and wasn't coming at all. Nick hoped so. This would make things a lot easier for me. The elevator stopped at the eighth floor. The corridor was deserted. Nick went down the fire escape, his rubber ballet slippers making no sound. The elevator was automatic, and he went straight down again. It is useless to leave such a pointer. He slowly opened the fire door on the seventh floor. The Emu was lucky. The thick steel door opened in the right direction, and the emu was clearly visible along the corridor leading to the Getters ' apartments. This was exactly how it was described in Hong Kong. Except for one thing. Armed guards stood in front of a cream-colored door with a large gold number 7 on it. They looked like Chinese, very young. Probably the Red Guards. They were stooped and bored, and didn't seem to expect trouble. Killmaster shook his head. They don't get it from him. It was impossible to approach them without being noticed. After all, it has to be a roof.
  
  He climbed the fire escape again. He kept walking until he came to a small penthouse that housed the mechanism of a cargo lift. The door opened onto the roof. It was ajar, and Nick could hear someone humming on the far side. It was an I try Chinese love song. Nick dropped the stiletto into his palm. In the midst of love we're in death, He had to kill again now. It was the Chinese, the enemy. If he defeated Colonel Chun-li tonight, which he probably could, Nick intended to enjoy introducing a few of his enemies to ih's ancestors. The security guard leaned against the penthouse directly outside the door. Killmaster was so close that he could smell his breath. On-el kinvi, a hot Korean dish.
  
  He was just out of ego's reach. Nick slowly drew the point of the stiletto across the wood of the tree. At first, the guard didn't hear him, maybe because he was humming, or because the emu was sleepy. Nick repeat the sound. The guard stopped humming and leaned in. "And-and-and-another-rat?" Killmaster closed his thumbs around the man's throat and dragged ego into the penthouse. There was no sound except for the slight scrape of gravel on the roof. The man carried a submachine gun on his shoulder, an old American MS. The guard was a thin man, his throat easily crushed by Nick's steel fingers. Nick eased the pressure a little and whispered in the man's ear. "The other guard's name? Quickly, and you'll be alive. Lie to me and you'll die. He didn't think there would be more than two of them on the roof itself. He struggled for breath." Wong Ki. Her... hers, I swear.
  
  Nick squeezed the man's throat again, then released his ego again as the boy's legs began to twitch violently. "Does he speak Cantonese?" No lies? The dying man tried to nod. "Y-yes. We are Cantonese. Nick moved quickly. He slid his hands into full Nelson, lifted the man off his feet, then slammed his head into the man's chest in one powerful blow. huge strength to break the math and neck in this way. And sometimes, in Nick's profession, in mathematics, you had to not only kill, but also lie. He dragged the body back to the lift mechanism. he could have used a cap. He threw down his tower hat and pulled the red star cap over his eyes. He slung the submachine gun over his shoulder, hoping the emu wouldn't have to use it. However. Killmaster sauntered out onto the roof, bending down to hide his height. He started humming the same old Chinese love song as ego's sharp eyes scanned the dark roof.
  
  
  The hotel was the tallest building in Macau, with not a single saint falling on its roof, and the sky, now pressing down, was a wet black mass of clouds, where lightning constantly played. However, he couldn't find another guard. Where was the bastard? Lazy? Did you sleep? Nick had to find him. The Emu needed to clear this roof for the return trip. If there was one. Suddenly, a wild swirl of wings swept over ego's head, and several birds almost touched him. Instinctively, Nick ducked, watching the dim, white, stork-like shapes whirl and swirl in the sky. They made a fleeting whirlwind, a cerro-white wheel only half visible in the sky, with the cry of thousands of startled quails. They were the famous egrets of Macau, and they didn't sleep tonight. Nick knew the old legend. When the egrets were flying at night, the great typhoon was approaching." Maybe. Probably not. Where was that damn security guard? "Wong?" Nick hissed the words. "Wong?" You son of a bitch, where are you? Killmaster " spoke several dialects of Chinese well, although in most cases there was no ego accent; in Cantonese, he could have fooled a local. He did it now. From behind chinmi, a sleepy voice said: "Is that you, T.? What is it, rattan? A small phlegm caught her - Amieeeee" Nick held the man in his throat, stifling a cry that was beginning to come out. This one was bigger, tougher. He grabbed Nick's hands, and his fingers dug into the AX agent's eyes. He held each tribe to Nick's groin. Nick welcomed the fierce fight. He didn't like killing babies. He deftly dodged to the side, avoiding a knee to the groin, then immediately made his own tribe in the groin of the Chinese. The man groaned and leaned forward a little. Nick held Ego, pulled his head back, the thick hair on his neck, and hit Ego's adam's apple with the callused edge of his right hand. A fatal backhand that crushed the man's esophagus and paralyzed him. Then Nick simply squeezed the man's throat until he couldn't breathe.
  
  
  The chimney was low, about as high as Nick's shoulder. He picked up the body and shoved the ego headfirst down the chimney. The machine gun he didn't need was already on, so he threw it into the shadows. He ran to the edge of the roof above the general's suite. As he walked, he began unwinding the rope around his waist. Killmaster looked down. The small balcony was revealing underneath. Two floors down. The fire escape was to his right, in the far corner of the building. It was unlikely that the guard on the fire escape could see the ego in this gloom. Nick tied the cord around the fan and tossed Ego overboard. The calculations made in Hong Kong were correct. A thread of lines grazed the balcony railing. Nick Carter checked the rope, then swung forward and down, slinging the captured submachine gun over his back. He wasn't sliding down, but a shell, like a mountain climber, with his feet braced against the side of a building. A minute later, he was standing on the balcony railing. There were tall French windows, opened a few inches. It was dark behind them. Nick jumped soundlessly to the concrete floor of the balcony. The doors were ajar! Come in, spider said? Nick's smile was grim. He doubted the spider expected him to use this path to the web. Nick got down on all fours and crawled toward the glass doors. He heard a buzzing sound. At first he couldn't understand, and then suddenly he did. It was a projector. The general was at home watching movies. Home movies. Films made in London a few months ago by a man named Blacker. Blacker, who eventually died...
  
  
  The Master assassin grimaced in the darkness. He pushed one around the doors about a foot. Now he was flat on the cold concrete, face down, and could see into the darkened room. The projector seemed very close to him, to his right. This would be automatic. Far away at the end of the room - it was a long room - a white screen hung from the ceiling or garland. Nick couldn't tell which one. Between his vantage point and the screen, about ten feet away from the room, he could see the silhouette of a high-backed chair and something above it. A man's goal? Killmaster entered the room like a dragon in the night. and just as silently. Concrete turned into a wooden floor, parquet to the touch. Now the screen flashed pictures. Nick lifted his head to look. He recognized the dead man, Blacker, walking around the big sofa at the Dragon Club in London. Then the Princess da Gama took the stage. One close-up, one look at the stunned green eyes, was enough to prove that she was under the influence of drugs. Willingly or unwittingly, there was no doubt that she had taken some kind of drug, LSD, or something like that. They only had dead Blacker's words for that. It didn't matter.
  
  The girl was tall, swaying, and had no idea what she was doing. Nick Carter was basically an honest man. Be honest with yourself. So he admitted, even as he was pulling the luger out of its holster, that it was ego's on-screen antics that turned him on. He crawled to the back of the high chair where the once proud general of the French Army was now watching pornography. There were soft sighs and giggles from the chair. Nick frowned in the dark. What the hell is going on? A lot of things were happening on the screen at the end of the room. Nick immediately understood why the Portuguese government, rigid and entrenched in conservatism, wanted the film destroyed. The princess of royal blood did very interesting and unusual things on the screen. He could feel the blood pounding in his ego's groin as he watched her eagerly join in on every little game and highly inventive position that Blacker offered. She was like a robot, a mechanical doll, beautiful and devoid of any will of her own. Now she's wearing only long white stockings, ballet slippers, and a black garter belt. She took a slutty stance and cooperated fully with Blacker. Then he forced her to change her position. She leaned over him, nodded, and smiled her robotic smile, doing exactly what he was told. At that moment, Agent AX realized something else.
  
  Ego anxiety and ambivalent attitude towards the girl. Online hotel-ff alone. In fact, he's the hotel sl. He's the Princess hotel. In the trash. Drunk, a drug addict, a whore and a whore, whatever she was, he wanted to enjoy her body. Another sound burst into the room. The General laughed. A soft laugh, full of strange personal pleasure. He sat in the dark, this product of Saint-Cyr, and watched the moving shadows of a girl who engaged in what he believed could restore ego potency. This Gallic warrior of two world wars, this Legion, this horror of Algeria, this cunning old military mind-now he sat in the dark and chuckled. Prince Askari was quite right about that-the general was in a deep state of insanity, or at best senility. Colonel Chun Li knew this and used it. Nick Carter very carefully applied a cold, small luger to the general's head, just behind his ear. Emu was told that the General spoke excellent English. "Keep quiet, General. Don't move. In a whisper. I don't want to kill you, but I will. I want to keep watching movies and answering my questions. In a whisper. Is this place bugged? Tapped? Anyone around?"
  
  
  "Speak English. I know you can. Where is Colonel Chun-li now?" But if you're Agent Carter, he's waiting for you." "Her Carter." The chair stirred. Nick jabbed the luger viciously. "General! Keep your hands on the arms of the chair. You must believe that I will not hesitate to kill. "I believe you. I've heard a lot about you, Carter." Nick poked the general in the ear with a luger. "You've made a deal, General, with my bosses to lure Colonel Chun Li out for me. What about this one?" "In exchange for the girl," the general said.
  
  The tremor in his voice grew stronger. "In exchange for the girl," he said again. "I have to have this girl!" "I have it," Nick said softly. "With me. She's in Macau right now. She's dying to meet you, General. But first, you must fulfill your end of the bargain. How are you going to catch the colonel?" So that her ego can kill her?" Now he will hear a very interesting lie. Isn't it. The general might be broken, but he had a one-sided mind. "I must see the girl first," he said now. "Nothing until I see her. Then I'll keep my promise and give you the colonel. It will be easy. He trusts me." Nick's left hand explored the ego. The general was wearing a cap, a military cap with a lapel. Nick ran his hand over the old man's left shoulder and chest - the medals and ribbons. He knew then. The general was in full uniform, the full dress uniform of a French lieutenant-general! Sitting in the dark, wearing the clothes of past glories and watching pornography. The shadows of de Sade and Charentan-death will be a blessing to this old man. There was still work to be done.
  
  
  -"I don't think," Nick Carter said in the dark, " that the Colonel really trusts you. He's not that stupid. You think you're using him, General, but he's actually using you. And you, sir, are lying! No, don't move. You're supposed to be setting up my ego, but you're really setting up my emu, aren't you? The general's long sigh. He didn't say anything. The movie ended, and the screen went blank as the projector stopped humming. The room was now completely dark. The wind howled past the balcony. Nick decided not to look at the general. Auguste Boulanger. He could smell, hear, and smell decomposition. He didn't want to see it. He leaned down and whispered even lower, now that the sound barrier of the projector was gone. • "Isn't that true, General? Do you play both sides against the middle? Are you planning to cheat everyone if you can? Just like you tried to kill Prince Askari!"
  
  The old man started abruptly. "I tried-you mean Xskari isn't dead?? Nick Carter tapped his withered neck with a luger. Very much not even dead. He's here in Macau right now. Colonel - I told you he was dead, didn't I? Did he lie to you, tell you that he was out of touch?" "Oud... yes. Her, thought the prince was dead. -"Keep your voice down, General. Whisper it! I'll tell you something else that might surprise you. Do you have a casey attache full of raw almazovs?
  
  "These are fakes, General. Glass. Pieces of plain glass. Eon doesn't know much about diamonds. Aski knows. He didn't trust you for a long time. Having an ih is useless. What would Colonel Lee say to that? As they began to trust each other, at one point the Prince revealed the trick of fake rough diamonds. He didn't lie during the ih conversation at the Rat Fink bar. He also hid the diamonds in a vault in London. The general tried to sell fakes, but all this was unknown to emu. Colonel Chun Li You was also not an expert on diamonds.
  
  The old man stiffened in his chair. "Are the diamonds fake? I can't believe it... -"You're feeling better, General. Believe it or not, when you sell more than twenty million gold dollars ' worth of glass to the Chinese, you will be in far greater danger than we are right now. Just like the Colonel. He'll take it out on you, General. To save your own skin. They'll try to convince him that you're just crazy enough to try a scam like this. And then it's all over: the girl, the revolutionaries who want to seize power in Angola, gold in exchange for diamonds, a villa from the Chinese ... everything. You'll just be an old ex-general sentenced to death in France. Better think about it, sir, " Nick said, softening his voice.
  
  
  The old man stank. Did he use perfume to hide the smell of an old and dying body? ... Once again, Carter was close to pity, an unusual feeling. He pushed the ego away from him. He drove the luger hard into the old man's neck. "You'd better stay with us, sir. Sit down and prepare the colonel for me as originally planned. So you will at least get the girl, and maybe you and the prince will be able to decide something between you. Then the colonel's death. How about this? " He felt the general nod in the darkness. "I guess I have a choice, Mr. Carter." Very good. What do you want from me? Ego's lips brushed the man's ear as Nick whispered. "I'll be at the Ultimate Ilappinms Tavern in an hour. You arrive and bring Colonel Chun Woo with you. I wish you both good luck." Tell em that I want to talk, make a deal, and that I don't want any trouble. Do you understand? - yes. But I do not know this place-The place of Absolute Happiness? How do I find an ego?
  
  
  "The colonel will know that," Nick said sharply. "The moment you walk through the door with the colonel, your work will be over. Get out of the way and stay away. There will be danger. Is that clear?" A little silence. The old man sighed. "Quite clearly. So you want to kill the ego? On the spot! - On the spot. Good-bye, General." It's better to play it safe this time. Killmaster climbed the rope with the agility and speed of a giant ape. He picked up the ego and hid it under the visor. The roof was empty, but as he reached the small penthouse, he heard the freight elevator coming up. Cars hummed wetly, counterweights and cables sliding down. He ran to the door leading down to the ninth floor, opened it, and heard voices at the bottom of the stairs, speaking in Chinese, arguing about which one would go up around them.
  
  He turned back to the elevator. If they argued long enough, he would have a chance. He pulled back the iron grating from the lift and held it up with his foot. He could see the roof of the cargo lift coming up towards him, and the wires sliding mimmo. Nick glanced at the top of the hull. There should be a place. When the roof of the elevator reached ego, he stood up easily and closed the grate. He sprawled on the dirty roof of the elevator as it clanged to a stop. There was a good inch between the back of his head and the top of his body.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  HE REMEMBERED the butt of the rifle hitting his ego in the back of the neck. Now there was a hot white pain in that place. The ego skull was an echo chamber where a couple of jam bands went crazy. The floor beneath him was as cold as the death he was now facing. It was wet, wet, and Killmaster was beginning to realize that he was completely naked and in chains. Somewhere above him was a vague yellow brylev. He made an incredible effort to raise his head, gathering all his strength, starting a long struggle with what he felt was very close to total disaster. Things went very wrong. The ego was outsmarted. Colonel Chun Lee took the ego as easily as a lollipop from a child. "Mr. Carter! Nick... Nickname) Can you hear me?" "Uhhh0000000 -". He raised his head and looked across the small dungeon at the girl. She was naked, too, and rooted to a brick post, just like him. No matter how hard he tried to focus his eyes, Nick didn't think it was particularly strange to have a nightmare where you followed the rules, like a nightmare. It seemed fitting that the Princess Morgana da Gama should have had this dreadful dream with him, that she should be rooted to the stake, lithe, naked, big-chested, and completely frozen with terror.
  
  
  If ever a situation needed a light touch, this was it - if only to keep a girl out of a tantrum. Her voice said that she was fast approaching her. "In the words of my immortal Aunt Agatha," he tried to smile at Hey. The green eyes flashed with new panic. Now that he was awake and looking at her, she tried to cover her chest with her hands. The ringing smash was too short to allow for this. She compromised by arching her slender body so that he couldn't see her dark pubic hair. Even in a moment like this, when he was sick, suffering, and temporarily defeated, Nick Carter wondered if he would ever be able to understand women. The princess was crying. Her eyes were swollen. She said, " You... don't you remember?" He forgot about the chains and tried to massage the huge bloody lump on the back of his head. Ego smash was too short. He swore it. - yes. I remember her. I - " Nick broke off and put a finger to his lips. This blow is the ego of every mind. He shook his head at the girl and tapped his finger on her ear, then pointed at the dungeon. It must have been bugged. From above, somewhere in the shadow of ancient brick arches, a metallic chuckle was heard. The loudspeaker hummed and whined, and Nick Carter thought with a grim, bright smile that the next voice you would hear would be Colonel Chun Li. There is also cable TV - I can see you perfectly. But don't let it interfere with your conversation with the lady. Very little around what you can say, its still not know. All right, Mr. Carter?" Nick lowered his head. He didn't want Delaner to see the expression of selfishness on his face. He said: "Fuck you, Colonel." Laughter. Then: "Very childish, Mr. Carter. His frustration with you. "In many ways - you really don't scold me too much, do you?" I expected more from the number one assassin in AX to think that you were just a Paper Dragon, after all an ordinary person.
  
  But then life is full of little disappointments. Nick didn't lower his face. He was analyzing the voice. Good, too precise English. It is clear that he studied from textbooks. Chun-Li never lived in the States. or he could understand the Americans, how they thought, or what they were capable of under stress. It was a faint glimmer of hope. Colonel Chun Li's next remark really startled the person in question. It was so beautiful, so simple, so obvious as soon as you point it out, but it had never occurred to the emu ferret before. And as it is our dear mutual friend, Mr. David Hawke... Nick was silent. "that my interest in you is secondary." You're just a decoy, to be honest. This is your Mr. Hawk, who I really want to catch. Just like he wants me.
  
  It was all a trap, as you know, but for Hawke, not Nick, Nick was laughing up to the ceiling. "You're crazy, Colonel. You'll never get close to Hawke." Silence. Laughter. Then: "We'll see, Mr. Carter. You may be right. I have a lot of respect for Hawke from a professional point of view. But he has human weaknesses, just like the rest of us. The danger in this matter. For Hawke. Nick said: "You have been misinformed, Colonel. Hawk doesn't make friends with his agents. He's a heartless old man. "It doesn't really matter," the voice said. "If one method doesn't work, the other will. I'll explain it to her later, Mr. Carter. Now I have something to do, so I'll leave you alone. Yes, one thing. I'll turn it on now, Sergey. Please pay attention to the wire cage. Something very interesting is going to happen in this cell in the near future." There was a hum, whir, and click, and the amplifier shut down. A moment later, in a corner of the dungeon that was in shadow, a sharp white brylev lit up. Both Nick and the girl stared at each other. Killmaster felt an icy chill run down his spine.
  
  It was an empty cell, around a fine-mesh wire policy, connected, for example, twelve by twelve. In the brick well of the dungeon, a door opened. On the floor of the cage were four short smashes and handcuffs set into the floor. to hold a person. Or women. The princess had the same idea. She whimpered. - Oh my God! W-what are they going to do with us? What is this cell for? He didn't know, and he didn't want to guess. Now it was his job to keep her sane, free of hysteria. Nick didn't know what good it would do - except that it might, in turn, help him stay sane. He desperately needed them. He ignored the cage. "Tell me what happened at the Absolute Happiness Inn," he ordered. "I don't remember anything, it's the butt of the rifle that's to blame. I remember coming in and seeing you squatting in the corner. Asuka wasn't there, even though he should have been. I remember her asking you where Aski was, and then the facilities were raided, the lights went out, and someone put a gun butt in my skull. Where is this Aski, anyway? The girl struggled for control. She looked sideways and pointed around. "Ego be damned," Nick grumbled. He already knows everything. She's not here. Tell me everything."..
  
  "We made a network like you said," Origins girl. "Aski put on this d - that other man's uniform and we went into town. In the book "Higher happiness". At first, no one paid any attention to us. This... well, you probably know what kind of game it was? "Yes, I know him." He chose the Inn of Absolute Happiness, which turned into a cheap Chinese hotel, and a brothel where towers and Mozambican soldiers hung out together. A prince in a dead soldier's uniform would be just another black soldier with a pretty Chinese prostitute. Asuka's job was to cover for Nick if Emu managed to lure Colonel Chun Lee to the inn. The disguise was perfect. "The prince was detained by a police patrol," the girl now said. "I think it was a normal routine.
  
  They were Mozambicans with a white Portuguese officer. Asuka didn't have proper identification, passes, or anything else, so Ego was arrested. Ego was taken out, and I was left there alone. She was waiting for you. There was nothing to do. But no luck. The disguise was too good. Nick swore his breath caught in his throat. This could not have been foreseen and defended. The Black Prince was in some prison or camp and out of sight. He spoke a little Mozambican, so he might have been bluffing for a while, but sooner or later they would know the truth. The dead guard will be found. "Aski will be handed over to the Chinese. Unless - and this was a very vague one, unless-unless the prince could somehow make use of the black brotherhood as before. Nick dismissed the thought. Even if the prince was free, what could he do? One person. And not a trained agent...
  
  As always, when the deep connection was active, Nick knew that he could only count on one person to save his own skin. "Nick Carter." The speaker crackled again. "I think you'll be interested, Mr. Carter. Please observe carefully. An acquaintance of yours, his, I presume?" Four Chinese men, all tough brutes, were dragging something through the door, and into the cage on a wire policy, tied up. Nick heard the girl gasp and stifle a scream as she saw the nakedness of General Auguste Boulanger as he was dragged into the cage, he was bald and the sparse hair on his emaciated chest was white, he looked like a shivering, plucked chicken, and in this primitive naked state, completely stripped of all human dignity and pride in his rank or a uniform. The knowledge that the old man had gone mad, that his real dignity and pride were long gone, didn't change the disgust Nick felt now. A sickening pain started in his stomach. I have a hunch that they will see something very bad, even for the Chinese.The general gave a good fight for such an old and frail man, but in a minute or two he was sprawled on the floor of the room in a cage and chains.
  
  The loudspeaker ordered the Chinese, " Remove the gag. Her, I want them to hear him scream." Odin around the men pulled out the iso rta general's large piece of dirty rag. They went out and closed the door in the brick curtain. Nick, watching carefully in the light of the 200-watt bulbs that illuminated the cage, saw something the ferret hadn't noticed until now - on the other side of the wall, at floor level, there was not a small hole, but a dark spot in the brickwork, like a small entrance that could have been made for a dog or cat. The light bounced off the metal plates covering the ego.
  
  Killmaster felt goosebumps - what were they going to do with this poor crazy old man? Whatever it was, he knew one thing. Something was planned with the general. Or with a girl. But it was all aimed at him, Nick Carter, to scare the ego and break the ego and will. It was a kind of brainwashing, and it was a vote-vote that had to start. The general struggled with his chains for a while, and then turned into a lifeless, pale lump. He looked around with a wild look that didn't seem to understand anything. The speaker crackled again: "Before we start our little experiment, there are a few things I think you should know. Give it to me. to gloat a little. You've been a thorn in our calculus for a long time, Mr. Carter - you and your boss, David Hawke. Now everything has changed. You are a professional in your field, and I'm sure you understand this. But her old-fashioned Chinaman, Mr. Carter, and I don't approve of new methods of torture... Psychologists and psychiatrists, everything else.
  
  Mostly they approve of new methods of torture, more sophisticated and terrible, and hers, for example, is the most old-fashioned in this sense. Pure, absolute, unqualified horror, Mr. Carter. As you'll see in a moment. The girl screamed. The sound ripped through Nick's ears. She was pointing to a huge rat that had entered the room through one of the small doors around it. It was the biggest rat Nick Carter had ever seen. It was larger than the average cat, glossy black in color with a long grayish tail. Large white teeth flashed in its muzzle as the creature paused for a moment, whiskers twitching, and looked around warily with evil eyes. Nick suppressed the urge to vomit. The princess screamed again, loud and shrill... * "Shut up," people aren't rude to say hey Nick.
  
  "Mr. Carter? There is a whole story behind this. A mutant rat. Some of our scientists have made a little trip, very secret, of course, to the island that your people used for atomic testing. There was nothing alive there. I don't understand this, not being a scientist, but they explained to me that the radioactive atmosphere is somehow responsible for the gigantism that you are about to see. Most exciting, isn't it?" Killmaster seethed. He couldn't help himself. He knew this was exactly what the Colonel wanted and hoped for, but he couldn't contain his wild rage. He raised his head and yelled, cursing, calling out all the dirty names he knew. He threw himself down to smash, cutting his wrists on the sharp cuffs, but he didn't feel any pain. What he really felt was the slightest weakness, the slightest hint of weakness in one, around the old ring bolts driven into the brick pillar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a column of mortar trickle down the brick below the ring bolt. A strong push may well break the chain. He knew it right away. He kept shaking his chains and cursing, but he didn't pull on the chain anymore.
  
  It was the first faint glimmer of real hope... Colonel Chun Li's voice didn't make much sense as he said, " So you're a human being, Mr. Carter? Do you really respond to normal stimuli? It was a real tantrum. I was told that this would make things easier. Now I'll keep her quiet and let you and the lady enjoy the show. Don't get too upset about the general. He's crazy and decrepit, and there's really no loss to society. He betrayed his country, he betrayed Prince Askari, he tried to betray me. Oh, yes, Mr. Carter. I know all about it. The next time you whisper math in the ear of a deaf person, make sure that the ego's hearing aid isn't tapped! The Colonel laughed. "You were basically whispering in my ear, Mr. Carter. Of course, the poor old fool didn't know that the ego's hearing aid was tapped.
  
  Nick's grimace was bitter, sour. He had a hearing aid. The rat was now curled up on the General's chest. He hadn't even whined yet. Nick hoped old sense was too stunned to understand what was going on. The old man and the rat stared at each other. The rat's long tail, obscenely bald, was rapidly twitching back and forth. However, the creature didn't attack. The girl whimpered and tried to cover her eyes with her hands. break it up. The smooth white body was now dirty, stained and streaked with bits of straw from the stone floor. Listening to the sounds around her throat, Nick realized that she was very close to losing her mind. He could understand that. He stood up. alone, not so far from the abyss. The handcuffs and chain that bound ego's right wrist. The ring bolt shifted. The old man screamed. Nick watched, fighting his own nerves, forgetting to equip everything except for one important cat-the bolt would come out when he pulled it hard. The chain was a weapon. But it's no good if he does it at the wrong time! He forced himself to watch. The mutant rat was gnawing at the old man, its long teeth digging into the flesh around the jugular vein. It was a smart rat. She knew where to hit. She wants the meat to be dead, quiet, so that it can feed freely. The general shouted on. The sound died away in a gurgle as my rat bit into a large artery and blood spurted out. Now the girl screamed again and again. Nick Carter found that he was shouting too, but it was silent, the sound trapped in his ego skull and echoing around him.
  
  
  Ego's brain screamed hatred and lust for moving and killing, but to the spy's eye, he was calm, collected, and even grinning. The camera should not notice this loose ring bolt. The Colonel spoke again: "I'll send her some more rats, Mr. Carter. They will finish their work quickly. Ugly, isn't it? As they say, they will meet you in your capitalist slums. Only there do helpless babies become victims. Isn't that right, Mr. Carter?" Nick ignored him. He was looking at the carnage in the cage. A dozen huge rats ran in and began to hiss over the red creature that had once been a man. Nick could only pray that the old man was already dead. Maybe. He didn't move. He heard the sound of vomiting and looked at the girl. She vomited on the floor and lay on the floor with her eyes closed, her pale, mud-spattered body twitching. "Pass out, baby, "he said, hey. Don't look at it." Two rats were now fighting over a piece of flesh. Nick stared with terrible fascination. In the end, a large group of two quarreling rats bit into the other's throat and killed her. Immediately, it pounced on its fellow rat and began to eat it. Nick watched as the rat completely devoured its own kind. I remembered something I'd long ago learned and forgotten: cannibal rats. Some of the very few animals that eat their own kind. Nick looked up from the horror in the cage. The girl was unconscious. He hoped she didn't feel anything. The voice on the speaker returned. Nick thought he heard the disappointment in the colonel's voice. "It seems," he said, " that my reports about you are finally correct, Carter, what you Americans call a great poker face. Are you really that insensitive, that cold, Carter?" I can't agree with that." After the anger in his voice, it was clearly Carter, not Mr. Carter! Had he even begun to wind up the Chinese colonel a little? It was a hope. Weak as a promise
  
  
  A weak ring bolt was all he had. Nick looked bored. He glanced up at the ceiling where the camera was hidden. "It was quite a long time ago," he said, " but I've seen a lot worse than that, Colonel. Worse, if anything. The last time she was in your country - her coming and going as I please - she killed a couple of meet your guys, gutted ih and hung from a tree from ih own guts. A fantastic lie, but a man like the Colonel might just believe it. "Anyway, you were right about the old man," Nick continued. "He's a fucking stupid lunatic and no one wants him. What do I care what happens to him or how it happens?" There was a long silence. This time, the laughter was a little nervous. "You can be broken, Carter. Do you know that?" Any man born of a woman can be broken." Killmaster shrugged. "Maybe it's not a human. Just like my boss, who you keep talking about. Hawk-Hawk, now-he's not human! You're wasting your time trying to trap the ego, Colonel. "Maybe, Carter, maybe. We'll see. For estestvenno, I have an alternative plan. I don't mind telling you about it. It might change your mind."
  
  
  Killmaster scratched himself hard. Anything to make the son of a bitch mad! He spat carefully. "Be my guest, Colonel. As they say in the movies, I'm at your mercy. But you could do something about the fleas in this lousy hole. It also stinks. Another long silence. Then, " Putting everything else aside, Carter, I'm going to have to start sending Hawke bits and pieces cut off from you. Along with some harrowing notes that I'm sure you'll write her when the time comes. How do you think your boss will react? to this - from time to time to receive a piece of you in the mail? First the thumb, then the big toe - perhaps later the foot or arm? Be honest now, Carter. If Hawk thought there was even the slightest chance of saving you, the ego of the best agent he loves like a son, don't you think he'd do his best? Or try to make a deal?
  
  
  Nick Carter threw his head back and laughed out loud. Emu didn't need to be forced. "Colonel," he said, " Have you ever advertised badly!" I don't understand it." "Misinformed, Colonel. They were misled. You were fed false information, blown up, cheated! You'd cut Hawke and he wouldn't even bleed out. He should know that. Of course, it's a pity to lose me. Her ego is a favorite, as you say. But I can be replaced. Each agent has a consumable item. Just like you, Colonel, just like you. The loudspeaker growled angrily. "Now you're misinformed, Carter. I can't be replaced. It's not consumable." Nick lowered his face to hide the smile he couldn't contain. "You want to bet, Colonel? I can even give you an example-wait until Beijing finds out that you were deceived about the fake raw almazovs. That you were going to exchange twenty million dollars in gold for some glass stones. And that the prince was killed neatly and properly, and now you've killed the general. You've ruined all your chances of intervening in the Angolan uprising. What was Pekinet really up to, Colonel? You choose Hawk because you know Hawk wants you, but that's a small thing compared to what Beijing thinks: they plan on going on to make a lot of trouble in Africa. Angola would be the perfect place to start doing that.
  
  Nick laughed harshly. "Wait until all this leaks out to the right places in Beijing, Colonel, and then we'll see if you're fit or not!" The silence told him that the thorns had hit home. He was almost beginning to hope. If only he could make that bastard angry enough to personally come down here to the dungeon. Not to mention the guards he's sure to bring. He just has to take the risk. Colonel Chun Lee cleared his throat. "You're right, Carter. There may be some truth in what you say. Everything went wrong, or went wrong as I expected. First, I didn't realize how crazy the general was until it was too late.
  
  But I can fix it , and I need your cooperation all the more. Nick Carter spat again. "I will not cooperate with you. I don't think you can afford to kill me now - I think you need me alive to take with you to Beijing, to show them something all spent time, money and dead"
  
  With a touch of involuntary admiration the Colonel said: "Maybe you're right again. Maybe not. You forget about the lady, I think. You are a gentleman, an American gentleman, and therefore you have a very weak spot. Achilles ' heel. Will you let me suffer like a general?" Nick's expression didn't change. "What the fuck do I care? You should know its history: she is a drunk and drug addict, a sexual degenerate who is engaged in posing for dirty pictures and movies. I don't care what happens to her. I'll match you, Colonel. In a place like this, I only worry about two things - myself and myself. I won't do anything to harm us, the one around us. But the lady you can have. With my blessing-
  
  -"We'll see," said the Colonel, " I'm giving the order now, and we'll be sure to see it." I think you're bluffing. And remember that rats are very smart. They will instinctively charge at weaker prey. "The speaker clicked. Nick looked at the girl. She heard everything. She stared at him with huge eyes, her lips trembling. She tried to speak, but it was all hoarse. She didn't look very carefully at the mangled corpse in the cage. Nick looked and saw that the rats were gone. The princess finally managed to get the words out. "Y-are you going to let them do this to me? Y-you mean - did you mean what you just said? Oh, my God, not forever! Kill me - can't you kill me first!" He's not brave to talk. The microphones picked up whispers. The TV scanner was looking at him. He couldn't give hey, any comfort. He stared at the cage and frowned, then spat and looked on. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do. What he could do. Emu just had to wait and see. But it has to be something, and it has to be reliable, and it has to be fast. He listened to the sound and looked up. The Chinese man made his way into the wire cage and opened a small door leading to the main dungeon. Then he left, dragging what was left of the general with him. Nick waited. He didn't look at her. He could hear her sobbing breath across the dozen feet that separated ih. He checked the ring bolt again. After a while, it was so quiet, except for the girl's breathing, that he could hear a trickle of mortar trickling down the brick pillar. The rat stuck its snout around the door...
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  The RAT jumped out of the wire cage and stopped. She squatted down for a moment and washed her face. It wasn't as big as the man-eating rat Nick had seen, but it was big enough. Nick had never hated anything more in his life than he hated this rat right now. He remained very still, barely breathing. In the last few months, a plan of sorts has been formed. But for it to work, emu had to grab the rat with his bare hands. The girl seems to have fallen into a coma. Her eyes were glazed, and she stared at the rat and made terrible throat noises. Nick really wanted to tell Hey that he wasn't going to let the rat grab her, but right now he didn't dare speak or show his face to the camera. He sat in silence, staring at the floor, watching the rat out of the corner of his eye. The rat knew what he was talking about. The woman was the weakest, the most terrified - the smell of her fear was strong in the rodent's nostrils-and so it began to crawl toward her. She was hungry. Hey, they weren't allowed to share a feast in honor of the general. The rat then mutated and lost most of its female genitalia. Her size now made her an ego equal to most natural enemies, and she never learned to be afraid of humans. She didn't pay much attention to the big man and tried to reach the cowering woman.
  
  
  Nick Carter knew he'd only get one chance. If he missed, it was all over. He held his breath and pulled himself up to lick - lick the rat. Now? No. Not yet. Soon-
  
  At that very moment, the image of the ego of youth invaded the ego of reflection. He went to a cheap carnival where the geek was. It was the first geek he'd ever seen, and the last. For a dollar, he saw him bite off the heads of live rats. Now he could clearly see the blood trickling down the geek's chin. Nick flinched, a reflex move that almost ruined the game. The rat paused, then turned to look at him. It started to recede, faster now. Killmaster lunged. He used his left hand to prevent the ring bolt from falling off, and caught the rat directly by the head. The furry monster screamed in fear and rage and tried to bite the hand that my ego was holding. Nick twisted the head off with a single jerk of his thumbs. The target fell to the floor, and the body was still shaking and thirsting for blood on his hands. The girl gave him a completely idiotic look. She was so petrified that she didn't know what was going on. Laughter. The loudspeaker said: "All right, Carter. To deal with such a rat, you need a brave person. And that confirms my point - you're not prepared to let a girl suffer. ."
  
  "That doesn't prove anything," Nick croaked. "And we're not going anywhere. Fuck you, Colonel. I don't care about the girl - I just don't know if I can do it. Lee Nee killed a hell of a lot of men with my hands. But I've never killed a rat before." Silence. Then: "So what did you gain then? I still have a lot of rats, all huge, all hungry. Will you kill them all?" Nick looked at the television eye somewhere in the shadows. He sniffed. "Maybe," he said, " send ih here and see.
  
  He stretched out his leg and pulled the rat's head towards him. He was going to use sl. It was a crazy trick that he tried to do, but it all worked out. The hit is triggered IF,
  
  maybe the colonel will get so angry that he'll want to come down and process his personal ego. Killmaster hadn't prayed much, but now he tried. Please, please make the colonel want to come and work with me, beat the hell out of me. He would have hit me. Yes, anything) Just keep the ego at arm's length. Two large rats crawled out of the wire cage and sniffed. Nick stiffened. Now he'll know. Will the plan work? Were the rats really cannibals? Was it just plain ugly that the biggest rat had eaten the smaller one before? Was it just a bunch of crap, something he'd read and memorized incorrectly? Two rats smelled blood. They were slowly approaching Nick. Carefully, quietly, so as not to frighten ih, he dropped their rat head. Odin around them pounced on it and began to eat. Another rat circled around warily, then charged in. Now they were at each other's throats. Killmaster hid his face from the camera and smiled. Odin around these bastards will be killed. There will be more food for the others, and there will be more to fight over. He was still holding the body of the rat he had killed. He grabbed ego's front paws and flexed his muscles, ripping it apart, ripping it in the middle like a piece of paper. Blood and guts stained ego ruki, but he was content with more bait. With this, as well as one dead rat around every two battlers, he would be able to occupy many of the rats. Nick shrugged his broad shoulders. It wasn't really a big success for Dell, but he was pretty good at it. Pretty damn good, actually. If only it would pay off. The loudspeaker had been silent for a long time. Nick wondered what the Colonel was thinking as he stared at the TV screen. Probably not happy thoughts. More rats poured into the dungeon. There were a dozen furious, screaming fights going on. The rats paid no attention at all to us, to Nick, to the girl. The loudspeaker made a sound. He cursed. It was a multiple curse, combining Nick Carter's bloodline with that of bitch dogs and dung turtles. Nick smiled. And waited. Maybe now. Just maybe. Less than two minutes later, there was an angry banging of doors.
  
  The door opened somewhere in the shadows behind the pillar that held the girl. Several more lights came on overhead. Colonel Chun-Li stepped into the aurora borealis and faced Nick Carter, hands akimbo, a slight frown on his face, his high, pale brows drawn together. He was accompanied by four Chinese guards, all armed with M3 assault rifles. They also carried nets and long poles with sharp spikes at the end. The colonel, without taking his eyes off Nick, gave an order to his men. They set about catching the remaining rats in the net, killing those they couldn't catch. The Colonel walked slowly over to Nick. He didn't look at her. Killmaster wasn't quite ready for what he saw. He had never seen a Chinese albino before. Colonel Chun Li was of medium height and slim build. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his skull was clean-shaven. Massive skull, large brain cell. Ego's skin was the color of faded khaki. Ego's eyes, the biggest oddity for a Chinese, were a brilliant Nordic blue. The lashes were pale, infinitesimal. The two men exchanged glances. Nick hummed arrogantly, then deliberately spat. "Albino," he said. "You're a bit of a mutant yourself, aren't you?" He noticed that the Colonel carried his Luger, his ego, his own Wilhelmina, in an unlooked-for case. Not an unusual quirk. Showing off your victory trophies. Come lick it, Colonel. You are welcome! he licks me one more step. Colonel Chun-Li stopped just outside the deadly semicircle that Killmaster had memorized. As the colonel descended, he completely loosened the ring bolt and inserted the ego back into the brickwork. I took a chance that the scanner was unattended. The Colonel looked Nick up and down. Involuntary admiration was reflected in the pale yellow features. "You're the most resourceful,"he said . I confess that it never occurred to me that such a thing was possible. It is a pity, from your point of view, that this only delays the case. I'll think of something else for the girl. Look, until you cooperate, you'll cooperate, Carter, and you've discovered your fatal weakness, as she's learned.
  
  You couldn't let the rats eat her - you couldn't stand by and watch her get tortured to death. You will eventually join me in capturing David Hawke. "How you're holding up," Nick chuckled. "You're a crazy dreamer, Colonel. your skull is empty. Hawk eat people like you for breakfast! You can kill me, the girl, and many others, but Hawk will get to you eventually.
  
  Your name is in the ego little black book, Colonel. I saw it. Nick spat on Odin's highly polished boots. The Colonel's blue eyes glittered. Ego's pale face slowly turned red. He reached for the luger, but stopped moving. The holster was too small for the Luger . It was made for Nambu or some other smaller gun. The butt of the Luger jutted out far into his skin, inviting him to pick out his ego. The colonel took another step forward and slammed his fist into Nick Carter's face.
  
  Nick didn't roll, but took the punch, because the hotel is licking him. He raised his right hand in a steady, powerful swing. The ring bolt arced with a hiss and slammed into the Colonel's tall frame. Ego's knees buckled, and he began to move in a perfectly synchronized motion. He grabbed the colonel with his left hand, still bound by the other chain, and delivered a vicious blow to the other's throat with his forearm and elbow. Now the colonel's body was blocking it. He drew his pistol from its holster and started shooting at the guards before they realized what was happening. He managed to kill two of the men around them before the other two were out of sight by the next day. He heard it close. Not as good as I'd like! The Colonel writhed in his arms like a trapped dragon. Nick felt a tearing pain in the upper part of his right leg, near the groin. This bitch came alive and tried to stab him, stabbing him back and forth through an awkward position. Nick put a small luger to the colonel's ear and pulled the trigger. The colonel's target was shot through.
  
  Nick dropped the body. He was bleeding, but there was no arterial discharge. He had a little more time. He raised the weapon that had been used to prick the ego. Hugo. Ego's own stiletto! Nick spun around, planted his foot on a brick pillar, and used all his great strength. The remaining ring bolt moved, shifted, but didn't budge. To Hell! Any second now, they'll look at that TV and see that the colonel is dead. He gave up for a moment and turned to the girl. She was sitting on her lap, looking at him with hope and understanding in her eyes. "Tommy Gun," Nick shouted. "Submachine gun - can you get the ego? Push the ego to me. Odin was lying around the dead guards next to the princess. Ego auto flew across the floor next to her. She looked at Nick, then at the submachine gun, but made no attempt to raise her ego. Killmaster yelled at nah. "Wake up, you damned whore! Get moving! Prove that you are fit for something in this world-push this gun here. Hurry up!" He screamed, taunting her, trying to pull her around it. He had to have this machine gun. He tried to pull out the ring bolt again. He was still holding on. There was thunder as she pushed the machine gun across the floor toward him. She was looking at him now, and her green eyes were beginning to make sense again. Nick lunged for the gun. "Good girl!" He made a submachine gun in the shadows, stuck together from the brick arches, and began to shoot. He fired back and forth, up and down, hearing the clink and clink of metal and glass. He grinned. This should take care of the ih TV camera and speaker. They were now as blind as he was at the moment. This will draw on both sides. He braced his foot against the brick post again, braced himself, grabbed the chain with both hands, and pulled. Veins bulged on his forehead, huge ligaments burst, and his breath caught in agony.
  
  The remaining bolt ring came out and he almost fell. He picked up the M3 and ran to the girth. As he reached it, he heard the front door slam. Something bounced on the stone floor. Nick dove for her and covered her with his big naked body. After all, they saw it. They knew the colonel was dead. So they were mine grenades. The grenade exploded with an unpleasant red light and a pop. Nick felt the naked girl tremble beneath him. A fragment of a grenade bit into Ego's buttocks. Damn the tailor, he thought. Fill out the paperwork, Hawk! He leaned over a pillar and fired through a three-leafed door. The man screamed, which hurt. Nick continued firing until the machine gun was red-hot. He ran out of ammo, ran for another submachine gun, and then fired the last round of the day. He realized that he was still half-lying on top of the girl. Suddenly it was very quiet. Beneath it, the princess said, " You know, you're very heavy." "I apologized," he chuckled. "But this pillar is all we have. We must separate the ego. "What happens now?" He glanced at nah. She was trying to comb her fingers through her dark hair, resurrecting around the dead. He hoped it was forever. "I do not know what is happening now," he said honestly.
  
  
  "I don't even know where we are. I think it's one around an old Portuguese dungeon somewhere under the city. ih should be several tens. There is a chance that all the shots were heard - maybe the Portuguese police will come looking for us." That meant a long prison term for him. Hawk will eventually release the ego, but it will take time. And they finally get the girl. The girl understood. "I hope not," she said softly, " and then after going through all this. I can't bear to be taken back to Portugal and put in an orphanage." So it will be. Nick, hearing this story from Prince Askari, knew that she was right.
  
  
  Portuguese government official Luis da Gama, if mistletoe had anything to do with this, they would probably send her to a mental hospital. The girl started to cry. She wrapped her dirty arms around Nick Carter and snuggled up to him. "Don't let them take me, Nick. Please, not forever." She pointed to Colonel Chun Li's body. "I saw you kill him. You did it without a second thought. You can do the same for me. You promise?" If we can't get away, if we're captured by either the Chinese or the Portuguese, promise that you'll kill me. Please, it will be easy for you. I don't have the guts to do it myself. Nick patted her bare shoulder. It was one of the strangest promises he'd ever made. He didn't know if he could keep the ego or not.
  
  "Of course," he said. "Sure, baby. I'll kill you if things get too bad." The silence was beginning to get on the emu's nerves. He fired a short burst on the railroad, heard the howl and ricochet of bullets in the corridor. Then the door was open or half-open. Was anyone there? He didn't know. They can waste precious time when they have to run. Maybe the Chinese temporarily fled when the colonel died. This man was working with a small group, with the elite, and they would have to go to a higher echelon for new orders. Killmaster decided. They'll take their chance and run from here.
  
  He's already pulled the smashing girls off the pole. He checked his weapon. There was half a clip left in the submachine gun. The girl could carry a luger and stiletto, and.. Nick came to his senses, ran to the colonel's body, and removed his belt and holster. He attached the ego to his bare waist. He wants the Luger with him." "Go on, dear. We'll run from here. Depressa, as you always say, Portuguese." They arrived at the railway station when the shooting started in the corridor. Nick and the girl stopped and snuggled up to Moan just outside the door. Then there were screams, screams, and grenade explosions, and then silence.
  
  They heard shaggy's cautious footsteps down the hall toward day. Nick put a finger to her mouth. She nodded, her green eyes huge and frightened in her muddy face. Nick jabbed the muzzle of the machine gun at the door, his hand on the trigger. There was enough light in the hallway for them to see each other. Prince Askari, in his white Mozambique uniform, tattered, torn, and bloody, with his wig askew, stared at them with amber eyes. He showed all his sharp teeth in a grin. He had a rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other. His backpack was still half full of grenades.
  
  They were silent. The black man's lion-like eyes roamed up and down ih's naked bodies, taking it all in with one glance. Ego's gaze lingered on the girl. Then he smiled at Nick again. "I'm sorry I'm late, old man, but it took a while to get out around this palisade. Some around my black brothers helped me and told me where this place was - I came as fast as I could. Looks like I missed it, missed the fun part, eh. He was still examining the girl's body. She returned his gaze without flinching. Nick, watching, saw nothing base in the Prince's gaze. Only statements. The Prince turned back to Nick, his filed teeth gleaming with amusement. "I say, old man, have you two made up? Like Adam and Eve?"
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  KILLMASTER lay on his bed at the Blue Mandarin Hotel and stared at the ceiling. Outside, Typhoon Enamel began to gain momentum, turning to foam, followed by several hours of threats. It turned out that ih was indeed waiting for a strong devil wind. Nick glanced at his watch. Then noon. He was hungry, and the emu needed a drink, but he was too lazy, too full to move. Things were going well. Getting out of Macau was ridiculously easy, almost frustrating. The Prince stole a small car, a battered Renault, and the three of them squeezed into Nah and sped off to Peoha Point, the girl wearing the prince's bloodstained coat. Nick is wearing only a bandage around his hip. It was a wild ride - the wind was pushing the tiny car like chaff - but they reached the Point and found life jackets where they had hidden the ih among the rocks. The waves were high, but not too high. Not yet. The junk was where it should have been. Nick, towing the girl-Prince Hotel, but unable to - pulled out a small racket from his life jacket pocket and sent it flying up. A red rocket painted the windy sky. Five minutes later, the junk picked up ih...
  
  Min, a Tangar boatman, said, " We were very worried, sir. We didn't wait another hour, maybe. You will not come soon, we must leave you - we may not be able to return home safely yet. " They did not come home easily, but they did not come home well. They were lost in the jungle at dawn when the junk sailed into the typhoon shelter. Nick was on the phone with SS, and some of the ego people were waiting. The transition from" Blue Mandarin " to "Blue Mandarin" was easy and painless, and if the attendant thought there was something odd about this wild-looking Trinity Cathedral scene, he held back. Nick and the girl had borrowed the tower's clothing from Tangam; the Prince somehow managed to look regal in all that was left of his stolen white uniform. Nick yawned and listened to the typhoon glide around the buildings. The Prince was down the hall, in a room presumably asleep. The girl went to her room, which was adjacent to ego, fell on the bed and immediately lost consciousness. Nick covered her up and left her alone.
  
  
  Killmaster could use some sleep. Soon he got up and went to the bathroom, came back, lit a cigarette and sat on the bed, thinking. He didn't actually hear the sound, no matter how sharp our ego's ears were. Rather, the sound invaded the ego-consciousness. He sat very still and tried to identify it. It's clear. The window slides up. A window raised by someone who didn't want to be heard. Nick smiled... He shrugged his big shoulders. He half-repeats it. He went to the door of the girl's room and knocked. Silence. He knocked again. No response. Nick stepped back and kicked the flimsy lock with his bare foot. The door swung open. The room was empty. He nodded. He was right. He crossed the room, not thinking that she had only taken one bag, and looked out the open window. The wind whipped rain against my face. He blinked and looked down. The fire escape was hidden by a gray blanket of fog and wind-whipped rain. Nick rolled down the window, sighed, and turned away. He went back to the master bedroom and lit another cigarette.
  
  KILLMASTER For a moment he let his flesh feel the loss, then he laughed harshly and started to forget about it. However, it was ironic that the princess ' body, which was owned by many, wasn't meant for emu. So let her go. He called off the security of AX. She's fulfilled her contract with Hawk, and if the old man thinks he's going to use her again for another dirty job, emu just needs to think again. Nick wasn't too surprised when the phone rang a few minutes later.
  
  He took ego and said, " Hello, Aski. Where are you?" The Prince said: "I don't think I'm going to tell you this, Nick. It's better if I don't say it. I have Princess Morgana with me... We're getting married, man. As soon as we can. Her explained hey, everything, about the rebellion and all that, and the fact that, as an optimistic person, she would commit treason. She still wants to do it. Hers, too. "Good for both of you," Nick said. "I wish you good luck, Aski. "You don't look very surprised, old man. "I'm not blind or stupid, Aski."
  
  "I know where she was," said the Prince. "I'm going to change everything I need from the princess. One thing is, she hates her fellow countrymen as much as I do." Nick hesitated for a moment, then said: "Are you going to use it, Aski?" You know... "No, antiquities. It's out. Forgotten. "All right," Killmaster said softly. "All right, Aski. I thought you'd see it that way." But what about, uh, load? Gave you a sort of half-promise. You want the wheels to take her in... " No, mate. I have another contact in Singapore, stay there for our honeymoon. I think I can get rid of them all... goods that can steal it." The Prince laughed. Nick thought of the gleaming, sharp teeth and laughed, too. He said. "God, I didn't always have so much. Wait a minute, Nick. Morgan wants to talk to you."
  
  She came over. She spoke like a lady again. She could be just that, Nick thought as he listened. It just might come back through the gutters. He hoped that the prince would take care of it. "I'll never see you again," the girl said. "I want to thank you, Nick, for what you've done for me." "But you did-more than you think, more than you'll ever understand. So, thank you." "Not forever," he said. "But do me a favor, Prince... Try to keep your beautiful nose clean, the Prince is a good guy." "I know that. Oh, how did I know that? Then, with an infectious cheerfulness in her voice that he had never heard before, she laughed and said, " Did he tell you what I was going to make ego do?" "I was going to let him tell you. Goodbye, Nick." The prince is back. "She'll make me stick my teeth together," he said with mock sadness. "It will cost me a fortune, I assure you. I will have to double my operations." Nick smiled into the phone. "Come on, Asuka. Working in a cap isn't so wouldnt cover much." "Take a tailor, they don't," said the Prince. "For five thousand of my soldiers? I set an example for her. If it's wearing a cap, then they're wearing a cap. For now, antiquities. No monkey wrenches, eh? We got out as soon as the wind calms down." "No spanners," said Nick Carter. "Go with God." He hung up. He stretched out on the bed again and thought of Princess Morgana da Gama. Seduced by her uncle at the age of thirteen. She wasn't raped, but seduced. Chewing gum and again. A very secret case, the most secret. How exciting it must have been for a thirteen-year-old girl. Then fourteen. Then fifteen. Then sixteen. The affair lasted three long years, and no one knows about it. And how nervous the angry uncle must have been when, finally, she began to show signs of disgust and protest against incest.
  
  Nick frowned. Luis da Gama must have been a special son of a bitch. Over time, he began to rise in government and diplomatic circles. He was the girl's guardian, just like her uncle. He controlled her money, as well as her lithe baby body. Still, he couldn't leave the girl alone. Juicy young girlhood was a deadly lure for old and tired men. With each of them, the danger of exposure grew more and more. Nick could see that his uncle's dilemma was severe. Being caught, exposed, and pilloried means having an incestuous relationship with your only niece for more than three years! It meant the absolute flow of everything-fortune, career, even life itself.
  
  The girl, already old enough to know what she was doing, hastened the course of events. She ran down Lisbon. Her uncle, terrified that she would talk, caught her and advertised for a sanatorium in Switzerland. There she chatted as she trudged under sodium pentatol, and the sly fat nurse heard. Blackmail. The girl finally escaped around the sanatorium - and just continued to live. She didn't say anything. She didn't even know about the nanny who had overheard her and was already trying to talk her uncle into silence. Nick Carter's grin was hard. How the man sweated the most! I worked up a sweat and paid for it. When you were a Lolita between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, your chances of a normal life afterwards are slim. The Princess stayed away from Portugal and steadily went downhill. Booze, drugs, sex, that sort of thing. My uncle waited and paid. Now that he was very high up in the cabinet, emu had a lot to lose. Then, finally, Blacker came to sell dirty movies, and Uncle took his chance. If he could somehow get the girl back to Portugal, prove that she was crazy, hide her, maybe no one would trust her story. There might be some whispers, but he could wait it out. He started his campaign. He agreed that his niece's ego was hurting Portugal's image in the world. Hey, you needed expert care, poor thing. He started working with Portuguese intelligence, but only told them half the story. He grew up at her expense. A campaign of sophisticated harassment has begun, aimed at bringing the princess back to Portugal, sending her to a "convent" - thus devaluing any story she has told or can tell.
  
  Alcohol, drugs, and sex had completely broken her. Who would believe a crazy girl? Aski, with an ego of superior intelligence preying on Portuguese intelligence, stumbled upon the truth. He saw it as a weapon that would be used against the Portuguese government to force the ego to make concessions. After all, a weapon he wasn't going to use. He was going to marry her. He wouldn't want it to be daubed any more than it already was, plastered. Nick Carter stood up and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He frowned. He had an uneasy feeling that his uncle would get away with it-he would probably die with all the state and ecclesiastical honors. Pity. He remembered the sharp teeth, and what Asuka had once said: "I'm used to killing my own meat!"
  
  Nick also remembered Johnny Smart with a jade-handled paper knife in folding a dollar. Maybe uncle wasn't home for free. Maybe... He got dressed and went out into the typhoon. Clare and the other people in the ornate lobby stared at him in horror. The big American will really go crazy if he gets out into the wind. In fact, it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. You had to keep an eye out for flying objects like shop signs, trash cans, and wood, but if you kept low and pressed up against buildings, it wouldn't blow you away. But the rain was something special, a gray wave that rolled through the narrow streets. He was soaked in a minute. It was warm water, and he could feel more of the Macao slime being washed off of him. By some chance - just like that-he found himself back in the Wan Chai area. Not far from Rat Fink bar. It can be a refuge in this. He discussed it when he had a new girlfriend. The wind whipped it hard, flattening it against the running gutters. Nick hurried to pick her up, noting her beautiful long legs, full breasts, beautiful skin, and rather demure appearance. As demure as a disheveled girl can be. She was wearing a rather short skirt, but not a mini, and she wasn't wearing a dress. Nick helped the agitated girl to her feet. The street was empty, but not for them.
  
  He smiled at her. She smiled at the rheumatism, an uncertain smile growing warmer as she acknowledged the ego. They were standing in the howling wind and heavy rain. "As I understand it," Nick Carter said, "this is your first typhoon?" She clutched at her flowing hair. "Y-yes. Here in Fort Wayne, ih net. Are you an American? Nick bowed slightly and gave her a smile that Hawke often described as " butter doesn't melt in your mouth." "Can I help you?" She pressed herself against ego's chest. The wind clung to her wet skirt, to her good, very good, excellent, excellent legs. "I got lost," she explained, "get out, leave the other girls, but I can always get caught in a typhoon." "You," Nick said, " are romantics to my heart. Suppose we share "typhoon". Then drinks, of course, and a chance to introduce myself and clean up. Nah had big gray eyes. Her nose was turned up, and her hair was short and golden. She smiled, " I think I'd like that. Where do we go? Nick pointed down the street to the Rat Fink bar.
  
  He thought of the prince again, very briefly, then thought of her. "I know this place," he said. After two hours and a few drinks, Nick made a bet with himself that the connection would be over. He lost. Hawk answered almost immediately. - the port was redirected. You did a great job. "Yes," Nick agreed. "I did it. Another name crossed out in the little black book, eh? "Not on an open line," Hawk said. "Where are you?" If you can come back, I'd appreciate it. There was a small problem, and - ""There's also a small problem here," Nick said. "Her name is Henna Dawson, and she's a schoolteacher in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Teaches in primary schools. I'm learning it. Did you know, sir, that the old methods are long out of date? I can see her, Spot-you Spot-voice Spot-Spot-good dog-it's all in the past now.
  
  A brief silence. The wires hummed for miles. Hawk said, " Very good. However, I believe you will have to do this on your own system before you can do any work again. But where are you now , in case I need you urgently?""Would you believe," asked Nick Carter wearily, " The Rat Fink Bar.
  
  Hawke: "I believe it." "Very good, sir." And then there's the typhoon . I might be stuck for two or three days. Good-bye, sir." Wait. Its..."...Don't call me, " Killmaster said firmly. "I'll call you."
  
  
  
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  Operation Lunar Rocket
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Operation Lunar Rocket.
  
  
  
  Translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  At 6:10 am, 16 yeast started the last countdown.
  
  
  Flight managers sat tensely in front of their control panels in Houston, Texas, and Cape Kennedy, N.Y., Florida. Earth was surrounded by a fleet of tracking ships, a network of deep-space radio antennas, and several hovering communications satellites. World television started at 7: 00 am ET, and they, who had gotten up early to witness the event, heard the flight manager at Mission Control in Houston announce: "All green and go."
  
  
  Eight months earlier, the Apollo spacecraft was tested in orbit. Six months ago, the lunar landing craft passed space tests. Two months later, the huge Saturn 5 rocket made its unmanned flight debut. Now, the three sections of the lunar lander were connected and ready for their first manned orbit - the final test before the actual flight to the moon.
  
  
  The three astronauts began their day with a quick medical checkup, followed by the usual breakfast of steaks and eggs. Then they drove the Jeep through a bleak spit of sand and scrub called Merritt's Island, a mimmo of artifacts from an earlier space age-the launch pads of Mercury and Gemini-and a mimmo of an orange grove that had somehow survived. 39, a massive concrete platform half the size of a soccer field.
  
  
  The pilot-in-chief for the upcoming flight was Lieutenant Colonel Norwood "Woody" Liscombe, a gray-haired, taciturn man in his forties, a sober and serious veteran of the Mercury and Gemini programs. He squinted at the haze hanging over the launch pad as the three men walked from the Jeep to the prep room. "Fine," he said in his slow Texas drawl. "This will help protect our eyes from the sun's rays during takeoff."
  
  
  His teammates nodded. Lieutenant Colonel Ted Green, also a Gemini veteran, pulled out a colorful red bandana and wiped his earlobe. "It must be the nineties," he said. "If it gets even hotter, they can just pour olive oil over us."
  
  
  Foreign Ministry Commander Doug Albers laughed nervously. Serious as a boy, at thirty-two he was the youngest member of the crew, the only one who had not yet been in space.
  
  
  In the training room, the astronauts listened to the final mission briefing, then donned their spacesuits.
  
  
  At the launch resort complex, the crew of the launch pad started refueling the Saturn-5 rocket. Due to the high temperature, the fuel and oxidizing agents had to be cooled to temperatures lower than usual, and the operation was performed twelve minutes late.
  
  
  Above them, at the top of a fifty-five-story gantry lift, a five-person Connelly Aviation technical team had just completed the final inspection of the thirty-ton Apollo capsule. Connelly's Sacramento company was NASA's main contractor for the $ 23 billion project, and a good eight percent of the lunar Port Kennedy, NY staff were employees of a California aerospace firm.
  
  
  Port Chief Pat Hammer, a big, square-faced man in a white jumpsuit, white baseball cap, and unframed hexagonal polaroids, stopped as he and the team's ego crossed the podium separating the Apollo capsule from the service tower. "You guys go ahead," he shouted. "I'm going to take a last look around."
  
  
  Odin turned around the carriage and shook his head. "I've done fifty runs with you, Pat," he shouted, " but I've never seen her make you nervous before."
  
  
  "You can't be too careful," Hammer said as he climbed back into the pod.
  
  
  He looked around the cabin, navigating the maze of instruments, dials, switches, lights, and toggle switches. Then, seeing what he saw, he moved quickly to the right, dropped to all fours, and slid under the astronauts ' couches to the bundle of wires that ran under the vault door.
  
  
  He removed the polaroids, took out a leather case from his hip pocket, opened the ego, and put on a pair of simple rimless glasses. He pulled a pair of asbestos gloves around his back pocket and placed the ih next to his head. He produced wire cutters and a file around the second and third fingers of his right glove.
  
  
  He was breathing heavily now, and drops of blood began to trickle down Ego's forehead. He put on his gloves, carefully selected the wire, and began to cut it partially. Then he put down the cutters and began stripping away the heavy Teflon insulation until more than an inch of shiny copper strands was exposed. He sawed one around the threads and tore it off, bending it three inches away from the soldering points of some ECS pipeline ...
  
  
  Astronauts were moving on the concrete platform of complex 39 in heavy lunar spacesuits. They stopped to shake hands with some of the crew around them, and Colonel Liscombe grinned as one around them handed the emu a three-foot mock-up kitchen match. "When you're ready, Colonel," the technician said, " just hit it on the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
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  rough surface. Our rockets will do the rest."
  
  
  Liscombe and the other astronauts nodded, smiling through their faceplates, then moved to the portal elevator and quickly ascended to the sterilized "white room" on the level of the spacecraft.
  
  
  Inside the capsule, Pat Hammer has just finished filing the soldered connection of the environmental monitoring tubes. He quickly gathered up his tools and gloves and got out from under the couches. Through the open hatch, he watched the astronauts leave the white room and walk across the twenty-foot bridge to the stainless-steel hull of the capsule.
  
  
  Hammer got to his feet, hastily stuffing his gloves into his back pocket. He forced a smile to his lips as he exited through the trapdoor. "It's all right, boys," he shouted. "Have a nice trip."
  
  
  Colonel Liscombe stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Hammer flinched, dodging an invisible blow. But the spaceman was smiling as he handed em a huge match. When the lips on the front panel move, I say, " Here, Pat, next time you want to light a fire."
  
  
  Hummer stood there with a match in his left hand, a smile frozen on his face as the three spacemen took pity on Emu's hand and crawled through the hatch.
  
  
  They hooked up their silver nylon spacesuits to the environmental monitoring system and lay down on their couches, waiting for the pressure to build up. Command pilot Liscombe was sprawled out to the left under the flight control panel. Green, who was assigned as navigator, was in the middle, and Albers was on the right, where the communication equipment was located.
  
  
  At 7:50 am, the boost was completed. The sealed double hatch covers were sealed, and the atmosphere inside the spacecraft was filled with oxygen and increased to sixteen pounds per square inch.
  
  
  Now the familiar routine began, an endlessly detailed run lasting more than five hours.
  
  
  After four and a half seconds, the countdown stopped twice, both times due to minor "glitches". Then, at the countdown minus fourteen minutes, the procedure was stopped again - this time due to static interference in the communication channels between the spacecraft and the technicians in the operations center. When it cleared, the countdown script continued. The next shaggy required switching electrical equipment and checking the glycol-the coolant used in the ship's environmental control system.
  
  
  Commander Albers flipped the switch marked 11-CT. Pulses from the switch passed through the wire, blocking the area from which the Teflon insulation was removed. Two steps later, Colonel Liscombe turned a valve that sent the highly flammable ethylene glycol through an alternative pipeline - and through a brazed connection that was carefully passed through. The moment the first drop of glycol landed on a bare, overheated wire marked the moment when the fog of eternity opened up for the three men aboard Apollo AS-906.
  
  
  At 12:01:04 EST, people looking at a TV screen on Pad 39 saw flames erupt around Commander Albers ' sofas on the right side of the cockpit.
  
  
  At 12: 01: 14, a voice from inside the capsule screamed: "Fire in the spaceship!"
  
  
  At 12:01:20, those who were watching TV saw Colonel Liscombe trying to free himself from his seat belts. He turned forward from his couch and looked to his right. A voice, presumably ego, shouted, " The pipe is cut... Glycol flows... "(The rest is distorted).
  
  
  At 12:01:28, Lieutenant Commander Albers ' telemetry pulse jumped sharply. The ego could be seen engulfed in flames. A voice that was supposed to belong to an emu shouted: "Get us out of here... we're burning up..."
  
  
  At 12: 01: 29, a wall of fire shot up, obscuring the view of the stage. The television monitors went blank. Cabin pressure and heat were rising rapidly. No other clear messages were received, although screams of pain were heard.
  
  
  At 12:01:32, the cabin pressure reached twenty-nine pounds per square inch. The spaceship was destroyed by the pressure. A blinding flash was seen by the people standing at the level of the ship's windows. Heavy smoke began to seep out around the capsule. The members of the portal crew raced down the catwalk leading to the ship, desperately trying to open the hatch cover. Ih was pushed back by Savchenko's forces and smoke.
  
  
  There was a strong wind inside the capsule. White-hot air roared through the gap, enveloping the astronauts in a cocoon of bright fire, wrinkling their noses like insects in a heat wave of more than two thousand degrees ...
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A voice in the darkened room said: "The quick thinking of the police chief prevented a tragedy of even greater proportions."
  
  
  An image flashed across the screen, and Hammer found himself staring into his own face. "This is Patrick J. Hammer," the TV news commentator continued, " a forty - eight-year-old Connelly Aviation technician and father of three children. While the others froze in horror, he had the heart to press on. control button
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  this triggered the evacuation system... "
  
  
  "Look! Look! It's Dad!" innocent, high-pitched voices rang out in the darkness behind him. Hammer grimaced. He automatically scanned the room, checking the double-barred door and the drawn curtains. He heard ego, the woman, say, " Hush, kids. Let's hear it..."
  
  
  The TV commentator was now pointing to a diagram of the Apollo-Saturn 5 spacecraft. "The evacuation system is designed to eject a capsule by parachute, which is engaged in landing off-site in the event of an emergency during launch. With the exception of the astronauts, Hammer's quick thinking prevented the fire in the capsule from spreading to the third-stage rocket below the lunar module. If it were to spread, the thunderous burning of eight and a half million gallons of refined kerosene and liquid oxygen would destroy the entire Kennedy Space Center, NY, as well as the surrounding areas of Port Canaveral, Cocoa Beach, and Rockledge... "
  
  
  "Mommy, its tired. Let's go to bed." It was Timmy, his youngest son, who had turned four that Saturday.
  
  
  Hammer leaned forward and stared at the television set in the cluttered living room of his Cocoa Misery bungalow. His rimless egos glittered. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Ego's eyes clung desperately to the TV commentator's face, but it was Colonel Liscombe, who grinned at him and handed Em a match ...
  
  
  The dirty smell of hot irons and flowers filled the room. The walls leaned toward him like a huge blister. A huge layer of flame spread mimmo him, and Liscombe's face melted before ego's eyes, leaving only charred, roasting flesh blistered, eyes popping inside a calcified skull, the smell of burning bones ...
  
  
  "Pat, what's wrong?"
  
  
  The ego woman leaned over him, her face pale and drawn. He must have screamed. He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. She didn't know. He could never say hey.
  
  
  Suddenly the phone rang. He jumped. He had been waiting for this all night. "I'll understand," he said. A commentator said: "Nine hours after the tragic event, investigators are still sifting through the charred wreckage..."
  
  
  It was Hammer's boss, Pitt Rand, the head of the starting team. "You'd better come in, Pat," he said. Ego voice is absurdly hilarious. "There are a couple of questions..."
  
  
  Hammer nodded, closing his eyes. It was only a matter of time. Colonel Liscombe was shouting: "The pipe is cut." Cut, not broken, and Hammer knew why, he could see the case that held the ego polaroid dots, along with the solder and teflon chips.
  
  
  He was a good American, a loyal employee of Connelly Aviation for fifteen years. He worked hard, rose through the ranks, and was proud of his work. He idolized the astronauts who went into space on his work. And then - because he loved his family - he joined the community of the vulnerable, the unprotected.
  
  
  "Yes, it's fine." Hammer said it quietly, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. "I want to talk about it. But I need some help. I need police protection."
  
  
  The voice on the other end seemed surprised. "All right, Pat, of course. That can be arranged."
  
  
  "I want them to protect my wife and kids," Hammer said. "I'm not leaving the house until they get here."
  
  
  He hung up and stood up, his hand shaking. Sudden fear made her stomach twist. He made a commitment - but there was no other way. He looked at his wife. Timmy fell asleep on Nah's lap. He could see the boy's tousled blond hair wedged between the couch and her elbow. "They want it to work," he said vaguely. "I have to go in."
  
  
  The muffled doorbell rang. "At this hour?" she said. "Who could it be?"
  
  
  "I asked the police to come in."
  
  
  "The police?"
  
  
  It was strange how fear lowered time. Less than a minute ago, it looked like he was on the phone. He went to the window and carefully opened the blinds. A dark sedan at the curb mistletoe ceiling lamp on the roof and a pin antenna on the side. The three men on the porch were in uniform, weapons holstered on their hips. He opened the door.
  
  
  The first was a big man, brown from the sun, with carrot-colored blond hair slicked back and a friendly smile on his face. Nen was wearing a blue shirt, bow tie, and breeches, and he carried a white helmet under his arm. "Hello," he drawled. Hammer was looking at the uniform. He didn't realize it. "We're district officers," the redhead explained. "The NASA people called us..."
  
  
  "Oh, good, good." Hummer stepped aside to let ih in.
  
  
  The man was short, thin, and dark, with dead-gray eyes that were open to redheads. A deep scar encircled his neck. Ego's right hand was wrapped in a towel. Hammer looked at him with sudden concern. Then he saw a five-gallon barrel of gasoline being held by a third policeman. Ego's eyes darted to the man's face. Ego's mouth dropped open. At that moment, he knew that he was starting to die. Beneath the white helmet, his features were flat, with high cheekbones and slanted eyes.
  
  
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  he spat out the long needle with a tiny gasp of escaping air sampling. Hammer grunted, which hurt, and asked for permission to perform. Ego's left hand reached for his arm, fingers clutching at the sharp agony trapped in his tortured muscles. Then, he slowly fell forward.
  
  
  The woman screamed and tried to get up from the sofa. The man with the scar on his neck walked across the room like a wolf, his mouth wet and glistening. There was an ugly razor stuck around the towel. As the blade flashed, she lunged at the children. Blood gushed down the fierce red gash he'd made in her throat, drowning out her scream. The children were not fully awake. Ih eyes were open, but still blurred with sleep. They died quickly, quietly, without a struggle.
  
  
  The third man went openly to the kitchen. He opened the oven, turned on the gas, and went down the steps to the storm shelter. When he returned, the gas barrel was empty.
  
  
  The redhead took out the needle around Hammer's arm and stuck it in his pocket. Now he dragged ego onto the couch, dipped the lifeless index finger of Hammer's right hand into the pool of blood that quickly formed beneath it, and ran his finger over the white moan of the bungalow.
  
  
  Every few minutes, he stopped to dip his finger in fresh blood. When the message was finished, the other two men looked at him and nodded. The one with the scar on his neck pressed the handle of the blood-soaked razor against Hammer's right hand, and the three of them helped carry ego to the kitchen. They put ego's head in the open oven, took one last look around, then went out the front door, the last man flipped the lock so that Dom locked himself in from the inside.
  
  
  The entire operation took less than three minutes.
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  By Nicholas J. Huntington Carter, N3 for AX, propped himself up on one elbow and looked at the beautiful, sun-kissed redhead who was now lying next to him on the sand.
  
  
  Her skin was tobacco brown and she was wearing a pale yellow bikini. Her lipstick was pink. Nah had long, slender legs, rounded and firm hips, the rounded V-neck of her bikini peeked out at him, and her proud breasts in tight cups were two more eyes.
  
  
  Her name was Cynthia, and she was a native of Florida, the girl from all the travel stories. Nick called her Cindy, and she knew Nick as "Sam Harmon," the Admiralty lawyer for Chevy Chase, Maryland. Whenever "Sam" was on vacation in Miami Beach, they always got together.
  
  
  There was a drop of sweat under her closed eyes and on her temples from the hot sun. She felt him look at nah, and her wet lashes parted; her tawny eyes, large and distant, looked into the emu's with distant curiosity.
  
  
  "What do you say we avoid this vulgar display of half-baked meat?" he grinned, showing his white teeth.
  
  
  "What's on your mind?" "No," she said. There was a faint smile at the corners of her mouth.
  
  
  "Two of us, alone, back in room twelve-eight."
  
  
  Dreadlocked excitement began to form in her eyes. "Again?" she muttered. Her eyes slid warmly over his brown, muscular body. "Okay, yes, that's a good idea ..."
  
  
  A shadow suddenly fell over them. The voice said: "Mr. Harmon?"
  
  
  Nick rolled onto his back. A black-clad funeral man leaned over him, blocking out part of the sky. "You're wanted on the phone, sir. At the blue entrance, number six."
  
  
  Nick nodded, and the bell's mate left, walking slowly, carefully across the sand to keep the glow of his black Oxfords shining, which looked like a dark omen of death among the rave colors on the beach. Nick got to his feet. "I'll only be here for a minute," he said, but he didn't trust me.
  
  
  Sam Harmon didn't have our friends, our relatives, or our own lives. Only one person knew of ego's existence, knew that he was in Miami Beach at that moment, at that particular hotel, for the start of the second week of his first vacation in more than two years. Tough old man from Washington.
  
  
  Nick walked across the sand to the entrance of the Surfway Hotel. He was a big man with thin hips and broad shoulders, with the calm eyes of an athlete who had dedicated his life to challenges. A woman's eyes stared at the sunglasses, taking stock. Thick, slightly unruly dark hair. Almost perfect profile. Laugh lines at the corners of the eyes and rta. Women's eyes liked what they saw, and they followed him, openly interested. There was a promise of excitement and danger in that sinewy, tapering calf.
  
  
  "Sam Harmon" was falling away from Nick with every ego step. Eight days of love, laughter, and idleness were disappearing step by step, and by the time he reached the cool, dark interiors of the hotel, he was his usual working "her" - Special Agent Nick Carter, chief operative of AX, the top-secret counterintelligence agency of the Americas.
  
  
  The phones were placed to the left of the blue entrance in a row of ten attached to the groans, with soundproof partitions between them. Nick went to number six and picked up the phone. "Harmon is here."
  
  
  "Hello, my boy, just passing through. I thought I'd see how you were doing."
  
  
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  her eyebrows rose. The hawk is on an open line. Surprise number one. Here in Florida. Surprise number two. "It's all right, sir. First vacation in a long time," he added pointedly.
  
  
  "Great, great." The head of AX said this with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Are you free for dinner?" At 16: 00? The sturdy black bird seemed to read his mind. "By the time you get to Palm Beach, it's time for dinner, "he added." The Bali Hai, Worth Avenue. The cuisine is Polynesian-Chinese, the head waiter's name is Don Lee. Just tell em you're having lunch with Mr. Bird. Fivish is all right. We'll have time for a drink."
  
  
  Surprise number three. Hawke stuck to steaks and fries. He hated eastern edu. "Okay," Nick said. "But I need some time to get ready. Your call was pretty good... unexpected."
  
  
  "The young lady has already been notified." Hawke's voice was suddenly sharp and businesslike. "Hey, they said that you were unexpectedly called on business. Your suitcase is packed, and in the car your street Swedes are lying on the front seat. You've already checked out at the front desk."
  
  
  Nick got angry with the question of all this. "I left her some cigarettes and sunglasses on the beach,"he snapped.
  
  
  "You'll find ih in the glove compartment. I take it you haven't read the papers?"
  
  
  "No." Nick didn't mind. The ego-relaxing idea was to remove through the body the poisons of everyday life. These poisons included newspapers, radio, television - anything that transmitted news from the outside world.
  
  
  "Then I suggest you turn on the car radio," Hawk said, and N3 knew in his ego voice that something serious was going on.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He moved the Lamborghini 350 GT through the gearbox. Heavy traffic was directed toward Miami, and he kept his half of US 1 mostly to himself. He sped north through Surfside, Hollywood, and Boca Raton, mimmo of an endless string of motels, gas stations, and fruit juice stands.
  
  
  There was nothing else on the radio. It was as if war had been declared, as if the president had died. All regular programs were canceled as the country honored its fallen astronauts.
  
  
  Nick turned onto Kennedy, N.Y. Causeway in West Palm Beach, turned left onto Ocean Boulevard, and headed north toward Worth Avenue, the main street that urban society reviewers call "platinum watering hole."
  
  
  He couldn't understand it. Why did the head of AX choose Palm Adversity for the meeting? Why Bali Hai? Nick reviewed everything he knew about the place. It was said to be the most exclusive restaurant in the United States. If your name wasn't on the social register, or if you weren't fabulously rich, a foreign dignitary, a senator, or a high-ranking State Department official, you might have forgotten about it. You wouldn't have made it,
  
  
  Nick turned right onto Dearest Dreams Street, passing the mimmo of Carder's Van Cleef local branches & Arpels with ih small display cases with stones the size of Kohinoor diamond. Located between the elegant old Colony Hotel and the oceanfront, Bali Hai was painted to resemble the crust of humanity.
  
  
  The attendant took Ego to the car, and the maitre d ' bowed obsequiously at the mention of "Mr. Bird." "Oh, yes, Mr. Harmon, you were expected," he murmured. "If you will follow me, please."
  
  
  Ego was led in a leopard-striped banquette to a table where a fat, rustic-looking old man with dull eyes sat. Hawk stood up as Nick approached, holding out his hand. "My boy, I'm glad you could do it." It seemed rather shaky. "Sit down, sit down." The captain pulled out a chair, and Nick did. "A vodka martini?" Hawk said. "Our friend, Don Lee, is doing his best." He patted the maitre d ' 's arm.
  
  
  Lee beamed. "Always a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Baird." He was a young Hawaiian Chinese man with dimples on his cheeks, wearing a tuxedo with a bright ribbon around his neck. He grinned and added: "But last week, General Sweet accused me of being a vermouth agent."
  
  
  Hawk chuckled. "Dick was always a bore."
  
  
  "I'll take the whiskey," Nick said. "On the rocks." He looked around the restaurant. It was paneled in bamboo up to the level of the chair, with a wall-to-wall mirror image and wrought-iron pineapples on each table. There was a horseshoe-shaped bar at one end, and behind it, enclosed in glass, was a disco-currently" in "place for the" Golden Youth " of a Rolls-Royce set. Beautifully bejeweled women and men with smooth, well-fed faces sat here and there at tables, assembling edus in the dim light.
  
  
  The waiter arrived with drinks. Nen was wearing a colorful aloha shirt over black slacks. His flat oriental features were expressionless as Hawke downed the martini that had just been placed in front of him. "I take it you've heard the news," Hawke said, watching the liquid disappear on the damp tablecloth. "A national tragedy of the gravest proportions," he added, pulling out a toothpick from the olive oil spilled around his drink and absently pricking it.
  
  
  
  
  
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  t will postpone the lunar program for at least two years. Possibly longer, given the current mood of the audience. Ih representatives caught the mood." He looked up." This senator, what's his name, is the chairman of the space subcommittee, " he said. lost ."
  
  
  The waiter returned with a fresh tablecloth, and Hawke abruptly changed the subject. "Of course I don't go down too far," he said, popping the last of the olive into his mouth. "Once a year, the Belle Glade Club hosts a pre-duck hunt banquet. I always try to do that."
  
  
  Another surprise. Belle Glade Club, the most exclusive in Palm Beach. The money won't reach you; and if you were inside, you might suddenly find yourself in some strange situation. Nick looked at the man sitting across from him. Hawke looked like a farmer, or perhaps the editor of a city newspaper. Nick had known Ego for a long time. Deep, he thought. Ih the relationship was very close to that of a father and son. Still, it was the first suspicion that he had a social background.
  
  
  Don Lee arrived with a fresh martini. "Would you like to place an order now?"
  
  
  "Perhaps my young other would have agreed," Hawk said, speaking with exaggerated caution. "It's all good. He glanced at the menu Lee was holding in front of him. "It's all a famous dish, Lee. You know that."
  
  
  "I can cook for you if you don't feel like it in five minutes, Mr. Baird."
  
  
  "That sounds good to me," Nick said. "Make it rare."
  
  
  "Okay, two," Hawk snapped irritably. When Lee left, he suddenly asked: "What is the use of the Moon on earth?" Nick noticed that the egos were beginning to slur. Is Hawk drunk? Unheard of, " but he gave all the instructions. Martinis were not an ego drink. One scotch and water before lunch was ego's usual meal. Did the deaths of the three astronauts also somehow get under that gray old skin?
  
  
  "The Russians know," Hawk said, not waiting for an answer. "They know that minerals will be found there that are unknown to researchers of the rocks of this planet. They know that if a nuclear war destroys our technology, it will never recover, because the raw materials that would allow a new civilization to develop have been exhausted. But the Moon ... it's a huge floating ball of raw, unknown resources. And remember my words: "Space Treaty or not, the first force that actually lands there will eventually control it all!"
  
  
  Nick sipped his drink. Was his ego also dragged away on a relaxing trip to attend a lecture on the importance of the lunar program? When Hawke finally stopped talking, Nick said quickly, " How do we fit in?"
  
  
  Hawk looked up in surprise. Then he said: "You were on vacation. I forgot it. When was your last briefing?"
  
  
  "Eight days ago."
  
  
  "Then you didn't hear that the Cape Kennedy, NY fire was sabotage?"
  
  
  "No, it wasn't mentioned in the radio broadcasts."
  
  
  Hawk shook his head. "The public doesn't know yet. They might never know. There is no final decision on this issue yet."
  
  
  "Any idea who did this?"
  
  
  "This is absolutely certain. A man named Patrick Hammer. He was the head of the portal brigade..."
  
  
  Nick's brows rose. "He's still being touted in the news as the main character of the whole case."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "Investigators narrowed down the range of questions to him in a matter of hours. He asked for protection from the police. But before they could reach Ego's house, he killed his wife and three children and put his head in the oven." Hawk took a long swig of his martini. "Very dirty," he muttered. "He cut their throats and then wrote ih a blood confession to moan. He said that he planned everything to be a hero, but that he couldn't live with himself and didn't want to let his ego run wild. with shame, too ."
  
  
  "Took great care of nen," Nick said dryly.
  
  
  They were silent as the waiter served them steaks. When he was gone, Nick said: "I still don't understand where we enter the picture. Or is there something else?"
  
  
  "Got it," Hawk said. "This is the plane crash that killed the Gemini 9 crew a few years ago, the first crash of Apollo, its SV-5D homecoming crew from Vandenberg Air Force Base last June. An explosion at the J2A testbed at the Arnold Air Force Engineering Development Center in Tennessee in February, and dozens of other accidents have occurred since the project began. The FBI, NASA Security, and now the CIA are investigating every single one around them, and they've come to the conclusion that most of them, or maybe all of them, are the result of sabotage."
  
  
  Nick doesn't want to say anything, thinking about his ego. "The Humvee couldn't have been in all these places at once," he said finally.
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. And this last message he scribbled is strictly a red herring. Hammer used the hurricane in his bungalow as a workshop. Before killing himself, he soaked the place in gasoline. He was obviously hoping that the sparks from the doorbell would ignite the escapees. gas and blow up the whole house. However, this did not happen, and incriminating keys were found. Microdot
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  s with instructions from someone who used the codename Sol, photos, scale models of the capsule's life support system with the tube it was supposed to cut painted red. And, quite interestingly, a card of this restaurant with the inscription on the back: "Sun, midnight, March 21".
  
  
  Nick looked up in surprise. In that case, what the hell were they doing here, eating so calmly, talking so openly? He assumed that they were in a "safe house", or at least in a carefully "neutralized" zone.
  
  
  Hawk watched him dispassionately. "Bali Hai cards are not dealt lightly," he said. "You have to ask for one thing, and if you're not a very important person, chances are you won't get an ego. So how did a space technician with an income of $ 15,000 a year get one?"
  
  
  Nick looked over at him, seeing the restaurant with new eyes. Alert, professional eyes that don't miss anything, that explore the elusive element in the pattern around it, something unsettling, out of reach. He had noticed this earlier, but thinking that they were in a safe house, he dismissed it around his head.
  
  
  Hawk motioned to the waiter. "Have the maitre d' come here for a moment, " he said. He took a photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Nick. "This is our other Pat Hammer," he said. Don Lee appeared, and Hawk handed Em a photograph. "Do you recognize this person?" he asked.
  
  
  Whether you have studied this moment. "Of course, Mr. Baird, I remember his ego. He was here about a month ago. With a gorgeous Chinese chick." He winked broadly. "I remember the voice as his ego."
  
  
  "I understand he entered without difficulty. Is it because he had a card?"
  
  
  “no. Because of the girl, " Lee said. "Joy-san. She's been here before. Actually, it's still old. She's kind of a scientist at Cape Kennedy, NY."
  
  
  "Thank you, Lee. I won't detain you."
  
  
  Nick stared at Hawke in surprise. Akes 'managing arm, the American Security Forces' Troubleshooting Service - a person responsible only to the National Security Council, the Secretary of Defense, and the President of the United States - had just conducted this interrogation with all the subtlety of a third-rate person. divorce detective!
  
  
  Is Hawk Stahl also a security threat? Nick's mind was suddenly filled with a sense of unease - was the person opposite him also actually Della Hawk? When the waiter brought them their coffee, Nick asked casually, " What's your name?": "Can we have some more peace?" The waiter nodded, pressing a hidden button to moan. Soft brylev fell on them. Nick glanced at his superior. "They should give out mining lamps when you enter," he smiled.
  
  
  The old leather man chuckled. A match flared up, briefly illuminating ego's face. Okay, it was Hawk. The acrid smoke from the fetid cigar finally resolved this. "Dr. Sun is already the prime suspect," Hawke said, blowing out the match. "Against this background, you will be told by the CIA investigator with whom you will work..."
  
  
  Nick wasn't listening. The tiny glow went out with a match. A glow that wasn't there before. He looked down to the left. Now that they had an extra saint, it was hard to see - the spiderweb-thin wire running around the edge of the banquette. Nick's eyes followed him quickly, looking for the obvious exit. Forged pineapple. He yanked on the nah. It won't work. It was bolted to the center of the chair. He placed the index finger of his right hand on the lower half and felt the cold metal grating under the fake candle wax. Microphone for remote reception.
  
  
  He scribbled two words on the inside cover of the matches - "We're being bugged" - and pushed ih across the chair. Hawk read the message and nodded politely. "Now the point is," he said, " we absolutely need to get one of our people involved in the lunar program. So far, we have failed. But I have an idea..."
  
  
  Nick stared at him. Ten minutes later, he was still staring in disbelief when Hawk glanced at his watch and said, " Well, that's it, I have to go. Why don't you stay for a while and have some fun? very busy for the next few days ." He stood up and nodded toward the disco. "It's starting to warm up there. It looks quite interesting-if she were younger, of course."
  
  
  Nick felt something slide under Ego's fingers. It was a map. He looked up. Hawk turned away and walked toward the entrance, saying good-bye to Don Lee. "More coffee, sir?" the waiter asked.
  
  
  "No, I think I'll have a drink at the bar." Nick lifted his hand slightly as the waiter left. The message was written in Hawke's handwriting. Here you will be contacted by a CIA agent, the message says. Recommendation: "What are you doing here at the IEA? The season is over ." Rheumatism: "Social, maybe. Not on the hunt." Counter rheumatism:"Do you mind if I join you-for hunting, that is? "Under this, Hawk wrote:" The card is water-soluble. Contact Washington Headquarters no later than midnight.
  
  
  Nick put the card in a glass of water, watched it dissolve, then got up and sauntered over to the bar. He ordered a double Scotch. Through the glass partition, he could
  
  
  
  
  
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  I saw her, the cream of Palm Beach's youth, writhing convulsively to the distant rumble of drums, electric bass, and guitar.
  
  
  Suddenly the music grew louder. A girl had just walked through the glass door of the disco. She was a blonde - pretty, fresh-faced, slightly out of breath from dancing. Nah had that special look that meant money and breeding. She was wearing olive green slacks that hugged her hips, a blouse, and sandals, and she was holding a glass in her hand.
  
  
  "I just know that this time you're going to forget Dad's orders and put some real rum in my coke," she told the bartender. Then she spotted Nick at the end of the bar and carefully considered the situation. "Why, hello!" she smiled brightly. "I didn't recognize you at first. What are you doing here at the IEA? The season is almost over..."
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  Her name was Candice Weatherall Collapsed-Candy for short-and she ended the exchange with a touch of self-confidence.
  
  
  Now they were sitting across from each other, the other at a table the size of a barrel cylinder. "Dad wouldn't be a certain General Sweet, would he?" asked Nick grimly. "Belle Glade Club member, who likes an ego martini extra dry?"
  
  
  She was laughing. "An excellent description." Nah had a beautiful face with wide-set dark blue eyes under sun-pale lashes. "Ego is called a general, but he is really retired," she added. "He's a big bastard in the CIA right now. He was in the OSS during the war, didn't know what to do with himself afterwards. Sweets, of course, do not do business - only the government or the civil service."
  
  
  Nick seethed inside. He was ridden by an amateur, a debutante looking for excitement during the summer holidays. And not just deb, but Candy Collapsed, which had already made headlines two earlier summers when a party she hosted at her parents ' East Hampton home degenerated into an orgy of drugs, sex, and vandalism.
  
  
  "Anyway, how old are you?" he asked.
  
  
  "Almost twenty."
  
  
  "And you're still not allowed to drink?"
  
  
  She gave ego a quick smile. "Us Sweets is allergic to this product."
  
  
  Nick looked down at her glass. It was deserted, and he saw the bartender pour her a big drink. "I understand," he said, and added sharply, " shall we go?"
  
  
  He didn't know where, but he wanted to leave. On Bali Hai, around the whole thing. It stank. It was dangerous. He didn't have a uniform. Nothing to hold onto. And here he was in the middle of it, even without a decent cover - and with a windy, wadded-up young moron in tow.
  
  
  Outside, on the sidewalk, she said, " Come on." Nick told the parking attendant to wait, and they started down Wort. "The beach is beautiful at dusk," she said enthusiastically.
  
  
  As soon as they passed the mustard-yellow awning of the Colonna Hotel, they both started talking: "This place was bugged." She laughed and said: "Do you want to see the installation?" Her eyes were shining with excitement. She looked like a child who had just stumbled upon a secret passage. He nodded, wondering what he was doing now.
  
  
  She turned into a pretty yellow brick alley lined with even cute antique shops, then quickly turned right into a courtyard hung with plastic grapes and bananas, and headed through a dark maze of overturned tables to a barred gate. She opened the door softly and pointed to a man standing in front of a short section of cyclone fence. He was looking the other way, studying his fingernails. "The back is here at Bali High," she whispered. "He's on duty until morning."
  
  
  Without a word of warning, she drove away, her sandaled feet making no sound as she moved quickly across the open stretch of palazzo tiles. It was too late to stop her. All Nick could do was follow him. She moved toward the fence, moving along it, pressing her back against it. When she was about six feet away from nah, the man suddenly turned and looked up.
  
  
  She moved with the blurry speed of a cat, one foot caught on the emu's ankle, and the other advancing on every tribe. He collapsed on his back, as if a coiled spring had seized his ego. As the breath rushed out of her ego lungs, her sandaled foot swung with controlled force toward the ego head.
  
  
  Nick watched in awe. The perfect punch. He knelt down next to the man and took his pulse. Irregular, but strong. He'd be alive, but he'd be gone for at least half an hour.
  
  
  Candy had already dodged through the gate and was halfway to the parking lot. Nick followed her. She stopped in front of the metal-covered door at the back of the Bali High, reached into the back pocket of her hip-huggers, and pulled out a plastic credit card. Grabbing the doorknob, she pushed it hard against the hinges and inserted the card until it caught on the curve of the spring-loaded lock. It clicked into rheumatism with a sharp metallic click. She opened the door and walked in, grinning mischievously over her shoulder, and said, " Daddy's money will take you anywhere."
  
  
  They were in the back hallway of the disco. Nick could hear the distant thunder of amplified drums and
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  guitars. They tiptoed through mimmo all day. He looked inside and saw a shiny kitchen with a couple of Chinese men in T-shirts sweating from the typewriter. The next door they came to was marked "Little Boys." Then there was a door marked " Little girls." She pushed ego and went in. Nick hesitated. "Come on!" "Stop it!" she hissed. "Don't be an exhaust. It's wasted."
  
  
  There was a service door inside. A credit card arrived. The door opened. They went in, and he closed the door behind them, letting the lock slide quietly back into place. They started down the narrow passageway. There was only one holy one, and it was above the door behind them, so they were a pretty target. The passageway turned sharply to the left, then another. "We're having banquets right now," she said. he whispered. "In the restaurant section".
  
  
  The corridor ended abruptly in front of a reinforced steel door. She paused, listening. The credit card came out again. This time it took a little longer - about a minute. But the door finally swung open.
  
  
  There were two rooms. The first one was small, cramped, with gray walls. A chair was pressed against one wall, a row of cabinets against another, and a water cooler sat in the corner, leaving a small circle around the black linoleum floor in the center.
  
  
  There was a steady, monotonous hum around the room behind him. Nick stepped carefully around him. Ego's jaw clenched at the sight. It was a long, narrow room, and a two-way mirror took up the entire wall. Through it, he saw the interior of Bali Hai restaurant - only with an interesting difference. It was clearly lit. The people sitting along the banquets and at their separate tables were as clearly outlined as if they were sitting in a neon-lit hamburger stand. "Infrared coating on the glass," she whispered.
  
  
  There are more than a dozen slits above the 16mm mirror. The film was tinted in separate strips into bunkers. The clockwork mechanism of the hidden machines swirled gently, and the reels on a dozen different tape recorders also spun, recording conversations. Nick moved across the room to the banquette where he and Hawk were sitting. The camera and tape recorder were turned off, and the receiving reels were already filled with the full iht recording. On the other side of the ih mirror, a waiter was cleaning up the dishes. Nick flipped the light switch. Thunder filled the room. He quickly turned it off.
  
  
  "I didn't come across this yesterday," Candy whispered. "I was in the toilet when suddenly this man came out through the walls! Well, never hers... I just needed to find out what was going on."
  
  
  They went back to the living room and Nick started trying out a chair and filing cabinets. They were all locked. He saw that one central lock served everyone. He resisted the ego special offer "Cracker" for almost a minute. Then it gave. He opened the drawers one by one, quickly and quietly scanning the contents of ih.
  
  
  "Do you know what I think is going on here?" Candy whispered. "There were all sorts of robberies in Palm Beach last year. Thieves always seem to know exactly what they want and when people will leave. I think our friend Don Lee has connections to the underworld, and he's selling the information he's going here to them ."
  
  
  "He sells more than the underworld," Nick said. He made his way through a file drawer filled with 35 mm film, developers, photo paper, microdotting equipment, and bundles of Hong Kong newspapers. "Have you told anyone about this?"
  
  
  "Just Dad."
  
  
  Nick nodded, " and Dad said that Hawk and Hawk had agreed to meet their chief operative here and talk clearly into the microphone. Obviously, it can show ih two - ih plans too. An image of Hawke spilling a martini and ripping off olive oil flashed through Nick's mind. He'd like an outlet, too. That settled at least one thing that Nick was worried about - whether we should destroy the tape and the recording of the ih conversation. Obviously not. Hawk wanted them to have it.
  
  
  "What is it?" He found the picture lying facedown at the bottom of a drawer of microdotting equipment. It showed a man and a woman in an office-style leather couch. Both were naked and in the last convulsions of sexual intercourse. The man's target was cut out of the photo, but the girl's face was clearly visible. She was Chinese, and beautiful, and her eyes were glazed with a kind of frozen obscenity that Nick found oddly exciting, even in pictures.
  
  
  "It's her!" gasped Candy. "This is Joy-San." She stared over his shoulder at the painting, fascinated, unable to tear her eyes away. "So voting like they forced her to cooperate with them is blackmail!"
  
  
  Nick quickly shoved the picture into his back pocket. A sudden draft told em that a door had opened somewhere in the corridor. "Is there any other way out?" She shook her head, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.
  
  
  N3 started moving to a position outside the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  However, we beat the ego to it. "It's better if he sees someone," she hissed. "Keep your back to him," he nodded. The name of the game was not based on first impressions. This girl might have looked like Vassar 68-his, but nah had cat brains and brawn. Dangerous cat.
  
  
  Shaggy stopped in front of the door. The key turned in the lock. The door began to open. A sharp intake of breath came from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Candy take one long step and turn around, making her leg swing in an arc. A sandaled foot caught the man openly in the groin. Nick turned around. It was ih the waiter. For a moment, the man's unconscious body froze from paralysis, and then slowly melted to the ground. "Come on," Candy whispered. "Let's not pause for station identification..."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Fort Pierce, Vero Beach, Wabasso-lights flickered on and off in the distance with monotonous regularity. Nick Stout stamped his foot on the floor of the Lamborghini, ego, thoughts slowly taking shape.
  
  
  A man in a pornographic picture. The edge of the ego neck was visible. Nen was heavily scarred. A deep dent caused by a cut or burn on the rope. He also had a dragon tattoo on his right bicep. Both should be easy enough to track. He glanced at the girl sitting next to him. "Is there any chance that the guy in the photo might be Pat Hammer?"
  
  
  He was surprised by her reaction. She actually blushed. "I need to see his face," she said dryly.
  
  
  Strange girl. Capable of kicking a man in the crotch one second and blushing the next. And in the work - an even stranger mixture of professionalism and amateurism. She was a master of lock picking and judo. But there was a lighthearted nonchalance in her approach to the whole thing that could be dangerous - for both of them. The way she walked down the hall with the light on behind her-it begged for it. And when they got back to Bali Hai to pick up the car, she insisted on messing up her hair and clothes to make it look like they were on a beach in the moonlight. It was too much, and therefore no less dangerous.
  
  
  "What do you expect to find in Hammer's bungalow?" "What is it?" he asked her. "NASA's security team and the FBI are doing it with a fine comb."
  
  
  "I know, but I thought you should see this place for yourself," she said. "Especially on some of the microdots they found."
  
  
  It's time to find out who's in charge here, N3 thought. But when he asked her what instructions she had been given, she replied: "Fully cooperate with you. You're the best banana."
  
  
  Minutes later, as they sped across the Indian River Bridge outside Melbourne, she added:: "You're a special agent, aren't you? Dad said that your recommendation might help or break anyone assigned to work with you. And ... " She stopped abruptly.
  
  
  He glanced at nah. "So what?" But the way she looked at him was enough. It was known throughout the joint security forces that when a man known to his colleagues as Killmaster was sent to work, it meant only one thing: they, who sent him, were convinced that death was the most likely solution to the problem.
  
  
  "How serious are you about all this?" "What is it?" he asked her sharply. Em didn't like that look. N3 was online a long time ago. He had a nose for fear. "I mean, is this just another summer animation for you? How are they doing in East Hampton? Because..."
  
  
  She turned to him, her blue eyes glittering angrily. "I work as a lead reporter for a women's magazine, and for the last month I've been on assignment at Cape Kennedy, NY, creating a profile called' Doctor Sun and Moon, '" she paused. "I'll admit that I got NASA clearance faster than most reporters because of my dad's CIA work, but that's the only thing I had. And if you're wondering why they chose me as their agent, take a look at all the benefits. Hers was already there, following Dr. Sun everywhere-with a tape recorder, going through her papers. It was the perfect cover for real surveillance. It would take a Sunday of bureaucracy to get a real CIA agent as close to her as possible. Yes. And there's no time for that. So I was called up ."
  
  
  "Judo and hacking," Nick smiled. "Did Dad teach you all this stuff?"
  
  
  She laughed and suddenly became a mischievous little girl again. "No, my boyfriend. He's a professional killer."
  
  
  They drove on the A1A through Canova Beach, Mimmo Missile Base at Patrick Air Force Base and arrived at Cocoa Content Ten.
  
  
  Palm trees with long blades and frayed bases lined the quiet residential streets. Candy made the ego at the Hummer Bungalow, which was located on a street facing the Banana River, just off the Merritt Island Road.
  
  
  They passed mimmo, but didn't stop. "Crawl with the cops," Nick muttered. He saw them sitting in unmarked cars on different sides of each block. "Green". What is NASA? Connelly Aviation?"
  
  
  "GKI," she said. "Everyone in Kakao Porcha was very nervous, and the local police were not enough
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ound. "
  
  
  "General kinetics?" Nick said. "Are they part of the Apollo program?"
  
  
  "They make up a component of the life support system," she said. "They have a factory in West Palm Beach, another in Texas City. They work a lot with weapons and missiles for the government, so they have their own security forces. Alex Simian loaned ih to the Kennedy Space Center, N.Y. public relations, I think. "
  
  
  Ih passed a black car with a red flashing light on the roof, and one of the uniformed men gave ih a long, hard look. "I think we'd better record the tracks," Nick said. The sedan came between them and the car in front; then the ego was pulled out and they lost the ego.
  
  
  "Take the pavement to Merritt's," she said. "There's another way to get to the bungalow."
  
  
  It was around the boathouse in Georgiana on Highway 3. There was a flat-bottom prank that she had apparently used before. Nick pushed Ego across the narrow isthmus of the waterway, heading for the shore between a five-foot levee and a row of wooden piles. After tying them up, they climbed the wall and crossed the open area of the moonlit backyard. The Hummer Bungalow was dark and quiet. The right side of the ego was illuminated by the saint around the neighboring house.
  
  
  They found a darkened wall to their left and pressed against it, waiting. A car with a canopy slowly passed in front of them. Nick stood like a shadow among the other shadows, listening, absorbed. When it became clear, he went to the closed kitchen door, tried the handle, pulled out his "Special Lock Pick" and loosened it with a simple action device.
  
  
  The rough smell of gas still lingered inside. Ego pencil flashlight explored the kitchen. The girl pointed to the door. "Hurricane shelter," she whispered. Ee finger walked mimmo him into the hallway. "The front room where it happened."
  
  
  They checked it out first. They didn't touch anything. The couch and floor were still covered in dried blood. Next up were two bedrooms. Then down the driveway stairs to a narrow white workshop. The thin, strong beam of the flashlight scanned the room, illuminating neat stacks of cardboard boxes with open lids and labels. Candy one thing is considered. "Things are missing," she whispered.
  
  
  "For estestvenno," Nick said dryly. "This was required by the FBI. They're running tests."
  
  
  "But it was here yesterday. Wait a minute!" she snapped her fingers. "I hid the model in a drawer in the kitchen. I bet they missed it." She went upstairs.
  
  
  It wasn't a micro dot, just a folded piece of paper, transparent and smelling of gasoline. Nick unfolded it. It was a rough sketch of the Apollo life support system. The ink lines were slightly blurred, and underneath them were some brief technical instructions codenamed 'Salt', 'Salt', " she whispered. "Latin for the sun. Doctor Sun..."
  
  
  The silence in the bungalow was suddenly filled with tension. Nick started folding the paper and putting it away. An angry voice rang out around the doorway, " Keep voting like this."
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  The man was standing in the kitchen doorway, a huge silhouette in the moonlight behind him. He had a pistol in his hand - a small Smith & Wesson Terrier with a two-inch barrel. He was behind the screen door, pointing a gun across the nah.
  
  
  The Killmaster's eyes narrowed at him. For a moment, a shark swirled in the gray depths of ih, then it disappeared and he smiled. The man wasn't a threat. He made too many mistakes to be a professional. Nick raised his hands above his head and walked slowly toward the door. "What's up Doc?" "What is it?" he asked pleasantly.
  
  
  As he did, the ego beginnings suddenly erupted, hitting the back end of the day with a net just below the handle. He hit his ego with all his might, and the man staggered back with a howl that hurt and dropped the gun.
  
  
  Nick ran after him, scooping up Ego. He dragged the man into the house by the collar of his shirt before he could give the alarm, and slammed the door behind him with his foot. "Who are you?" "What is it?" he croaked. The pencil flashlight clicked "and stuck it in the man's face.
  
  
  He was large - at least six feet four inches-and muscular, with gray hair cut short to a bullet-shaped head, and a tanned face covered in pale freckles.
  
  
  "Next door neighbor," Candy said. "Name's Dexter. I checked it out when I was here last night."
  
  
  "Yeah, and I noticed you wandering around here last night," Dexter growled, stroking his wrist. "Why was her voice on alert tonight?"
  
  
  "What's your name?" Nick asked.
  
  
  "Hank."
  
  
  "Listen, Hank. You've stumbled upon a little official case." Nick flashed the official badge that was part of every AXEman's disguise. "We are government investigators, so let's stay calm, keep quiet, and discuss the Hammer case."
  
  
  Dexter's eyes narrowed. "If you're the government, why are you here in the dark talking?"
  
  
  "We work in a top-secret branch of the National Security Agency. That's all I can tell you. Even the FBI doesn't know about us."
  
  
  Dexter was clearly impressed. "Yes? No kidding? I work for NASA myself. It's at Connelly Aviation."
  
  
  "Did you know Hammer?"
  
  
  "And
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  A neighbor, of course. But not at work. I work in the electronic management department at the Cape. But I'll tell you something. Hammer never killed his family or himself. It was murder to shut the emu up."
  
  
  "How do you know that?"
  
  
  "I've seen guys who've done it." He glanced nervously over his shoulder.: "No kidding. Its serious. I watched a TV report about the fire that night. They just flashed Pat's picture on nen. A few minutes later, she was heard shouting, kindly. Her, went to the window. This car was parked in front of the ih bungalow, without tracks, but with a whiplash antenna. A minute later, the three men in police uniforms ran outside. They looked like state soldiers, but one of them was Chinese, and he knew immediately that it wasn't kosher. There are no Chinese in the force. The other was in a gas canister, and he had these ego-shaped spots. Later her, decided that it was blood. Oni such a game in the car and quickly left. A few minutes later, the real cops arrived."
  
  
  Candy said: "Have you ever told anyone this?"
  
  
  "Are you kidding? The FBI, the cops, the NASA people, everything. Look, we're all freaking out here." He made a pause. "Hammer hasn't behaved like himself in the last couple of weeks. We all knew that something was wrong, that something was bothering the ego. As far as she's concerned, someone told em he should play ball with them, or his wife and kids. get it."
  
  
  A car passed on the street, and he froze immediately. The ego was almost invisible. The eyes flickered, but even in the dim light, Nick caught them. "It can happen to anyone around us," Dexter said hoarsely. "We don't have any protection - nothing like what the rocket men have. Believe me, I'm very happy that General Kinetics lent us their cops. Before that, my wife was afraid to even take the kids to school or go All the women were here. But GKI organized a special bus service, and now they do it in one trip) - first they will take the children to school, and then they will go to the Orlando shopping center. This way valuesfeet are safer. And I don't mind leaving ih to work." He smiled grimly. "Just like that, mister, can I get my gun back? Just in case."
  
  
  Nick pulled out the Lamborghini with an empty seat opposite Georgiana's. "Where are you staying?" "What is it?" he asked her.
  
  
  Locality of Russia was completed. The evidence, still reeking of gasoline, was stacked in his back pocket next to the pornographic images. The return trip through the waterway was uneventful. "At Polaris," she said. "He's in the lounge, on the beach, north of the A1A, on the way to Port Canaveral."
  
  
  He stepped on the gas, and a powerful silver gawk shot forward. The wind whipped against ih's face. "How do you do that?" "What is it?" he asked her.
  
  
  "I left my Julia in Palm Beach," she said. "Daddy's chauffeur will be here in the morning."
  
  
  Of course, he thought. I figured it out. Alfa Romeo. Suddenly, she moved closer to lick, and he felt her hand on his arm. "Are we off-duty right now?"
  
  
  He glanced at Nah, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Unless you have a better idea."
  
  
  She shook her head. He felt her hand tighten on his arm. "How about you?"
  
  
  He glanced furtively at his watch. Eleven-fifteen. "I need to get a job somewhere," he said.
  
  
  He could feel her fingernails through his shirt now. "North star," she murmured. "TV in every room, heated pool, pets allowed, cafe, dining room, bar and laundry".
  
  
  "Is this a good idea?" he chuckled.
  
  
  "It's your decision." He could feel the protruding hardness of her chest against his sleeve. He glanced at Nah in the mirror. The wind plastered her long, glossy blond hair to her face. She brushed her hair back with the fingers of her right hand, and Nick got a good look at her profile - high lobe, dark blue eyes, wide sensuous mouth with faint traces of a smile. "Now the girl is a very desirable woman," he thought. But duty calls. Emu had to contact AX headquarters before midnight.
  
  
  "The first rule of espionage," he recited. "Avoid being seen in the company of work colleagues."
  
  
  He felt her stiffen, move away from him. "Meaning?"
  
  
  They had just passed the Gemini Hotel on North Atlantic Avenue. "That I would stay there," he said. He stopped at a traffic light and looked at nah. The ego red glow turned her skin to flame.
  
  
  She didn't speak to him again on the way to the North Star Comfortable and Well, and when she came out, her face was covered in anger. She slammed the door and disappeared into the lobby without looking back. She wasn't used to rejection. There are never any rich people.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hawke's voice cut into the emu's ear like a knife. "Journey 1401-A departs around Miami International Airport for Houston at 3: 00 am ET. Poindexter will meet you by phone in front of the airline ticket counter at 2: 30 am. He will have all the necessary information with him, including a folder for studying. about your past and current responsibilities ."
  
  
  Nick was back on Highway 1, heading south through a nameless world of bright lights and bright lights.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  coffin. Hawke's voice began to fade, and he leaned forward, adjusting the knob of the tiny, ultra-sensitive two-way radio hidden inside the dazzling array of dials on the dashboard.
  
  
  When the head of AX paused, he said: "If you'll excuse the expression, sir, I don't know much about outer space. How can I hope to pass myself off as an astronaut?"
  
  
  "We'll get back to that in a moment, N3." Hawke's voice was so harsh that Nick winced and adjusted the volume on his earplug. Any resemblance between the rambling, glassy-eyed drunk of that day and the man who was now talking to him around his chair at TOPOR headquarters in Washington was strictly a result of Hawke's acting skills and a life as hard and raw as ego hide.
  
  
  "Now about the situation in Bali Hai," Hawk continued, " let me explain. For several months, there was a high-level information leak. We think: we've narrowed it down to this restaurant. Senators, generals, top government, contractors have lunch there. Speak casually. Microphones pick up. But where it goes, we don't know. So, today is not when she deliberately gave false information." He allowed himself a short, mirthless laugh. "Rather, how to track a leak by pouring yellow paint into a plumbing system. I want to see where this yellow paint is coming from. AX has secret listening posts at all levels in every government and spy organization in the world. They'll take it. and voila - we will have a connecting pipeline ."
  
  
  Through the curved windscreen, Nick watched the reddish saint grow rapidly. "So everything I was told at Bali High was a lie," he said, slowing down before the Vero-Napasti junction. He thought briefly of the suitcases of ego-filled personal items. They were sitting in a room he never entered, the Gemini Inn in Cocoa Misery. No sooner had he checked in than Emu had to hurry to his car to contact AX. As soon as he contacted AX, he was on his way back to Miami. Was this trip to the north really necessary? Couldn't Hawk have brought his puppet to Palm Beach?
  
  
  "Not everything, N3. That's just it. Only a few points were false, but vital. He guessed that the US lunar program was a mess. Its also suggested that it will take a couple of years before it starts. However, the truth is-and this is known only to me, several senior NASA officials, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President, and now you, Nicholas-the truth is that NASA is going to try to conduct another manned flight in the next few days. Even the astronauts themselves don't know about it. It will be called Phoenix One - because it will arise around the ashes of the Apollo project. Fortunately, Connelly Aviation prepared the equipment. They rush to the second capsule to Cape Kennedy, NY from their factory in California. The second group of astronauts in the hall is at the peak of their training, ready to go. It feels like a psychological moment for another photo." The voice trailed off. "This one, of course, should go off without a hitch. It feels like a resounding success at the moment is the only thing that will take away the bitterness of the Apollo disaster from the rta to the public. And this taste must be eliminated if the US Space Program is to be saved."
  
  
  "And where," Nick asked, " does Astronaut N3 appear in the picture?"
  
  
  "There's a man in a coma at the Walter Apennine Hospital right now," Hawke said sharply. He spoke into the microphone on his desk in Washington, D.C., and his voice became meaningless radio waves that were translated into normal human sounds by a complex series of microscopic car radio relays. They came to Nick's ear like the voice of a Goshawk - and without any loss of sharpness along the way. "He's been there for three days now. The doctors aren't sure if they can save the ego, and if they can, whether the ego mind will ever be the same again. He was the captain of the beginning of the second reserve team - Colonel Glenn Eglund. Someone tried to kill ego at the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston, where he and Ego's teammates were training for this project."
  
  
  Hawke detailed how Nick set off in a silver 350 GT to race through the night. Colonel Eglund was in the sealed prototype of the Apollo capsule, testing the life support system. Someone had obviously adjusted the controls externally, increasing the nitrogen content. This mixed with his own cosmonaut sweat inside the suit's ego and formed a deadly, intoxicating Amen gas.
  
  
  "Eglund must have seen something, "Hawk said," or somehow knew too much. What, we don't know. When he was found, he was unconscious and never regained consciousness. But we hope to find out. The voice of why you are Ego place will take N3. Eglund is about your age, your height, and general build. Poindexter will take care of the rest.
  
  
  "What about the girl?" Nick asked. "Sweet candy."
  
  
  "Let him stay put for now. By the way, N3, what's your fingerprint
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ession ee? "
  
  
  "Sometimes she can be very professional, and sometimes she can be an idiot."
  
  
  "Yes, just like her father," Hawk said, and Nick felt the ice in his tone. "I've never approved of the public element in the higher echelons of the CIA, but that was before I said anything about it. Dickinson Sweet should have had more sense than to let his daughter get involved in this sort of thing. That's another reason she flew to Palm Beach-I personally want to talk to the girl before she contacts you." He made a pause. "That raid on the back of Bali Hai that you mentioned earlier - in my opinion, it was pointless and risky. Do you think you can keep her from upsetting the apple carts anymore?"
  
  
  Nick said he could, adding: "However, there was one good thing that came out of it. An interesting picture of Dr. Sun. There's also a man there. I'll ask Poindexter to send her an ego for identification."
  
  
  "Hmm." Hank's voice was noncommittal. "Dr. Sun is currently in the hall in Houston with other astronauts. She doesn't know you're replacing Eglund, of course. The only person outside of AX who knows is General Hewlett McAlester, NASA's chief security officer. He helped arrange the masquerade."
  
  
  "I still doubt it's going to work," Nick said. "After all, the astronauts on the team have been training together for months. They know each other well."
  
  
  "Fortunately, we have amine poisoning working," Hawk's voice rasped in Emu's ear. "One of the main symptoms is a weakening of memory functions. So if you don't remember all your colleagues and responsibilities, it will seem quite natural." He made a pause. "Besides, I doubt you'll have to continue this charade for more than a day. Whoever made this first attempt on Eglund's life will try again. And he - or she - won't spend much time on it."
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  She was even more beautiful than the pornographic photos suggested. It was beautiful in a chiseled, almost inhuman way that unnerved Nick. Her hair was black - black as an Arctic midnight-matching her eyes even with the glowing highlights and highlights. Her mouth was full, juicy, and accentuated by the cheekbones inherited from her ancestors - at least on her father's side. Nick remembered the dossier he'd studied on the flight to Houston. Her mother was English.
  
  
  She hadn't seen it yet. She was walking down the neutral-smelling white corridor of the Manned Spacecraft Center, talking to a colleague.
  
  
  Nah had a good body. The snow-white robe she wore over her street clothes couldn't hide it. She was a slender, full-bosomed woman who always walked carefully in a pose that thrust her beauty forward defiantly, each lithe step accentuating the youthful swelling of her thighs.
  
  
  N3 quickly reviewed the basic facts: Joy Han Sung, M. D., Ph. D.; born in Shanghai during the Japanese occupation; Mother British, father Chinese businessman; educated at Mansfield College in Kowloon, then at M. I. T. in Massachusetts; Stahl a U.S. citizen; aerospace medicine specialist; first He worked for General Kinetics (at the Miami GCI Medical Institute), then for the United States Air Force at Brooks Field, San Antonio; finally for NASA itself, which divided its time between the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston and Cape Kennedy, NY.
  
  
  "Dr. Sun, can we see you for a moment?"
  
  
  It was a tall man with anvils on his shoulders, standing next to Nick. Major Duane F. Sollitz, head of security for the Apollo Project. The nickname was handed over to emu by General McAlester for re-processing;
  
  
  She turned to them with a small smile on her lips from the previous conversation. Her gaze skimmed over Major Sollitz's mimmo and settled abruptly on Nick's face - the face that Poindexter, around the editing department, had been working on for almost two hours that morning.
  
  
  She was good. She didn't scream, run down the hall, or do anything stupid. And the widening of her eyes was barely noticeable, but to Nick's trained eye, the effect was no less dramatic than if she had been. "I didn't expect you to be back soon, Colonel." Nah's voice was low and surprisingly clear. The accent was British. They felt sorry for each other's hands better than European ones. "How are you feeling?"
  
  
  "Still a little disoriented." He spoke in a distinctly Kansas tone, the result of sitting for three hours with a tape recording of Eglund's voice inserted in ego's ear.
  
  
  "That's to be expected, Colonel."
  
  
  He watched the pulse beat in her thin throat. She didn't look away from him, but the smile was gone, and her dark eyes were oddly bright.
  
  
  Major Sollitz glanced at his watch. "He's all yours, Dr. Sun," he said in a sharp, precise tone. "I'm late for a meeting of about nine hundred. Let me know if you encounter any problems." He turned abruptly on his heel and walked away. There were no unnecessary movements with Sollitz. A veteran of the Flying Tigers and the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp in the Philippines, he was almost a caricature of rampant militarism.
  
  
  General McAlester was worried about getting Nick to mimmo him. "He's smart," he said when he visited Nick on the Lawndale Road Eglund.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  that morning. "Very sharply. So don't relax around him for even a second. Because if he drops to the fact that you're not Eglund, he'll hit the alarm button and blow up your hideout above the Washington Monument." But when Nick showed up at the Major's office, it was like magic. Sollitz was so surprised to see ego that he did only the most cursory security check with him.
  
  
  "Follow me, please," Dr. Sun said.
  
  
  Nick dropped behind her, automatically noting the smooth, lithe movement of her hips, the length of her long, hard legs. He decided that the opposition was getting better and better.
  
  
  However, she was an opponent. Don't doubt it. And maybe the killer, too. He remembered Hawke saying, " He or she will try again." So far, everything pointed to"she." The person who tried to kill Eglund had to be (first) a hema with access to the Medical Research Department, and (second) a hema with a scientific background, especially in the chemistry of extraterrestrial life support. Someone who knew that a certain amount of excess nitrogen would mix with the ammonia around the human body to form the deadly Amen gas. Dr. Sun was the head of medical research for the Apollo Project, mistletoe access and training, and her special field of work was supporting human life in space.
  
  
  She opened the door of the small foyer and stepped aside to show Nick. "Take off your clothes, please. I'll be with you."
  
  
  Nick turned to her, his nerves suddenly clenched. Controlling his casual tone, he said: "Is this absolutely necessary? I mean, Walter Reed has released me, and a copy of the ih report has already been sent to you."
  
  
  The smile was slightly mocking. It started with the eyes, then touched ee rta. " Don't be shy, Colonel Eglund. After all, it's not the first time I've seen you naked."
  
  
  This was exactly what Nick had feared. There were scars on his body that Eglund never had. Poindexter didn't do anything to them, as this was a completely unexpected development. The edit documentation department prepared a fake medical report about Walter Apenninsky's stationery. They felt that this would be enough, that the NASA medical agency would only test the ego's vision, hearing, motor responses, and sense of counterweights.
  
  
  Nick undressed and put his things on a chair. It's pointless to resist. "Eglund" could not return to training until he received permission from Doctor Sun. He heard the door open and close. Her high-heeled ballet slippers clicked in her direction. The plastic curtains were drawn back. "And some shorts, please," she said. Reluctantly, he took it off. "Come out here, please."
  
  
  In the middle of the room sat a strange-looking surgical couch made of fur and shiny aluminum. Nick didn't like it. He felt more than naked. He felt vulnerable. The stiletto that he usually carried up his sleeve, the gas bomb that he usually hid in his pocket, the simplified Luger that he called Wilhelmina, all his usual "protective devices" were far away - at the AX headquarters in Washington, where he left ih. before going on vacation. If the doors suddenly burst open and fifty armed men jumped in, he would be forced to fight with the only weapon available - his body.
  
  
  However, it was deadly enough. Even at rest, he was sleek, muscular, and dangerous-looking. His hard, tanned skin was covered with old scars. The muscles were etched against the bones. His hands were large and thick, with knotted veins. They looked designed for violence , just like the math code-named Killmaster should.
  
  
  Dr. Sun's eyes widened noticeably as he crossed the room to her. They remained chained to the ego's belly - and he was pretty damn sure that it wasn't just the ego's physique that she found such fascination with. They were memories of half a dozen knives and bullets. Dead sale.
  
  
  Em had to divert her attention. Eglund was a bachelor. The ego dossier mentioned that he was a skirt hunter, something like a wolf in spaceman's clothing. So what could be more natural? A man and an attractive woman alone in a room, a naked man ...
  
  
  He didn't stop when he came to her, but suddenly pressed her back against the surgical table, his hands crawling under her skirt as he kissed her, his lips hard and cruel. It was a rough game, and she got a well-deserved hand-an open ego punch that momentarily stunned him.
  
  
  "You're an animal!" She was pressed up against the table, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes shone white with indignation, fear, anger, and a dozen other emotions, none of which were pleasant around her. Looking at nah now, he was having trouble connecting Joy Sun, " with the frenzied, mindless girl in this pornographic photo.
  
  
  "I warned you about this before, Colonel." Her mouth trembled. She was on the verge of hollyhock. "Its not about the women you seem to think of. I won't tolerate these cheap temptations..."
  
  
  The maneuver had the desired effect. All thoughts of a physical exam were forgotten. "Please get dressed," she said coldly. "It is obvious that you have fully recovered. You will report it
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  coordinate training sessions, then join your teammates in the simulation building ."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The sky beyond the jagged peaks was dark black, studded with stars. The terrain between them was hilly, cratered, and dotted with jagged protrusions and jagged rock fragments. Steep canyons crisscrossed the rubble-strewn mountain like petrified lightning bolts.
  
  
  Nick carefully descended the gilded ladder attached to one of the four LM pillars. At the bottom, he put one foot on the edge of the tray and stepped out onto the surface of the moon.
  
  
  The layer of dust underfoot mistletoe the consistency of crisp snow. Slowly, he placed one shoe in front of the other, and then just as slowly, he repeated the process. Gradually, he began to walk. It was hard going. Endless potholes and sprouts of frozen rock slowed the ego. Every step was uncertain, and the fall was dangerous.
  
  
  There was a steady, loud hissing sound in ego's ears. This came from the ego injection, respiration, cooling, and drying systems of the rubberized lunar spacesuit. He bobbed his head from side to side inside the tight-fitting plastic helmet, searching for the others. Sergei was blinding. He lifted his right thermal glove and lowered Odin down the sun visors.
  
  
  The voice in the earphones said, " Welcome back to the Stone Pile, Colonel. We are here, on the edge of an Ocean of Storms. No, not like that - to your right ."
  
  
  Nick turned to see two figures in their bulky moon suits waving at the emus. He waved at rheumatism. "Roger, John," he said into the microphone. "Good to see you, good to be back. Its still a little disoriented. You'll have to put up with me."
  
  
  He was glad that he met ih in this way. Who would know a person's identity through sixty-five pounds of rubber, nylon, and plastic?
  
  
  Earlier, in the lunar simulation training room, he had been on alert. Gordon Nash, captain of the first reserve group of Apollo astronauts, came to see him. "Did Lucy see you at the hospital?" "What is it?" he asked, and Nick, misinterpreting Ego's sly grin, thought he was referring to one of Eglund's female friends. He made a slightly pale crack and was surprised to see Nash frowning. Too late, he remembered the file-Lucy was Eglund's younger sister and Gordon Nash's current romantic interest. Emu managed to find a way around this alibi ("Just kidding, Proud"), but it was close. Too close.
  
  
  One of Nick's teammates gathered rocks from the moon's surface and hid ih in a metal collection box, while the other squatted over a device that looked like a seismograph and recorded the agitated movement of the needle. Nick stood watching them for a few minutes, uncomfortably aware that he didn't have the faintest idea what the emu was supposed to do. Finally, the man who was working on the seismograph looked up. "Shouldn't you check the LRV?" an ego voice crackled in N3's earphones.
  
  
  "That's right." Fortunately, Nick's ten-hour study schedule included this semester. LRV stands for Lunar Roving Vehicle. It was a lunar vehicle powered by fuel cells that moved on special cylindrical wheels with spiral blades instead of spokes. It was designed to land astronauts on the moon sooner, so the ego needed to be parked somewhere on this sprawling ten-acre model of the moon's surface, which was now located in the very dollar stack of the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston.
  
  
  Nick moved through the barren, forbidding terrain. The pumice-stone surface beneath his feet was brittle, sharp, with hidden holes and jagged protrusions. Walking on it was torture. "Probably still in the R-12 ravine," the voice in ego's ear said. "The first team worked with him yesterday."
  
  
  Where the hell was P-12? Nick thought. But a moment later, he happened to look up, and there, on the edge of the huge black, star - spangled roof of the Simulation Building, he saw the policy bookmarks linked from one to twenty-sixth, and on the outer edge-from A. Z. Luck was still with him.
  
  
  It took the Emu almost half an hour to reach the gorge, even though the Lunar Module was only a few hundred yards away. The problem was the reduction of gravity. Scientists who created an artificial lunar landscape reproduced all the conditions that could be found on a real object: a temperature range of five hundred degrees, the strongest vacuum that man has ever created, and weak gravity - only six times less. like earth. This made it almost impossible to maintain counterweights. Although Nick could easily jump and even hover hundreds of feet in the air if he wanted, he didn't dare move any further than a slow crawl. The terrain was too rough, too unstable, and it was impossible to stop suddenly.
  
  
  The ravine was nearly fifteen feet deep and steep. It was covered in a narrow zigzag pattern, its bottom gouged out by hundreds of artificial meteorites. There was no sign of a Moon Ship on Net 12, but that didn't really matter. It can be just a few yards away, hidden from view.
  
  
  Nick carefully made his way down the steep slope.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  before you put your entire alenka in them, you need to grab each hand and support. Tiny meteor rocks bounced in front of him, kicking out of his ego with his boots. When he reached the bottom of the ravine, he turned left, heading for Network 11. He moved slowly, picking his way through tormented convolutions and jagged protrusions into a stream of ash.
  
  
  Due to the constant hiss in his ears and the vacuum outside the suit, he couldn't hear anything behind him. But he either saw or felt the sudden flash of movement and turned.
  
  
  A shapeless creature with two glittering orange eyes swooped down on him. It transformed into a giant insect, then a strange four-wheeled car, and he saw a man in a moon suit similar to the one at the controls. Nick waved his hands wildly, then realized that the man had noticed ego and deliberately accelerated.
  
  
  There was no way out.
  
  
  The moon machine was rushing toward him, its huge cylindrical wheels with razor-sharp spiral blades filling the gorge from wall to wall ...
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  Nick knew what would happen if those blades tore through the ego suit.
  
  
  Outside, the simulated two-week lunar day was only a few m short of noon. The temperature was 250 Fahrenheit higher than the boiling point of water-higher than that of human blood. Add to this a vacuum so strong that the pieces of metal spontaneously weld together when they come into contact, and you get a phenomenon known to scientists as "boiling."
  
  
  This meant that the inside of the naked human body would boil. Blisters will begin to form - first on the mucous membrane of the rta and eyes, then in the tissues of other vital organs. Death will occur in a matter of minutes.
  
  
  He had to stay away from those glittering, blade-like spokes. But there was no room on either side. Only one thing was possible. Hit the ground, let the monstrous three-ton car roll over on its side. Alenka's ego in a gravity-free vacuum was only half a ton, and this was further modified by wheels that flattened out at the bottom like soft tires to achieve traction.
  
  
  There was a small depression a few feet behind him. He spun around and sprawled face down in the nen, his fingers clinging to the scorching volcanic rock. Ego the target inside the plastic bubble was the most vulnerable part of the ego. But it was leveled so that the space between the wheels was too narrow for the LRV to maneuver. Ego luck was still on the edge.
  
  
  He rolled noiselessly across it, blocking Brylev's view. A strong pressure hit ego's back and legs, pinning ego to the rock. The breath escaped through the ego of the lungs. Ego's vision went blank for a moment. Then the first pair of wheels flew over him, and he lay in the rushing darkness under the 31-foot-long car, watching the second pair race toward him.
  
  
  He saw it too late. Low-lying hanging equipment in the form of a box. It hit the ego ECM backpack, flipping it over. He felt the backpack lift off his shoulders. The hissing in my ears stopped abruptly. The embers burned his lungs. Then the second wheels slammed into him, and the pain exploded through him like a black cloud.
  
  
  He was holding on to a thin thread of consciousness, because he knew that emu would get a thread if he didn't. The bright saint stung ego's eyes. He slowly made his way up, overcoming physical torment, asking for cars. Gradually, the ego's eyes stopped swimming and focused on nen. It was about fifty yards away, and it wasn't moving anymore. The man in the moon suit was standing at the control panel, looking at him.
  
  
  Nick's breath caught in his throat, but there was no ego. The arterioid tubes inside the ego suit no longer carried cold oxygen around the main intake duct at his waist. Ego ringers scratched at the torn rubber on his back where the environmental control package used to be. Ego's mouth dropped open. Dry lips moved in a dead plastic bubble. "Identify," he croaked into the microphone, but he, too, was dead, the wires of the Corruption Communications Unit snapped along with the others.
  
  
  Man in a moon suit, get off the moon ship. He pulled a stationery knife from under the seat on the control panel and walked over to it.
  
  
  This action saved N3's life.
  
  
  The knife meant that Nick wasn't finished, that the last piece of equipment had to be cut off - and that was how he remembered the tiny package attached to Ego's waist. It was there in case of a problem with the backpack's system. Nen had a 5-minute oxygen supply.
  
  
  He turned on the ego. A soft hissing sound filled the plastic bubble. He forced his exhausted lungs to breathe. Coolness filled Ih. Ego's vision cleared. He gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet. The ego, the mind, began to examine the ego body to see what was left of it. Then suddenly, there was no time to take stock. Another man made a big living. Once it jumped up to take off, and flew toward him, light as a feather in a low-gravity atmosphere. The knife was held low, point down, ready for a quick upward flip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  that would break the emergency lifeline.
  
  
  Nick dug his toes into a ridge of volcanic rock. He swung his arms back in one motion, like a man doing a racing dive. He then catapulted forward, throwing all of his accumulated strength into a lunge. He found himself flying through the air at an alarming speed, but he missed his target. The other man lowered his head, sinking down. Nick grabbed his knife hand as mimmo passed, but missed.
  
  
  It was like a fight under water. The force field was completely different. Balance, traction, reaction time-everything has changed due to the reduction of gravity. Once the movement was started, it was almost impossible to stop the ego or change direction. He was now gliding toward the ground at the end of a wide parabola, a good thirty yards from where ego was standing.
  
  
  He spun around just as the other man fired a projectile. He slammed into emu's thigh, knocking ego to the ground. It was a huge jagged piece of meteorite about the size of a small boulder. It is impossible to lift even in normal gravity conditions. Pain shot through his leg. He shook his head and started to get up. Suddenly, a heat glove fell off, scratching Ego's emergency oxygen kit. The man was already on nen.
  
  
  He slid past Nick and casually stabbed his ego in the tube with a utility knife. He bounced harmlessly away, and Nick lifted his right foot, the heel of his heavy metal boot ego meeting the man's relatively unprotected solar plexus at an upward angle. The dark face inside the plastic bubble opened its mouth in a silent exhalation, and its eyes rolled back in its head. Nick jumped to his feet. But before he could follow, the man crawled away like an eel and turned towards him, ready to attack once more.
  
  
  He feinted towards N3's throat and aimed the furious mae-geri emu at the groin. The blow missed its target by less than an inch, numbing Nick's leg and almost causing Ego to lose his balance. Before he could counter, the man spun around and then threw a backhand pile kick that sent Nick tumbling forward over the uneven ledges of the ravine floor. He couldn't stop. It continued to roll, razor-sharp rocks tearing at the ego suit.
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man unzip his side pocket, pull out a strange-looking pistol, and aim it carefully. He gripped the ledge and suddenly stopped. A streak of dazzling blue-white magnesium light flashed past him and exploded against the rock. Rocket launcher! The man began to recharge his ego. Nick lunged at him.
  
  
  The man dropped the gun and dodged a two-punch punch to the chest. He lifted his left leg, making a final vicious lunge at Nick's exposed groin. N3 took the duster in both hands and twirled it. The man fell like a felled tree, and before he could move, Killmaster was on the nen. A hand with a knife flashed toward him. Nick slashed a gloved hand at his unprotected wrist. This blunted the forward thrust. Ego's fingers closed around the man's wrist and twisted. The knife didn't fall. He turned harder and felt something snap, and the man's hand went limp.
  
  
  At the same time, the hiss in Nick's ear stopped. I ran out of spare oxygen. A searing fervor shot through ego's lungs. The yoga-trained muscles automatically took over, protecting ih. He could hold his breath for four minutes, but he couldn't do any more, and physical activity was impossible.
  
  
  Something rough and screaming painful suddenly shot through Ego's arm with such shock that he almost opened his mouth to breathe. The man moved the knife to his other hand and cut his hand, causing the fingers to unclench. Now he leaped over to mimmo Nick, clutching his broken wrist with his good hand. He stumbled down the ravine, a jet of water vapor rising around his backpack.
  
  
  A vague sense of survival made Nick crawl to the rocket launcher. Emu didn't need to die. But the voices in the ego's ear said, " It's too far to go." You can't do that. Ego lungs required air sampling. Ego's fingers scrabbled on the ground, reaching for his gun. The air! the ego lungs kept screaming. It was getting worse, darker by the second. Fingers closed around it. No force, but he pulled the trigger anyway, and the flash of light was so blinding that Em had to slap his eyes with his free hand. And that was the last thing he remembered ...
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Why didn't you go to the emergency exit?" Ray Lee, the project's field manager, leaned over him anxiously as fellow astronauts Roger Kane and John Corbinet helped him remove his moon suit in the Simulation training room. He held out a small nose-spray bottle, and Nick took another long swig from it.
  
  
  "An escape route?" he muttered vaguely. "Where?"
  
  
  The three men looked at each other. "Less than twenty yards from the 12 net," he said. "You've used this before."
  
  
  This must have been the exit that the opponent's ego in the moon suit was heading for. Now he remembered that there were ten of them seen around the lunar landscape.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Each mistletoe has an airlock and boost chamber. They were unmanned and opened into an underground vault under the simulation building. So getting in and out wouldn't be a problem if you knew how to get around - and Nick's opponent obviously did.
  
  
  "Fortunately, John noticed that first flare signal," Roger Keynes said. "We went straight to him. For example, after six months there was another one. By then, we were less than a minute away."
  
  
  "This accurately indicated the position of ego," Corbyn added. "A few more seconds and it would have been over. He's already turned blue. We hooked Ego up to Roger's emergency supply and dragged him to the exit. God! Look at this! " he suddenly exclaimed.
  
  
  They took off their spacesuit and stared at the bloodstained inner clothing. Cain pointed to the thermomaterial. "You're lucky you didn't boil over," he said.
  
  
  He bent over the wound. "It looks like a knife cut," he said. "What happened? You'd better start at the beginning."
  
  
  Nick shook his head. "Look, I feel pretty stupid about this," he said. "I fell on a damn utility knife while trying to get around the ravine. I just lost my balance and ..."
  
  
  "What about your ECM unit?" the director demanded. "How did this happen?"
  
  
  "When it fell. It caught on a ledge."
  
  
  "There will definitely be an investigation," he said grimly. "NASA Security wants to get reports on every accident, these days."
  
  
  "Later. Emu needs medical attention first, " Corbynet said. He turned to Roger Kane. "You'd better call Dr. Sun."
  
  
  Nick tried to sit up. "Tailor, no, I'm fine," he said. "It's just a wound. You guys can bind it up yourself." Dr. Sun was the person he didn't want to see. He knew what was going to happen. She insisted on giving Emu a pain-killing injection - and that injection would finish the job that her accomplice drunk, in the moonscape.
  
  
  "I have my own bone with Joy-san," he snapped. "Hey, I should never have mimmo you in the state you're in. Dizziness attacks, memory lapses. You should be at home, lying on your back. Anyway, what about this lady?
  
  
  Nick had a pretty good feeling about this. As soon as she saw ego naked, she knew that it wasn't Colonel Eglund, which meant that he had to be a state-owned enterprise, which in turn meant that ego had been led into a trap for nah. So what could be better for selfishness than a moonscape? The voice is her companion - or in the plural? "he could have had another convenient accident."
  
  
  I picked up the phone and ordered some first-aid supplies. When he hung up the phone, he turned to Nick and said: "I want your car to pull up to the house. Kane, you take Ego home. And Eglund, stay there until I find a doctor to examine you. "
  
  
  Nick mentally shrugged. It didn't matter where he waited. The next step was hers. Because one thing was clear. She couldn't rest until he was out of sight. Constantly.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Poindexter transformed the stormy basement of Eglund's bachelor bungalow into a full-scale AX field office.
  
  
  There was a miniature darkroom equipped with a 35-mm lens. cameras, film, development and microdotting equipment, a metal filing cabinet filled with Lastotex masks, flexible cord saws, compasses on buttons, fountain pens that shoot needles, watches with tiny transistor transmitters, and a sophisticated solid-state image communication system-a phone that could instantly link ih to headquarters.
  
  
  "Looks like you've been busy," Nick said.
  
  
  "I have an ID card with the person in the photo," Poindexter replied with carefully controlled enthusiasm. He was a white-haired New Englander with a chant face who looked like he'd rather have a church picnic than work with sophisticated devices of death and destruction.
  
  
  He unhooked a wet 8x10 from the dryer and handed it to Nick. It was a front view, head and shoulders, of a dark-skinned man with his wolfish face and dead gray eyes. A deep scarring encircled the ego's neck, revealing beneath the third vertebra. "His name is Rinaldo Tribolati," Poindexter said, " but he calls himself Renault Tree for short. The print is a bit blurry, because I shot ego candid from a photo phone. It's a picture of a photograph."
  
  
  "How so fast?"
  
  
  "It wasn't a tattoo. This type of dragon is quite common. Thousands of soldiers who served in the Far East, especially in the Philippines during the outbreak of World War II, have ih. boys. They made an explosion and studied it. Caused by a rope burn. And that was all they needed to know. I think this Reno Tree was once a hitman for Las Vegas gangs. However, one of the alleged victims ' egos almost picked him up. Drove the ego half to death. He still wears scarface."
  
  
  "I've heard the name Reno Tree," Nick said, " but not as an assassin. As a kind of dance master for Jet Set."
  
  
  "That's our boy," Poindexter said. "It's legal now. High society girls seem to have a different-ego. Pic magazine named ego
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  The Pied Piper on Palm Misfortune. He runs the Bali High disco."
  
  
  Nick looked at the front view, the photo, and then at the copy of the pornographic photo Poindexter had given Em. Joy-San's ecstatic expressions still haunted him. "It's hardly something that can be called beautiful," he said. "I wonder what girls see in nen."
  
  
  "Maybe they like the way he slaps ih."
  
  
  "He's like that, right?" Nick gathered up the photos and put ih in his wallet. "It is better to raise the staff," he added. "I have to register."
  
  
  Poindexter went to the phone and flipped on a switch. "The mob gave em permission to act like Shylock and the extortionist," he said, watching the screen come to life. "In rheumatism, he killed and did power work for them. It was known as a last resort. When all the other Shilocks rejected the human, Reno always took the ego. Emu liked it when they didn't fulfill their obligations. This is a persistent emu reason to work on them. But most of all, he loved tormenting women. There's a story that he was paired up with girls in Vegas, and that he slashed their faces with a razor as he drove around town ... A-4, N3 to scrambler from HT stations, " he said as a cute brunette with a communications headset came into view.
  
  
  "Please wait." She was replaced by the iron-gray old man to whom Nick had given all his loyalty and most of his affection. N3 made his report, noting the absence of the familiar cigar and the usual gleam of humor in his icy eyes. Hawk was upset, worried. And he wasted no time in realizing that it was the ego that was bothering him.
  
  
  "The AX listening posts reported," he snapped at the conclusion of Nick's report. "And the news is not good. This false information that I am spreading by Bali Hai has appeared, but inside the country, at a relatively low level of the criminal world. In Las Vegas, bets are being placed on NASA's lunar program. Smart Money says it will be two years before the project is launched again." He made a pause. "What really bothers me is that the top secret information I gave you about Phoenix One also came out - at a very high level in Washington."
  
  
  Hawke's grim expression deepened. "It will take a day or so before we get a notification from our people all over the foreign affairs spy organizations, "he added," but it doesn't look very good. Someone very high-ranking is leaking information. In short, our enemy has an operative. high up in NASA itself ."
  
  
  The full meaning of the words Goshawk was gradually becoming clear - now Phoenix-One was also in danger.
  
  
  The light flared, and out of the corner of his eye Nick saw Poindexter pick up the phone. He turned to Nick, covering the mouthpiece. "This is General McAlester," he said.
  
  
  "Put the ego in a conference box so the Hawk can eavesdrop."
  
  
  Poindexter flipped a switch, and the voice of the NASA security chief filled the room. "There's been a fatal accident at the GKI Industries plant in Texas City," he announced shortly. "It happened last night - in the division that produces the element of the Apollo life support system. Alex Simian flew in Miami with his security chief to investigate. He called me a few minutes ago and said he had something vital to show us. As the starting captain of the second reserve team, you, for estestvenno, must participate in this. We'll pick you up in fifteen minutes."
  
  
  "Actually," Nick said, and turned to Hawk.
  
  
  "So it's already starting to happen," the old man said grimly.
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  The big Fleetwood El Dorado was speeding down the Gulf Highway.
  
  
  Outside, Texas Savchenko was bright, heavy, and depressing. The flat horizon shimmered with it. The interior of the limo was cool but almost chilly, and the blue tinted windows shaded the eyes of the five men sitting in the comfortable seats.
  
  
  "By making sure that the GCI sends its limousine to pick us up," General McAlester said, thoughtfully drumming his ringers on the edge of the armrest.
  
  
  "Now then, Hewlett, don't be cynical," Rayleigh said tartly. "You know there's not much Alex Simian can do for us at NASA. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Ego, the company only produces one element in a spaceship, on the moon and the hotel would do everything."
  
  
  "Of course not," McAlester laughed. "What's a million dollars versus twenty billion? Any friends, anyway?"
  
  
  Gordon Nash, the captain of the first group of astronauts, turned around in the jump seat. "Look, I don't care what the others say about Simian," he snapped. "With this guy, everything is in my book. If an ego friendship compromises our integrity, that's our problem, not the ego's."
  
  
  Nick stared out the window, once again listening to the heated arguments. She was hissing all the time around Houston. Simian and General Kinetics as a whole seemed like a sick, highly debated issue for the four of them.
  
  
  Rafe cut in again. "How many homes, boats, cars and televisions have everyone around us had to give up in the last year? She wouldn't need to add up ih the total cost."
  
  
  "Pure goodwill," Mcalest said with a grin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Alexander. - How did Simian inform the Senate Investigative Committee about this?
  
  
  "That any disclosure of gift offers could destroy the intimate and confidential nature of NASA's relationship with ego contractors," he said with mock solemnity.
  
  
  Major Sollitz leaned forward and slid the glass panel shut. Macalester chuckled. "Wasted effort, Dwayne. Her confident that the entire limo is tapped, not just our driver. Simian cares about security even more than you do."
  
  
  "I just feel that we shouldn't officially talk about this person in this way," Sollitz snapped. "Simian is no different from any other contractor. Aerospace is a rollercoaster business. And when the number of government orders increases, but becomes smaller, the competition becomes really fierce. If we were in his shoes, we would do the same ... "
  
  
  "So, Dwayne, I don't think that's entirely fair," McAlester said. "There's more to this monkey mail business than that."
  
  
  "Excessive influence? Then why doesn't NASA completely abandon GKI?"
  
  
  "Because they've been making submarines for thirty - five years, and they know everything there is to know about life support, whether it's under the ocean or in space," Gordon Nash said hotly. My life and Glenn's here "- he pointed to Nick - " depend on ih. I don't think we should lower the ih rating."
  
  
  "No one belittles their technical know-how. This is the financial side of GKI, which also needs some investigation. At least, the Cooper Committee seems to think so."
  
  
  "Listen, her first to admit that Simian's Alexa reputation is questionable. He is a merchant and dealer, there is no denying that. And it's part of the public record that he was once a commodity speculator. But General Kinetics was a company with no future five years ago. Then Simian took charge - and look at it now ."
  
  
  Nick looked out the window. They arrived at the outskirts of the vast GKI plant in Texas City. Mimmo sped in a tangle around brick offices, glass-roofed research labs, and steel-walled hangars. Overhead, jet contrails crisscrossed the sky, and over the soft hiss of the El Dorado's air conditioner, Nick could hear the howl of the GK-111 as it took off to reach American bases in the Far East via in-flight refueling.
  
  
  The limo slowed as it approached the main gate. Security police in green uniforms with eyes like steel balls waved at them and leaned into the windows, checking their credentials. In the end, they were allowed to move on - but only to the black-and-white barrier, behind which there were additional police officers on GKI. Around them, Par dropped to her hands and knees and peered under the Caddy's suspension. "I just wish we at NASA had worked so thoroughly," Sollitz said grimly.
  
  
  "You forget why we're here," McAlester said. "Obviously, there was a glitch in this whole security system."
  
  
  The barrier was raised, and the limousine passed over a huge concrete mimmo apron of white blocky forms of workshops, skeletal rocket launchers, and huge machine shops.
  
  
  Near the center of this open space, the El Dorado stopped. The driver's voice said over the intercom, " Gentlemen, this is all I have permission to do." He pointed through the windshield at a small building set apart from the others. "Mr. Simian is waiting for you in the spaceship simulator."
  
  
  "Ugh!" gasped McAlester as they stepped out of the car into the gusty wind. Major Sollitz's cap fell off. He rushed after it, moving clumsily, clumsily, grabbing at it with his left hand. "Atta, boy, Dwayne. That's what ih puts up, " McAlester chuckled.
  
  
  Gordon Nash laughed. He shielded his eyes from the sun and stared at the building. "It gives you a good idea of how small the role of the space program is in our business," he said.
  
  
  Nick stopped and turned. Something began to itch deep in the heads ' egos. Something, some small detail, raised a tiny question mark.
  
  
  "That may be true," said Raymond as they set off, " but all contracts with the Ministry of Defense of GKI will be reviewed this year. And they say the government won't give them any new contracts until the Cooper Committee finishes ihc."
  
  
  Macalester snorted with disdain. "Bluff," he said. "It would take ten accountants working ten hours a day for at least ten years to unravel Simian's financial empire. This man is richer than any half-dozen small countries you'd name, and from what I've heard about nen, he carries it. all in the ego heads. What will the Department of Defense do with jet fighters, submarines, and missiles while they wait? Let Lionel Toys build ih? "
  
  
  Major Sollitz followed Nick. "I have to ask her something, Colonel."
  
  
  Nick looked at him cautiously. "Yes?"
  
  
  Sollitz dusted off his cap carefully before putting it on. "Actually, it's about your memory. Reiko told me this morning about your vertigo attack on the moonscape..."
  
  
  "And?"
  
  
  "Well, as you know, vertigo is one of the consequences of amine poisoning." Sollitz looked at him.
  
  
  
  
  
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  read the ego words carefully. "The other is blackouts."
  
  
  Nick stopped and turned to face him. "Back to business, Major.
  
  
  Good. I'll be honest with her. Have you noticed any problems of this kind, Colonel?" The time range I'm particularly interested in is just before you entered the prototype capsule. If possible, her hotel would start the second one ... A per-second breakdown of the events that led to this. For example, chances are that you caught a glimpse of someone setting up the controls outside. It would be very helpful if you could remember a few details ... "
  
  
  Nick was relieved to hear General McAlester calling out to ih. "Dwayne, Glenn, hurry up. I want to introduce her to Simian solid front"
  
  
  Nick turned around and said: "Bits of it are starting to come back, Major. Why don't I give you a full report - in writing - tomorrow?"
  
  
  Sollitz nodded. "I think that would be appropriate, Colonel."
  
  
  Simian was open at the entrance of a small building and was talking to a group of men. He glanced up as they approached. "Gentlemen," he said, " I'm very sorry that we have to meet in such different circumstances."
  
  
  He was a big, bony man with stooped shoulders, a long-nosed face, and loose limbs. Ego target was clean-shaven, like a billiard ball, which reinforced the already strong resemblance to an eagle (wicker reviewers hinted that he preferred this to a receding hairline). He had high cheekbones and the ruddy skin of a Cossack, and the Sulka tie and expensive Pierre Cardin suit only accentuated this. Nick put his age between forty-five and fifty.
  
  
  He quickly reviewed everything he knew about the man, and was surprised to find that it was all speculation, gossip. It wasn't anything special. Ego's real name (was said): Alexander Leonovich Simiansky. Place of birth: Khabarovsk, in the Far East of Siberia-but, again, this was a guess. Federal investigators have not been able to prove or refute this, nor have they been able to document his version that he was a white Russian born to a general in the Tsarist army. The truth was that there were no documents that showed Alexander Simian before he appeared in the 1930s in Tsingtao, one of the first Chinese ports to sign a contract before the war.
  
  
  The financier shook hands with everyone around them, greeted ih by name, and exchanged a few short words. He had a deep, unhurried voice with no trace of an accent. US foreign, regional us. It was neutral. The voice of a radio announcer. Nick had heard that it could get almost hypnotic when he described a deal to a potential investor.
  
  
  As he approached Nick, Simian playfully slapped his ego. "Well, Colonel, are you still playing what's worth?" he chuckled. Nick winked enigmatically and moved on, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about.
  
  
  The two men Simian spoke to were FBI agents. The third, a tall, affable redhead in a green GCI uniform, was introduced as ego Security Chief Clint Sands. "Mr. Simian ahn flew in from Florida last night as soon as we found out what had happened," Sands drawled. "If you will follow me,"he added," I will show you what we have found."
  
  
  The spaceship simulator was a charred wreck. The electrical wiring and controls had melted from the heat, and the fragments of human flesh still clinging to the inner hatch cover showed just how hot the metal itself must have become.
  
  
  "How many dead?" General McAlester asked, peering inside.
  
  
  "There were two men working there," Simian said, " testing the ECS system. The same thing happened as at the cape - a flash of oxygen atmosphere. We connected it to the electric cord that feeds the work lamp. it is further determined that breaking the plastic insulation will allow the wire to create an electric arc on the aluminum flooring."
  
  
  "We've tested an identical wire," Sands drawled, " and they've determined that an arc like this will ignite combustible materials within a twelve-to fourteen-inch radius."
  
  
  "This is the original wire," Simian said, handing them the wire. "Of course, it is very melted, merged with part of the floor, but look at the gap. It's cut, not worn. And it fixes it." He held out a tiny file and a magnifying glass. "Please tell me. The file was found wedged between a floor panel and a bundle of wires. Whoever used the ego must have dropped the ego and couldn't reach it. It is made of tungsten, so it is not affected by heat. . Pay attention to the inscription engraved on the end of the pen-the letters YCK. I think anyone who knows Asia or knows the tools will tell you that this file was made in Red China by Chong po Fuzhou. They still ferret use the same punching device as in the pre-red days."
  
  
  He looked at each of them in turn. "Gentlemen," he said , " I am convinced that we are facing a program of organized sabotage, and I am also convinced that the Chinese Reds are behind it. I think the Chicoms intend to destroy the United States as well. and Soviet lunar programs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  remember what happened to Soyuz-1 last year - when Russian cosmonaut Komarov was killed." He paused for dramatic emphasis, then said, " You can continue the investigation as you see fit, but my security forces are operating around the idea that Beijing is behind our problems."
  
  
  Clint Sands nodded. "And this is not yet a stream-far from everything. There was another incident at the cape yesterday. A bus full of Space Center dependents went out of control and crashed into a ditch on its way back across Orlando. No one was seriously injured. it was painful, but the children were shocked, and the women were all hysterical. They said it wasn't an accident. It turns out they were right. We checked the steering column. It was sawn. So we ih flew to GKI Medical Center in Miami at Mr. Simian's expense. At least they'll be safe there."
  
  
  Major Sollitz nodded. "Probably the best thing in the data under other circumstances," he said. " The overall security picture at the Cape is chaos."
  
  
  Nick wanted this tungsten file for the AXE labs, but there was no way to get it except to blow up the ego cover. So the two FBI agents left with him. He made a mental note for Hawk to formally request it later.
  
  
  As they walked back to the limo, Simian said, " I don't know.: "I will send the remains of the spacecraft simulator to NASA's Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia, for a complex autopsy by experts. When it's over, "he added suddenly," And the Apollo program starts again, I hope you'll all agree to be my guests at Cathay once a week."
  
  
  "There's nothing I'd like better," Gordon Nash chuckled. "Unofficially, of course."
  
  
  As the ih limousine pulled away, General McAlester said hotly:: "I want you to know, Dwayne, that I strongly object to your comment about the safety conditions at Cape Kennedy, NY. It borders on disobedience."
  
  
  "Why don't you finally face it?" Sollitz snapped. "It is impossible to provide decent security if contractors do not cooperate with us. And Connelly Aviation has never done that. Ih the police system is not worth us featured. If we were working with GKI on the Apollo project, we would have a thousand additional security measures. men draw ."
  
  
  "It's definitely an impression that Simian is trying to convey," McAlester said. "Who exactly do you work for - NASA or GKI?"
  
  
  "We may still be working with the GCI," said Reyes. "This Senate autopsy is sure to include all the accidents that have plagued Connelly Aviation. If another one happens in the interim, a crisis of confidence will follow, and the contract for the Moon will be put up for sale. GKI is the logical successor. If the ego of the technical proposal is sharp and the speed is low, I think that the top management of NASA will not notice Simian's management and give them a contract."
  
  
  "Let's drop the subject," Sollitz snapped.
  
  
  "Fine," he said. He turned to Nick. "What was Simian's punch about playing your hand, what was it worth?"
  
  
  Nick's mind raced over the answers. Before he could come up with a satisfactory option, Gordon Nash laughed and said, " Poker. He and Glenn had a big game when we were at Ego House in Palm Beach last year. Glenn must have dropped a couple of hundred - he didn't. You, buddy? "
  
  
  "Gambling? An astronaut?" Rafe chuckled. "It's like Batman burning his war map."
  
  
  "You can't avoid it when you're around Simian, "Nash said." He's a natural gambler, the kind of guy who will bet on how many birds will fly overhead in the next hour. I think that's how he made his millions. Take risks and gamble."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The phone rang just before dawn.
  
  
  Nick reached out to her uncertainly. Gordon Nash's voice said, " Come on, buddy." We leave for Cape Kennedy, NY within an hour. Ego's voice is absurdly strained with suppressed excitement. "Maybe we can try again." Anyway, say Mom and I'll pick you up in twenty minutes. Don't take anything with you. All our equipment is packed and waiting in Ellington."
  
  
  Nick hangs up and dials Poindexter's internal number. "The Phoenix project is ready," he said in math and editing. "What are your instructions? Are you following or staying?"
  
  
  "I'm staying here on a temporary basis," Poindexter replied. "If your field of activity shifts here, this will be your base. Your man at the cape has already set things up at this end. This is L-32. Peterson. He can be contacted through NASA security. Just look recognition is enough. . Good luck, N3."
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  Buttons were pressed, levers were pulled. The telescopic drawbridge slid away. The doors closed, and the mobile saloon on its huge wheels slowly and deliberately rushed towards the waiting 707.
  
  
  Two groups of astronauts stood tensely next to their piles of equipment. Ih was surrounded by doctors, technicians, and site managers. A few minutes earlier, they had received a brief briefing from Flight Director Ray Lee. They now knew about Project Phoenix and that Ego launch was scheduled for Rivne in ninety-six hours.
  
  
  "I wish it was us," Jon.K. said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  orbinet. "Standing and waiting makes you nervous when you get up again."
  
  
  "Yes, don't forget that we were originally the reserve team for Liscombe Fields," Bill Ransom said. "So maybe you'll go again."
  
  
  "This isn't funny,"Gordon Nash snapped.
  
  
  "You'd better relax, all of you," Dr. Sun said as he unfastened the retainer on Roger Kane's right arm. "Your blood pressure is above normal at this hour, Commander. Try to get some sleep on the flight. If you need them, I have non-narcotic sleeping pills. It's going to be a long countdown. Don't strain yourself. currently."
  
  
  Nick looked at her with cold admiration. When she took Ego's blood pressure, she kept looking him straight in the eye. Defiantly, icily, without once blinking. That was hard to do with someone you just ordered killed. Despite all the talk of clever spy agents, the man's eyes were still the windows of the ego-mind. And they are rare medical were completely empty.
  
  
  Ego's fingers touched the photo in his pocket. He brought the ego with him, intending to push buttons to make things happen. Emu wondered what he would see in Joy-San's eyes when she looked at them and knew that the game was over.
  
  
  He watched her study the medical records - dark, tall, incredibly beautiful, her mouth painted with fashion pale lipstick 651 (regardless of pressure, the result is always a pink film 651 mm thick). He imagined her pale and breathless, her mouth swollen with shock, and hot tears of shame in her eyes. He suddenly realized that it was time to break that perfect mask of faces, time to take a lock of her black hair in his hands and bend her cold and arrogant body under his again. With a rush of genuine permission to perform, Nick realized what Joy San physically wanted.
  
  
  The living room suddenly stopped. Lights flashed on. An indistinct voice barked something over the intercom. The Air Force sergeant at the controls pressed a button. The doors opened and the drawbridge slid forward. Major Sollitz leaned out on the day of the Boeing 707. He had a battery powered P. A. megaphone in his hand. He raised the ego to his lips.
  
  
  "There will be a delay," he announced shortly. "There was a bomb. I guess it's all just fright. But as a result, we will have to disassemble 707 in parts. Meanwhile, we're preparing another one, on Runway Twelve, so that you won't be held up any longer than necessary. Thank you."
  
  
  Bill Ransom shook his head. "I don't like the sound of that."
  
  
  "This is most likely just a routine fail - safe check of security procedures," Gordon Nash said.
  
  
  "I'll bet you money that some prankster called in an anonymous tip."
  
  
  "Then he's a high-level prankster," Nash said. "In the highest ranks of NASA. Because no one below the JCS level even knew about this flight."
  
  
  That's what Nick had just thought, and it bothered him. He recalled the events of yesterday, his ego, his mind reaching out for the evasive little information that wasn't trying to be heard. But every time he thought he had it, he would run away and hide again.
  
  
  The 707 ascended quickly and effortlessly, its huge jet engines sending out long, thin trails of steam as it soared through the cloud layer to where the sun was bright and the sky blue.
  
  
  There were only fourteen passengers in total, and they were spread out on the huge plane, most of them lying on three seats and sleeping.
  
  
  But not N3. And not Dr. Sun.
  
  
  He sat down beside her before she could protest. Tiny pinpricks of alarm flickered in her eyes, then disappeared just as quickly.
  
  
  Nick was now looking mimmo nah out the window at the white wool clouds swirling under the jet. They were in the air for half an hour. "How about a cup of coffee and a conversation?" he offered pleasantly.
  
  
  "Stop playing games," she said sharply. "I know very well that you are not Colonel Eglund."
  
  
  Nick rang the bell. A U.S. Air Force sergeant, who was also serving as a flight attendant, approached the aisle. "Two cups of coffee," Nick said. "One black and one..." He turned to her.
  
  
  "Also black." When the sergeant had gone, she asked, " What's the matter?": "Who are you? A government agent?"
  
  
  "What makes you think I'm not Eglund?"
  
  
  She turned away from him. "Your body," she said, and to his surprise, he saw that she was blushing. "This... well, that's different."
  
  
  Suddenly, without warning, he said: "Who did you send to kill me in the Moon Car?"
  
  
  Her target turned sharply. "What are you talking about?"
  
  
  "Don't try to fool me," N3 croaked. He pulled the picture out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I see you're doing your hair differently now."
  
  
  She sat motionless. Her eyes were very wide and very dark. Without moving a muscle other than the rta, she said, " Where did you get this from?"
  
  
  He turned, watching the sergeant approach with the coffee. "They sell ih on Forty-second Street," he said sharply.
  
  
  An explosive outdoor activity rained down on him. The plane banked sharply on the floor. Nickname s
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  As the sergeant clutched the seat, trying to regain his balance. The coffee cups went flying.
  
  
  As his eardrums were released from the sound pressure of the explosion, Nick heard a fantastic howl, almost a scream. Ego was pressed hard against the back of the seat in front of him. He heard the girl's scream, saw her rush at him, too.
  
  
  The sergeant lost his grip. His body seemed to stretch out toward the howling white hole. There was thunder as his target went through the nah, and ego's shoulders hit the frame, then his entire body was gone-sucked in with a terrible whooshing noise through the hole. The girl was still screaming, her fist clenched between her teeth, and her eyes were looking up from her head at what she had just witnessed.
  
  
  The plane tilted violently. The seats were now being sucked in through the opening. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw pillows, luggage, and equipment floating into the sky. The unoccupied seats in front of them folded in half, ih fillings exploding. Wires ran down from the ceiling. The floor bulged. Brylev went out.
  
  
  Then, he suddenly appeared in the air, floating towards the ceiling. The girl flew mimmo him. When her target hit the ceiling, he grabbed her leg and pulled her toward him, pulling her dress inch by inch until her face was at ego level. They were now lying upside down on the ceiling. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pale, with dark, flowing blood running down the sides.
  
  
  The scream tore through his eardrums. Something slammed into him. It was Gordon Nash. Something else hit ego in the leg. He looked down. It was a member of the medical team, his neck hanging at an odd angle. Nick looked at them both. The bodies of other passengers floated through the fuselage all the way to the front of the plane, bobbing against the ceiling like traffic jams.
  
  
  N3 knew what was going on. The jet spun out of control, shooting out into space at a fantastic speed, creating a state of zero gravity.
  
  
  To Ego's surprise, he felt a tug on ego's sleeve. He forced himself to turn his head. Gordon Nash's mouth was moving. He formed the words "Follow me". The spaceman leaned forward, moving hand in hand on the luggage rack. Nick followed. He suddenly remembered that Nash had been in space on two Gemini missions. Zero gravity was nothing new to him.
  
  
  He saw what Nash was trying to achieve and understood. Inflatable life raft. However, there was a problem. The hydraulic component of the access door was torn off. The heavy metal part that was actually part of the fuselage skin didn't budge. Nick signaled Nash to step aside and "floated" to the machine. Around his pocket, he took out a tiny two-pin wire that he sometimes used to start the engines of locked cars. With ego's help, the emu managed to set fire to a battery-powered emergency capsule. The access door swung open.
  
  
  Nick grabbed the edge of the life raft before it sucked through the gaping hole. He found the inflatable mechanism and activated it. It expanded with a furious whoosh to twice the size of the aperture. He and Nash put the ego in the right place. It didn't last long, but even though it did last, someone might have gotten to the cab.
  
  
  A giant fist seemed to slap his ego in the ribs. He found himself lying face down on the floor. I tasted blood in my mouth. Something hit the emu in the back. The Gordon Nash pair. Nick turned his head and saw that the rest of Ego was trapped between two seats. The other passengers tore off the ceiling behind him. The high-pitched roar of the engines increased. Gravity was being restored. The crew must have managed to raise the plane's nose above the horizon.
  
  
  He crawled to the cab, pulling himself up from place to place, fighting the terrifying current. He knew that if the life raft left, so would he. But he had to contact the team, had to file a final report on the ih walkie-talkie if it turned out they were doomed.
  
  
  Five faces turned to him as he pushed open the door of the cab. "What happened?" The pilot shouted. "What's the situation there?"
  
  
  "A bomb," Nick retorted. "It looks bad. There's a hole in the fuselage. We closed the ego, but only temporarily."
  
  
  Four red warning lights flashed on the flight engineer's console. "Pressure and quantity!"Alexander. pilot. "Pressure and quantity!"
  
  
  The cabin smelled of startled sweat and cigarette smoke. The pilot and his co-pilot began to push and pull switches, and the navigator's monotonous drawl continued: "AFB, Bobby. This is Speedbird 410. C-ALGY calls B instead of Bobby..."
  
  
  There was a crunch of tearing metal, and everyone's eyes shifted to the right. "It's going Љ 3," the copilot croaked as the starboard wing pod lifted off the plane.
  
  
  "What are our chances of remaining intact?" Nick demanded.
  
  
  "At this point, Colonel, your guess is as good as mine. I'd say..."
  
  
  The pilot was interrupted by a sharp voice over the amplifier. "C-ALGY, give your position. C-ALGY..."
  
  
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  igator demonstrates its position and reports on the situation. "We have a good one," he said after a moment.
  
  
  "We're going to try to find Barksdale Air Force Base in Shreveport, Louisiana," the pilot said. "They have the longest runways. But first we have to use up our fuel. So, we're going to be in the air for at least another two hours. I suggest you strap everyone in the back there, and then just sit there and pray! "
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Black smoke and orange flames gushed from the three remaining jet pods. The huge plane shook violently as they turned a sharp bend over Barksdale Air Force Base.
  
  
  The wind roared in the cabin of the plane, furiously sucking in the ih. The seat belts cut into the ih middle. There was a metallic crack, and the fuselage split even further. Air screamed through the growing hole , like a can of hairspray with a hole in it.
  
  
  Nick turned to look at Joy-san. Her mouth was shaking. There were purple shadows under her eyes. Fear gripped her, slick and ugly. "Are we going to do this?" she gasped.
  
  
  He stared at Nah with blank eyes. Fear will give the emu answers that even torture won't answer. "It doesn't look good," he said.
  
  
  So far, two men have died - an Air Force sergeant and a member of the NASA medical team, whose spinal cord was broken as a result of hitting the ceiling. Another man - a pillow repair technician - was strapped to his seat, but was seriously injured. Nick didn't think he'd survive. The astronauts were shocked, but no one was seriously injured. They were used to emergencies and didn't panic. Dr. Sun's injuries, the skull wounds, were superficial, but her concerns weren't. N3 took advantage of this. "I need answers to my questions," he croaked. "You won't gain anything if you don't answer. Your friends cheated on you, so obviously you're expendable. Who's putting the bomb on?"
  
  
  Hysteria was building in her eyes. "A bomb? What bomb?" she gasped. "You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you? How could he? Why should I be here?"
  
  
  "Then how about this pornographic photo?" he demanded. "What about your connection to Pat Hammer? You were seen together in Bali Hai. Don Lee said so."
  
  
  She shook her head violently. "Don Lee lied," she breathed. "I've only been to Bali Hai once, and not with a Humvee. I didn't know ego by sight. My work has never brought me into contact with the crews of Cape Kennedy, NY." She didn't say anything, then the words seemed to escape nah iso rta. "I went to Bali Hai because Alex Simian sent me a message to meet him there."
  
  
  "Simian? What's your connection to him?"
  
  
  "I worked at the GCI Medical Institute in Miami," she panted. "Before he joined NASA." There was another crack, this time of cloth, and the inflated life raft squeezed through the opening and disappeared with a loud crash. The air roared through the fuselage, shaking the ih, tearing their hair and blowing away the sticks. She grabbed it. He automatically hugged her. "Oh my God!" she was sobbing raggedly. "How long until we land?"
  
  
  "Talk."
  
  
  "Okay, there was something else!" she said fiercely. "We had an affair. She was in love with him - still a ferret, I think. I first met him when I was a little girl. It was in Shanghai, circa 1948. He came to visit my father to interest ego in a deal." She spoke quickly now, trying to control her growing panic. "Simian spent the war years in a prison camp in the Philippines. After the war, he went into the ramie fiber trade there. He realized that the Communists were going to take over China. He knew that this would lead to a fiber shortage. My father had a warehouse full of rami in Shanghai. Simian hotel buy ego. My father agreed. Later, he and my father became partners, and I saw a lot of her ego."
  
  
  Her eyes glittered with fear as another section of the fuselage burst free. "I was in love with him. Like a schoolgirl. He was heartbroken when he married an American woman in Manila. That was in ' fifty-three. Later, she found out why he did it. He was implicated in numerous con artists and the men he ruined chased him down. By marrying this woman, he was able to emigrate to the United States and obtain citizenship. As soon as he had the first documents, he divorced her."
  
  
  Nick knew the rest of the story. It was part of the legend of American business. Simian invested in the stock market, committed murder, and acquired a number of failed firms. He breathed life into them and then sold them at fantastically inflated prices. "He's gorgeous, but absolutely ruthless," Joy - San said as she looked mimmo Nick through the widening hole. "And after he gave me a job at GKI, we started an affair. It was inevitable. But after a year, Em got bored and broke up the relationship." She covered her face with her hands. "He didn't come up to me and tell me it was over," she whispered. "He fired me, and in the process did everything he could to ruin my reputation." It shook her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  goal - in memory of this. "Still her ego couldn't get out of her system, and when her got this message from him - it was about two months ago I went to Bali Hai."
  
  
  "Did he call you directly?"
  
  
  "No, he always works through intermediaries. This time, it was a man named Johnny Hung Fat. Johnny was involved in several financial scandals with him. He was devastated by it. He turned out to be a waiter at Bali Hai. It was Johnny who told me that Alex wanted to meet me there. However, Simian never showed up, and she was drinking all the time. After all, Johnny had brought this man. He's the manager of the disco there ... "
  
  
  "The Reno tree?"
  
  
  She nodded. "He tricked me. My pride was hurt, I was drunk, and I think they must have added something to my drink, because the next thing I knew, we were sitting together in the office and ... I couldn't get enough of my ego." She flinched slightly and turned away. "I never knew they took a picture of us. It was dark. I don't understand how..."
  
  
  "Infrared film".
  
  
  "I guess Johnny was planning to shake me up later. Anyway, I don't think Alex had anything to do with it. Johnny must have just used his own name as bait..."
  
  
  Nick decided, tailor take it, if he was going to die, he at least wanted to watch. The entire hotel area, and went up to meet them. Ambulances, ambulances, and people in aluminum fire suits were already fanning out. He felt a slight thud as the plane landed. A few minutes later, they rolled to an even smoother stop, and the passengers happily descended the emergency chutes onto the hard, blessed ground ...
  
  
  They stayed in Barksdale for seven hours while a team of Air Force doctors examined ih, distributed medicine and first aid to those in need, and hospitalized two of the most serious cases.
  
  
  At 17:00, an Air Force Globemaster arrived from Patrick Air Base, and they played this game on it for the final leg of their journey. An hour later, they landed at McCoy Field in Orlando, Florida.
  
  
  The place was swarming with people all over the place, the FBI and NASA security services. Deputies in white helmets drove ih to the closed military zone of the field, where army reconnaissance vehicles were waiting. "Where are we going?" Nick asked.
  
  
  "A lot of NASA bumpers have flown in from Washington," one responded via Twitter. "It looks like this is going to be an all-night Q & A session."
  
  
  Nick tugged on Joy Sun's sleeve. They were at the very end of the parade of miniatures, and gradually, step by step, they were moving further into the darkness. "Go," he said suddenly. They dodged the fuel truck, then turned back toward the civilian area of the field, and toward the ramp of the taxi he'd noticed earlier. "The first thing we need is a drink," he said.
  
  
  Any answers he had, he was going to send straight to Hawke, not to the FBI, nor to the CIA, and above all, not to NASA Security.
  
  
  At the Cherry Plaza cocktail Bar overlooking Lake Eola, he was talking to Joy, San. They talked a lot , the way people talk when they've had a terrible experience together. "Look, I was wrong about you," Nick said. "I break every tooth in my head to admit it, but what else can I say to her? They thought you were an opponent."
  
  
  "And now?"
  
  
  He grinned. "I think you're a big, juicy distraction that someone threw in my way."
  
  
  She threw the bead away to laugh , and the color suddenly drained from her face. Nick looked up. It was the ceiling of a cocktail lounge. It was mirrored. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "Voting, as it was on the plane - upside down. It's like seeing everything all over again." She began to tremble, and Nick put his arm around her. "Please,"she murmured," take me home." He nodded. They both knew what was going to happen there.
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  The house was a bungalow in Cocoa Misery.
  
  
  They'd gotten there by taxi via Orlando, and Nick didn't care that ih's path would be easy to track.
  
  
  So far, he's had a pretty good cover story. He and Joy-San were talking quietly on the plane, walking hand - in-hand to McCoy Field, which is what you'd expect from first-time lovers. Now, after a grueling emotional experience, they slipped away to be alone for a while. Perhaps not exactly what was expected of a real blue astronaut, but if anything, it didn't produce any results. Not right away, anyway. He has until morning , and that will be enough.
  
  
  Until then, McAlester will have to protect the ferret's ego.
  
  
  The bungalow was a square block of stucco and ash, right on the beach. A small living room stretched across its entire width. It was pleasantly furnished with bamboo lounge chairs upholstered in foam. The floor was covered with palm leaf mats. Wide windows looked out over the Atlantic Ocean, and to their right was a bedroom door, followed by another door that opened onto the beach.
  
  
  "It's a mess," she said. "Her car left so suddenly for Houston, then crashes, that I didn't have time to get out."
  
  
  She locked the door behind her and stood in front of Nah, watching him. Her face was no longer a cold and beautiful mask. The broad high cheekbones were still there
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  d - finely sculptured depressions. But her eyes glittered with shock, and her voice lost its calm confidence. For the first time, she looked more like a woman than a mechanical goddess.
  
  
  Nike began to accumulate desire. He quickly walked over to her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her hard on the lips. They were hard and cold, but the warmth of her struggling breasts shot through him like a current. Vlad was growing up. He could feel thighs ego beating. He kissed her again, his lips hard and cruel. She tore her lips away from his and pressed her clenched fists against him. "Your face!"
  
  
  For a moment, he didn't know what she meant by mistletoe. "Eglund," she said. "I kiss the mask." She gave ego a shaky smile. "Do you realize that I've seen your body, but not the face that goes with it?"
  
  
  "I'll go take down Eglund." He headed for the bathroom. It was time for the astronaut to retire anyway. The interior of Poindexter Stahl's masterpiece is damp from the heat. The silicone emulsion began to itch unbearably. Also, now the ego cost of covering up has also come to an end. The events on the plane from Houston showed that the presence of the Eglund on the dell itself was a danger to other astronauts of the lunar project. He took off his shirt, wrapped a towel around his neck, and carefully removed the plastic hair mask. He fished the lather from the inside out of his cheeks, pulled down his blond eyebrows, and rubbed his face vigorously, smearing the last of his makeup. Then he leaned over the sink and pulled out the hazel-pupil contact lenses around his eye sockets. He looked up and saw Joy San's reflection in the mirror, watching him, around the doorway.
  
  
  "A definite improvement," she smiled, and in the reflection of her face, her eyes moved, traveling over the ego's metal-smooth torso. All of the panther's muscular grace was locked into that gorgeous figure, and its eyes didn't miss anything around it.
  
  
  He turned to face her, wiping the last of the silicone from his face. Cerro's steely eyes, which could have smouldered darkly or turned icy cold with brutality, glowed with laughter. "Is his transfer of command me for a physical, Doc?"
  
  
  "So many scars," she said, surprised. "The knife. Bullet wound. A razor cut." She noted the descriptions while ee call traced ih rough paths. Ego muscles clenched at her touch. He took a deep breath, feeling the knot of tension under his stomach.
  
  
  "Appendectomies, gallbladder surgeries," he said firmly.
  
  
  "I'm a doctor, remember? Don't try to deceive me." She looked up at him with bright eyes. "You still haven't answered my corkscrew question. Are you some kind of super secret agent?"
  
  
  He pulled her close, propping his chin on his hand. "You mean they didn't tell you?" he chuckled. "I'm from the planet Krypton." He touched her wet lips with his own, gently at first, then even harder. There was a nervous tension in her body that resisted for a second, but then she relented and with a slight sob, her eyes closed and her mouth turned into a hungry little animal looking for ego, hot and wet, the tip of her tongue wanting satisfaction. . He felt her fingers untie the ego belt. His blood was churning inside him. Desire grew like a tree. Her hands were shaking with selfishness. She pulled her mouth away, buried her head in his neck for a second, then pulled away. "Wow!" she said uncertainly.
  
  
  "Bedroom," he grumbled, needing to explode into nen like a gun.
  
  
  "Oh my God, yes, I think you're the one who's been waiting for her." Her breathing was ragged. "Then Simiana... then that business in Bali High... I wasn't a man. Hers, I thought forever. But you could have been different. I can see it now. Oh, take a tailor, " she shivered as he pulled her against him with his hip. hips, chest to chest, and in the same motion, she tore open her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra - he knew that from the way the ripe cones moved under the fabric. Her nipples were firmly planted on her ego breast. She writhed against him, her hands exploring his body, her mouth glued to his, her tongue a swift, fleshy sword.
  
  
  Without breaking contact, he half-lifted her, half-carried her across the hall and across the palm-leaf mat to the bed.
  
  
  He laid her on top of him and she nodded, not to mention the way his hands moved over her body, unzipping her skirt, stroking her thighs. He leaned over her, kissing her breasts, his lips pressed together in ih softness. She moaned softly, and he felt her warmth spread beneath him.
  
  
  Then he didn't think any more, just felt, bursting out of the nightmarish world of betrayal and sudden death that was the ego's natural habitat, into the bright, sensual flow of time that was like a great river, concentrating on the feel of the girl's perfect body floating at an ever-accelerating pace until they reached the threshold, and her hands caressed the ego with increasing urgency, and her fingers dug into it, and her mouth pressed against the ego in a final plea, and ih bodies tensed, arched, and merged together thighs tensing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Mouths and mouths mingled, and she let out a long, shaky, happy sigh, and let her head fall back against the pillows as she felt a sudden shiver of ego body at the appearance of ego seed ...
  
  
  They lay in silence for a while, her hands moving rhythmically, hypnotically over his skin. Nick was almost asleep. Then, as he had stopped thinking about it in the past few minutes, it suddenly occurred to em. The sensation was almost physical: the bright saint flooded ego's head. He had it! Missing key!
  
  
  At the same time, a knock sounded horribly loud in the silence. He rushed out of nah, but she came to him, entangling the ego with soft and gentle curves, I don't want to give up on him. It curved around him so much that even in this sudden crisis, he was close to forgetting his danger.
  
  
  "Is anyone there?" a voice shouted.
  
  
  Nick broke free and ran to the window. He pulled the blinds back a fraction of an inch. An unmarked patrol car with a pin antenna was parked in front of the house. Two figures in white safety helmets and riding pants shone lanterns through the living room window. Nick motioned for the girl to put on something and opened the door.
  
  
  She did, and he leaned his ear against the wall of the bedroom and listened. "Hello, ma'am, we didn't know you were home," a male voice said. "Just checking. The outer saint was turned off. It's been on for the last four nights." Then a second male voice said: "You're Dr. Sun, aren't you?" He heard Joy say. "You just got here from Houston, actually?" She said it was. "Is everything okay? While you were gone, nothing was disturbed in the house?" She said it was all right, and the first male voice said: "Okay, we just want to make sure. After what happened here, you can't be too careful. If you need us quickly, just dial zero three times. Now we have a direct connection ."
  
  
  "Thank you, officers. Good night." He heard the front door close. "Another GCI police," she said, walking back to the bedroom. "They seem to be everywhere." She stopped dead in her tracks. "You're coming, " she said accusingly.
  
  
  "I'll have to," he said, buttoning his shirt. "And to make matters worse, I'm going to add insult to injury by asking if I can lend her your car."
  
  
  "I like that part," she smiled. "That means you'll have to bring the ego back. First thing in the morning, please. I mean, what... " She suddenly stopped with a startled expression. "Oh my God, I don't even know your name!"
  
  
  "Nick Carter."
  
  
  She was laughing. "Not very inventive, but I believe that in your email business, one fake name is as good as another..."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  All ten lines in the NASA administration center were busy, and he began dialing nonstop so that when the call ended, he would have a chance.
  
  
  The only image that constantly flashed through the heads ' egos was of Major Sollitz chasing his hat, his left hand awkwardly reaching across his body, his right hand firmly pressed against his ego torso. Something about the scene at the Texas City factory had bothered him, not when, but what, had eluded him-until he'd stopped thinking about it for a moment. Then, imperceptibly, it popped up in the ego's mind.
  
  
  Sollitz was right-handed yesterday morning!
  
  
  Ego, mind raced through the complex ramifications that spread in all directions from this discovery, as his fingers automatically picked up the number and his ear listened to the tinkling sound of connection establishment.
  
  
  He sat on the edge of the bed in his room at the Gemini Inn, barely noticing the neat stack of suitcases Hank Peterson had delivered from Washington, or the keys to the Lamborghini on the nightstand, or the note under them that said: Let me know when you come in. The extension number is L-32. Hank.
  
  
  Sollitz was the missing piece in the puzzle. Prima took the ego into account, and everything else fell into place. Nick remembered the Major's shock when he first entered his office, and silently cursed himself. It was supposed to be a tip-off. But he was too blinded by the sun - Dr. Sun - to notice anyone else's behavior.
  
  
  Joy-San was also surprised, but it was she who first diagnosed Eglund's condition as amine poisoning. So her surprise was natural. She just hadn't expected to see ego so soon.
  
  
  The line was cleared in the administrative center.
  
  
  "The red Room," he said to them in the Kansas drawl of Glenn Eglund. "This is Eagle Four. Give me the red room."
  
  
  The wire hummed and rang, and a man's voice rang out. "Security," he said. "Captain Lisor speaking."
  
  
  "This is Eagle Four, the top priority. Is Major Sollitz there?"
  
  
  "Eagle-Four, they wanted you. You missed the McCoy report. Where are you now?"
  
  
  "Never mind," Nick said impatiently. "Is Sollitz there?"
  
  
  "No, he's not."
  
  
  "Okay, find him. This is a top priority."
  
  
  "Hold on. I'll check it out."
  
  
  Who but Sollitz would know about Phoenix One? Who, other than the Apollo security chief, would have access to the medical center
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  In which department of the Spacecraft Center? Who else knew every phase of the medical program, was thoroughly aware of its dangers, could be seen anywhere without arousing suspicion? Who else had businesses in Houston and Cape Kennedy, NY?
  
  
  Sollitz, N3, was now convinced was Salt, who met Pat Hammer at Bali High in Palm Beach and plotted the destruction of the Apollo capsule. Sollitz tried to kill Glenn Eglund when the astronaut found out what the major was up to. However, Sollitz wasn't told about Nick's masquerade. Only General McAlester knew about it. So when Eglund showed up again, Sollitz panicked. He was the one who tried to kill the ego of the moonscape. The hand consisted of switching his right hand to his left, as a result of a broken wrist, which he received in a fight with a knife.
  
  
  Now Nick understood the point of all these questions about ego memory. And Eglund's rheumatism about the" bits and pieces " slowly coming back made the major even more panicked. So, he puts a bomb in the "backup" plane, and then makes a fake bomb that allows the emu to replace the original plane with an alternative one without first checking the ego by the detonation team.
  
  
  A sharp voice came over the line. "Orel Four, this is General McAlester. Where the hell did you and Dr. Sun go after your plane landed in McCoy?" You left a whole gaggle of high-ranking security personnel there chilling ih's heels."
  
  
  "General, I'll explain everything to you in a minute, but first-where is Major Sollitz? It's crucial that we find the ego."
  
  
  "I do not know," McAlester said flatly. "And it seems no one else is either. He took the second plane to McCoy. We know that. But he disappeared somewhere in the airport terminal and the ferret didn't show up with them. Why not?"
  
  
  Nick asked if the ih conversation was encrypted. It was. That's what he told emu. "Oh my God," was all the NASA security chief could say at the end.
  
  
  "Sollitz isn't in charge," Nick added. "He was doing the dirty work for someone else. Maybe the USSR. Beijing. At this point, we can only guess."
  
  
  "But how the hell did he get security clearance? How did emu manage to climb as far as he did?"
  
  
  "I dunno," Nick said. "I hope that the ego recordings will give us a clue. I'm going to get Peterson Radio AX with the full report, and also request an exhaustive background check on Sollitz, as well as on Alex Simian on GKI. I want to double check what Joy Sung told me about nen."
  
  
  "I just talked to Hawke," McAlester said. "He told me that Glenn Eglund has finally regained consciousness in Walter Reed. They hope to interrogate ego soon."
  
  
  "Speaking of Eglund," Nick said. "Could you make the fake person relapse? While the Phoenix countdown is running and the astronauts are tied to their stations, the ego cover-up turns into a physical handicap. Her should I be free to move around."
  
  
  "It can be arranged," McAlester said. He seemed happy about it. "This will explain why you and Dr. Sun ran away. Amnesia from being hit in the head on a plane. And she went after you to try to get you back."
  
  
  Nick said it was all right and hung up. He fell over the bed. He was too tired to even undress. He was glad that things were going so well for McAlester. He wants something convenient to happen along the way for a change. It was like that. He fell asleep.
  
  
  A moment later, ego is the phone's only transmission. At least it seemed like a moment, but it couldn't be because it was dark. He reached uncertainly for the receiver. "Hello?"
  
  
  "In conclusion!" Exclaimed Candy Collapsed. "Where have you been for the last three days? He was trying to get you."
  
  
  "Called," he said vaguely. "What's going on?"
  
  
  "I found something terribly important on Merritt Island," she said excitedly. "Meet me in the lobby in half an hour."
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  The fog began to clear in the early morning. Jagged blue holes opened and closed in the grayness. Through them, Nick caught glimpses of orange groves passing by mimmo like spokes in a wheel.
  
  
  Candy was driving. She insisted that they take her car, a GT Giulia sports car. She also insisted that he wait until he actually saw her opening. She said she couldn't tell em about it.
  
  
  Still playing like a little girl, he decided sourly. He glanced at nah. The hip-huggers were replaced with a white mini skirt, which, along with her belted blouse, white tennis shoes and freshly washed blonde hair, gave her the look of a support schoolgirl.
  
  
  She felt him watching her, and turned. "Don't go any further," she smiled. "It's just north of Dummitt Grove."
  
  
  The Space Center's lunar port occupied only a small portion of Merritt Island. More than seventy thousand acres were leased to farmers who originally owned the orange groves. The road north of Bennett's Road ran through a desert consisting of swamps and scrub, intersected by the India River, Seedless Enterprise, and Dummitt Groves, all dating back to the 1830s.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  The road now skirted a small bay, and they passed a pile of dilapidated shacks on stilts at the water's edge, a gas station with a grocery store, and a small shipyard with a fishing dock lined with shrimp trawlers. "Enterprise," she said. "This is the candid opposite of Port Canaveral. We're almost there."
  
  
  They drove another quarter of a mile, and Candy turned the turn signal straight on and started to slow down. She pulled off the side of the road and stopped. She turned to look at it. "We were here." She picked up her purse and opened the side door,
  
  
  Nick sat down in his car and stopped, looking back. They were in the middle of an open desert area. To the right, a wide panorama of saltwater fiats stretched up to the Banana Rivers. To the north, the flats became a swamp. The thick undergrowth was close to the water's edge. Three hundred yards to their left, the electrified MILA building (the Merritt Island launch pad of the Lunar Port) began. Through the brush, he could make out the concrete launch pad of Phoenix 1 on a gentle slope, and four miles from Nah , the bright orange beams and openwork platforms of a 56-story auto assembly building.
  
  
  Somewhere behind them, a distant helicopter hummed. Nick turned, closing his eyes. He saw a flash-a flash of rotor's ego in the morning sun over Port Canaveral.
  
  
  "This way," Candy said. She crossed the highway and headed for the bushes. Nick followed. Vlad inside the cane bullying was unbearable. Mosquitoes gathered in flocks, tormenting ih. The girl ignored ih. Her tough, stubborn side was showing again. They came to a drainage ditch that now opened into a wide canal that had apparently once been used as a canal. The moat was wedged in with weeds and underwater grass and narrowed where the embankment was washed away by water.
  
  
  She dropped her purse and kicked off her tennis ballet slippers. "I'll need both hands," she said, and went down the slope into the mud like a tribe. Now she moved forward, leaning forward, searching with her hands in the muddy water.
  
  
  Nick watched her from the top of the embankment. He shook his head. "What the hell are you looking for, tailor?" he chuckled. Stahl's thunderous voice is louder. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. It was heading in the ih direction, about three hundred feet above the ground, the light reflected off its spinning rotor blades.
  
  
  "I found it!" yelled Candy. He turned around. She walked about five feet down the drainage ditch and bent down, fiddling with something in the mud. He moved toward her. The sound of the helicopter is absurd as if it was almost openly overhead. He looked up. The propeller blades were tilted, which increased the speed of ego descent. He could just make out the white lettering on the red underside - FLYING CAR SHARP. It was one of six helicopters that flew on a half-hour schedule from the pier, Cocoa Island Entertainment Center to Port Canaveral, and then followed the perimeter of the MILA fence, allowing tourists to take photos of VAB buildings and launch platforms.
  
  
  Whatever she found for us, she's already halfway through the mud. "Get my purse, eh?" she called. "I left the ego out there for a bit. I need something in nen."
  
  
  The helicopter swerved sharply. Now it was back, no more than a hundred feet above the ground, the wind from its spinning blades smoothing the overgrown bushes along the embankment. Nick found her purse. He bent down and picked it up. The sudden silence abruptly raised its head. The helicopter's engine shut down. It was gliding along the tops of the reed stalks, heading straight for him!
  
  
  He turned to the left and dived headfirst into the ditch. A huge rumbling roar rang out from behind him. Heat rippled in the air like wet silk. A jagged ball of flame shot up, followed immediately by clouds of blackish, carbon-rich smoke that blotted out the sun.
  
  
  Nick scrambled back up the embankment and ran toward the wreckage. He could see the figure of a man inside the blazing crown of plexiglass. The target's ego was turned to face him. As Nick approached, he could see the ego's features. He was Chinese, and the ego expressions on their faces were something of a nightmare. It smelled like roasting meat, and Nick could see that the lower part of his body was already on fire. He also saw why the man didn't try to get out. The ego was tied to the seat by hand and foot wires.
  
  
  "Help me!" the man shouted. "Get me out of here!"
  
  
  Nick's skin crawled for a moment. The voice belonged to Major Sollitz!
  
  
  There was a second explosion. Savchenko Nick threw back. He hoped the spare gas tank had killed Sollitz when it exploded. They thought it was true. The helicopter burned to the ground, the fiberglass buckling and splintering in the machine-gun roar of red-hot, exploding rivets. The flames melted the Lastotex mask, and the Chinese face sagged, then ran, revealing Major Sollitz's own feat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  res for a brief second before they too melted away and were replaced by a charred skull.
  
  
  Candy sat a few feet away from Nah, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "What happened?" she said in a shaky voice. "It looks like he was aiming sincerely at you."
  
  
  Nick shook his head. "On autopilot," he said. "He was just there as an offering." And a Chinese mask, he thought to himself , just another false clue in case Nick survived. He turned to her. "Let's see what you found."
  
  
  Without a word, she led Ego down the embankment to where the oilcloth bundle lay. "You'll need a knife," she said. She looked back at the burning wreckage, and he saw a hint of fear in her wide-set blue eyes. "One in my purse."
  
  
  "You won't need it." He grabbed the oilcloth with both hands and pulled. It tore in his hands like wet paper. He had a knife with him, a stiletto named Hugo, but it remained sheathed inches above Ego's right wrist, waiting for more important tasks. "How did you accidentally stumble upon this?" he asked.
  
  
  The package included a short-range radio station AN / PRC-6 and a pair of powerful binoculars - 8x60 AO Jupiters. "The other day, it was half-sticking up around the water," she said. "Watch." She took the binoculars and took an ih to the launch pad, which was barely visible to him. He looked up ih. The powerful lenses brought the portal so close that he could see the crew members ' lips moving as they spoke to each other through their headphones. "The radio has fifty channels," she said, " and a range of about one mile. So whoever we were here, there were accomplices nearby. I think that ..."
  
  
  But he wasn't listening anymore. The Confederates... radio. Why hadn't he thought of that before? By itself, the autopilot could not so accurately bring the helicopter to the target. It was supposed to work like an unmanned aircraft. This meant that it had to be sent electronically, attracted by something they were wearing. Or carrying it... "Your wallet!" he suddenly said. "Come on!"
  
  
  The helicopter's engine shut down as he picked up his purse. He was still in ego's hand when he dove into the drainage ditch. He went down the embankment and Stahl looked for it in the muddy water. It took Emu about a minute to find him. He picked up his dripping purse and opened it. There, under lipstick, napkins, a pair of sunglasses, a pack of chewing gum, and a penknife, he found a twenty-ounce Talar transmitter.
  
  
  It was a type used for landing small planes and helicopters in zero visibility conditions. The transmitter sent out a rotating microwave beam, which was recorded by panel instruments connected to the autopilot. In this case, the landing point was on top of Nick Carter. Candy stared at the tiny device in Ego's palm. "But ... what is it?" she said. "How did it get there?"
  
  
  "You tell me. Did the wallet disappear from view today?"
  
  
  "No," she said. "At least I... wait, yes!" she suddenly exclaimed. "When I called you this morning ... it was on the kiosks on the Enterprise. That grocery store we passed on the way here. Her purse was left on the counter. When her exited through the kiosks, she noticed that it was moved aside by a clerk. At that time, she didn't think anything of it ... "
  
  
  "Let's go."
  
  
  This time he was driving. "The pilot was bound hand and foot," he said, sending the Julia racing down the highway. "So someone else had to lift this one by helicopter from the ground. This means that the third position of the transmitter has been set. Probably on the Enterprise. Let's hope we get there before they sort it out. My friend Hugo has some questions he wants to ask."
  
  
  Peterson brought the N3 security devices with him from Washington. They were waiting for Nick in a fake-bottom suitcase at the Twins. Hugo in the stiletto was now up his sleeve. Wilhelmina, a stripped-down Luger, was slung in a convenient holster at her waist, and Pierre, a deadly gas pellet, was hiding with several of his closest relatives in a waist pocket. Chief Operative TOPOR was dressed to kill.
  
  
  Gas station-grocery store closed. There was no sign of life inside. Or anywhere in the World, for that matter. Nick glanced at his watch. It was only ten o'clock. "Not very adventurous," he said.
  
  
  Candy shrugged. "I don't understand. They were open when I was here at eight." Nick walked around the building, feeling the heat of the sun on him, sweating. It has passed mimmo fruit processing workshops and several tanks for food, oil. Boats and drying nets were overturned at the edge of the dirt road. The ramshackle embankment was quiet, suffocated by a pall of humid heat.
  
  
  Suddenly he stopped, listened, and quickly stepped into the dark ledge of the overturned hull, Wilhelmina in his hand. Shaggy approached at right angles. They reached their loudest point, then began to retreat. Nick looked out. Two men with heavy electronic equipment were moving between the boats. They went out through the ego's field of vision, and for a moment her
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  After he heard the car door open and close. He crawled out from under the boat, then froze ...
  
  
  They were coming back. Nick disappeared back into the shadows. This time, he got a good look at ih. The one in charge was a short, thin man with a blank, hooded stare. The hulking giant behind him had gray hair cut short to a bullet-shaped head, and a tanned face covered in pale freckles.
  
  
  Dexter. Next-door neighbor Pat Hammer, who said he worked in Connelly Aviation's electronic control division.
  
  
  Electronic guidance. An unmanned helicopter. The equipment that the two of them had just brought to the car. It worked out.
  
  
  N3 gave them a good head start, then followed them, trying to keep the items between them. The two men descended the stairs and came out on a small, weathered wooden dock that sloped twenty yards into the bay on shell-studded stilts. A web boat was moored to the ego end. Diesel shrimp trawler with wide beams. Cracker Boy, Enterprise, Florida, read the black lettering on the stern. The two men climbed aboard, opened the hatch, and disappeared below deck.
  
  
  Nick turned around. Candy was a few yards behind him. "You'd better wait here," he warned her. "Maybe fireworks."
  
  
  He raced along the dock, hoping to reach the wheelhouse before they got back on deck. But this time the emu was out of luck. Dexter's bulky form filled the hatchway as he leapt over the gakomotor. The big man stopped dead in his tracks. In his hands was a complex electronic component. Ego's mouth dropped open. "Hey, I know you..." He glanced over his shoulder and started toward Nick. "Look, buddy, they made me do this," he croaked hoarsely. "They have my wife and children..."
  
  
  Something roared, slamming into Dexter with the force of a copra, spinning him around completely and sending him flying halfway across the deck. He ended up on his knees, the component collapsed to the side, his eyes completely white, his hands clutching ego guts, trying to keep ih from spilling out onto the deck. Blood ran down ego's fingers. He leaned forward slowly with a sigh.
  
  
  There was another splash of orange around the hatch, a chopping sound, and the blunt-faced man charged up the steps, bullets spraying wildly in all directions around the submachine gun in ego's hand. Wilhelmina was already out, and Killmaster fired two carefully placed bullets at him with such speed that the double thunder was like one long roar. For a moment, Hollowface stood up openly, then, like a straw man, he crumpled and fell awkwardly, his legs turning to rubber beneath him.
  
  
  N3 dropped the submachine gun around his arm and knelt down next to Dexter. Blood flowed from the big man's rta. It was light pink and very frothy. Ego's lips worked frantically, trying to form words. "... Miami... gonna blow it up..." he gurgled indistinctly. " ... kill them all... I know... I've been working on it... stop nu... while... My eyes drifted back to their more important work. His face relaxed.
  
  
  Nick straightened up. "Okay, let's talk about it," he said to the Blank Face. Ego's voice was calm, kind, but the gray eyes were green, dark green, and for a moment a shark swirled in the ih depths. Hugo came out from his hiding place. Ego, the evil ice pick snapped.
  
  
  Killmaster turned the gunslinger over with his foot and crouched down next to him. Hugo cut open the front of his shirt, not caring too much about the bony, yellowish flesh underneath. The hollow-faced man started. Ego's eyes were wet, which hurt. Hugo found a spot at the base of the man's bare neck and lightly stroked it. "Now," Nick smiled. "Name, please."
  
  
  The man pursed his lips. Ego's eyes closed. Hugo bit his knobby neck. The" ugh! " sound escaped through ego's throat, and ego's shoulders tightened. "Eddie Biloff," he croaked.
  
  
  "Where are you from, Eddie?"
  
  
  "Las Vegas".
  
  
  "I thought you looked familiar. You're the one around the Sierra Inn boys, aren't you?" Biloff closed his eyes again. Hugo made a slow, neat zigzag at the bottom of life. Blood began to seep out around the tiny slits and pricks. Biloff wasn't exactly making human noises. "Isn't that right, Eddie?" The target's ego jerked up and down convulsively. "Tell me, Eddie, what are you doing here in Florida? And what did Dexter mean by blowing up Miami? Says Eddie, or die slowly." Hugo reached under the skin flap and began to examine it.
  
  
  Biloff's exhausted body writhed. Blood bubbled, mixing with the sweat coming out of every pore. Ego's eyes flew open. "Ask her," he breathed, looking at Nick's mimmo. "She arranged it..."
  
  
  Nick turned around. Candy sat behind him, smiling. Smoothly, exquisitely, she lifted her white miniskirt. Underneath, she was naked except for a flat .22-caliber plate that was also attached to the inside of her thigh.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, boss,"she smiled. The gun was now in her hand and pointed at him. Slowly, her finger tightened on the trigger ...
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  She pressed the gun to her shoulder to soften the recoil. "You
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  you can close your eyes if you want."
  
  
  It was the Astra Cub, a miniature twelve-ounce model with a three-inch barrel, powerful at short ranges, and by far the flattest shotgun N3 had ever seen. "You made a smart move when you went to Houston disguising yourself as Eglund," she said. "Sollitz wasn't ready for this. Hers, too. So I couldn't warn ego that you weren't really Egglund. As a result, he panicked and put a bomb. In this ego utility ended. Your career, dear Nicholas, must also end. You've gone too far, you know too much ... "
  
  
  He saw her finger begin to pull the trigger. A split second before the drummer hit the cartridge, he threw himself backwards. It was an instinctive animal process - to move away from the shot, to imagine as small a target as possible. A sharp pain seared Ego's left shoulder as he rolled over on his side. But he knew that he had succeeded. The pain was localized-a sign of a minor wound on the skin.
  
  
  He was breathing heavily as the water closed in on him.
  
  
  It was warm and smelled of rotting things, vegetable foam, crude oil, and dirt that gave off putrid gas bubbles. As he slowly sank into nah, he felt an inner rage that the girl had deceived him so easily. "Take my purse," she said to em as the helicopter took aim at the target. And that fake oilcloth bundle she'd buried just a few hours ago. It was like all the other fake evidence she planted and then ego joins in-first at Bali High and then at Pat Hammer's bungalow.
  
  
  It was a subtle, elegant plan based on a razor blade. She aligned each part of her mission with her own ego, putting together a setup in which N3 took his place as obediently as if he were under her direct orders. Rage was useless, but he let it get the better of him anyway, and I know it will clear the way for the cold, calculating work to come.
  
  
  A heavy object hit the surface above him. He looked up. He was floating on muddy water, black smoke streaming around the middle of his ego. Dexter. She threw the ego overboard. The second body was sprayed. This time Nick saw silver bubbles, as well as black strings of blood. My arms and legs didn't move very well. Eddie Biloff was still alive.
  
  
  Nick crept up to him, his chest tightening with the strain of holding his breath. He had more questions for the Las Vegas area. But first, he had to get the ego to a place where it could respond to them. Thanks to yoga, Nick still has two, maybe three minutes of air sampling left in his lungs. Byloff will be lucky if he has three seconds left.
  
  
  A long metal figure hung above them in the & nb. Keel Cracker Boy. The hull was an indistinct shadow spreading out over it in both directions. They waited for the shadow to continue, gun in hand, peering into the water. He didn't dare come up, not even under the dock. Biloff can shout, and she's sure to hear the ego.
  
  
  Then he remembered the concave space between the hull and the propeller. Usually, an air pit could be found there. Ego's hand closed around Biloff's waist. He fought his way through the milky turbulence left by the other man's descent until ego gol hit the keel gently.
  
  
  He groped cautiously for it. When he reached the big brass screw, he grabbed the ego edge with his free hand and reached up. The ego goal surfaced. He took a deep breath, choking on the stinky, oil-smelling air trapped above him. Biloff coughed and squelched sideways. Nick struggled to keep the other man's mouth above the water. There was no danger of ih being overheard. A couple of tons of wood and metal hung on the deck between them and the girl. The web danger was that it might decide to start the engine. If that had happened, both of them could have been sold for a pound - like minced meat.
  
  
  Hugo was still in Nick's hand. Now he earned some money by dancing a small jig inside Ran Biloff. "You're not done yet, Eddie, not yet. Tell me all about it, everything you know..."
  
  
  The dying bandit spoke up. He talked nonstop for almost ten minutes. And when he finished, N3's face was grim.
  
  
  He made a bony knot around his middle joint and squeezed the ego into Biloff's larynx. He didn't relent. Ego's name was Killmaster. It was an ego thing to kill. The ego knuckle was like a garrote knot. He saw the recognition of death in Bylov's eyes. He heard the faint croak of a plea for mercy.
  
  
  He had no mercy.
  
  
  It took half a minute to kill the man.
  
  
  A series of meaningless vibrations flickered through the radio waves emanating from the complex receiver disassembly device in Room 1209 of the Gemini Hotel, like the voice of a Goshawk.
  
  
  "No wonder Rukhnala asked me to look after his daughter's ego," exclaimed the head of AX. Ego's voice was a little sour. "It's impossible to tell what this little fool got herself into. I began to suspect that everything was not as it should be when I received a report about this sketch of the Apollo life support system.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  You found a Hummer in the basement. It was a fake document taken from all over the country, which then appeared in almost every newspaper - "accidents".
  
  
  "Oh," Nick said, " not at the rheumatism Hawke said, but at Peterson's help. The man was still cleaning Emu's shoulder wound with a cotton swab soaked in some burning ointment. "Anyway, sir, he's pretty sure I know where to find her."
  
  
  Good. I think your new approach is rheumatism, " Hawke said. "The whole thing seems to be moving in that direction." He made a pause. "We're automated, but you'll still have to spend a couple of hours combing through the records. However, I'll ask someone to come over tonight. Your transportation must be arranged on site."
  
  
  "Peterson has already taken care of that," Nick replied. The man was apparently squirting something on his shoulder with a pressure can. The spray was icy at first, but it eased the pain, and gradually numbed my shoulder like novocaine. "The problem is that the girl already has a couple of hours ahead of me," he added sourly. "Everything was very neatly organized. We went in her car. So I had to go back walking."
  
  
  "What about Doctor-San -?" said Hawk.
  
  
  "Peterson attached an electronic indicator light to his car before returning ego hey this morning," Nick said. "He followed her movements. They are quite normal. Now she's back at her job at the Space Center. To be honest, I think Joy Sun is a dead end." He didn't add that he was glad to see you.
  
  
  "And this person... what's the ego's name?.. Byloff, " Hawke said. "He didn't give you any additional information about the Miami threat?"
  
  
  "He told me everything he knew. Her confidence in it. But he was just a minor mercenary. However, there is another aspect to look out for," Nick added. "Peterson will work on it. He will start with the names of dependents who were involved in a bus accident, and then return to the ih husbands classes at the Space Center. Maybe this will give us an idea of what they have planned."
  
  
  Good. That's all for now, N3, " Hawk said decisively. "I'm going to be up to my ears in this mess in Sollitz for the next few days. Leaders will be rolled to the level of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for allowing this math class to rise so high."
  
  
  "Have you received anything from Eglund yet, sir?"
  
  
  "I'm glad you reminded me. We have. Looks like he caught Sollitz sabotaging a space environment simulator. It was suppressed and blocked, and then nitrogen was turned on." Hawk paused. "As for the major's motives for sabotaging the Apollo program," he added, " at present, it seems that ego was being blackmailed. We have a group that is currently checking ego security data. They found a number of inconsistencies regarding the POW's ego. record in the Philippines. Very minor things. I've never noticed it before. But it's an area they're going to focus on, see if it leads to anything."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mickey "Ice Man" Elgar-a plump, sallow-faced, flat-nosed brawler-mistletoe dour and unreliable-looking pool hall character, and the ego of the Swedes was bright enough to highlight the resemblance. So is the ego car - a red Thunderbird with tinted windows, a compass, large foam cubes hanging from the rearview mirror, and round extra-large brake lights flanking a kewpie doll in the rear window.
  
  
  Elgar roared all night on the Sunshine State Parkway, the radio tuned to a top-forty station. However, he wasn't listening to the music. On the seat next to him was a tiny transistor tape recorder that ran a wire to the plug in his ego ear.
  
  
  A male voice came over the wire, " You have installed a hood just released around the prison, who can have a lot of money without looking suspicious. Elgar meets all the requirements. A lot of people have to cut emu's work short, and he's the one who collects. He's also a gambling addict. There is only one thing to be careful about. Elgar was in a fairly close relationship with Reno Treh and Eddie Biloff a few years ago. So there may be others around Bali Hai who know the ego. We have a clear opportunity to find out - to us, what can be ih relation to it ".
  
  
  At that moment, another voice - Nick Carter's-intervened: "I have to take the risk," he said. "All I want to know is, has Elgar's cover been thoroughly worked out? I don't want anyone checking in and knowing that the real Elgar is still in the gym in Atlanta."
  
  
  "No chance of that," the first voice replied. "Ego was released today not when, and an hour later a couple of AXEmen stole ego."
  
  
  "Would I have a car and money so quickly?"
  
  
  "Everything has been carefully worked out, N3. Let me start with your face, and we will review the material together. Are you ready?"
  
  
  Mickey Elgar, aka Nick Carter, joined the voice of those on tape as they drove: "My home is Jacksonville, Florida. Her brothers and Menlo worked several jobs there. They owe me money. I'm not saying what happened to them, but the ih car is just like the money in my pocket. Its loaded, and I'm looking for action ... "
  
  
  Nick was playing
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  passes the feed through three more times. Then, as he flew across West Palm Beach and over the Lake Worth sidewalk, he disconnected the tiny coil with a single ring, put it in an ashtray, and held a Ronson lighter to it. The coil and abilities instantly burst into flames, leaving nothing but ash.
  
  
  He parked on Ocean Boulevard and walked the last three blocks to Bali High. The amplified roar of folk-rock elements could be heard through the curtained windows of the disco. Don Lee blocked the emu's path to the restaurant. The young Hawaiian's dimples didn't show this time. Ego's eyes were cold, and the look they gave Nick should have shone four inches down his back. "Side entrance, asshole," he hissed under his breath, after Nick gave em the password he'd gotten from Eddie Biloff's dying lips.
  
  
  Nick walked around the building. Just outside the metal-covered door, a figure sat waiting for ego. Nick realized that ego was a flat oriental face. It was the waiter who had served Ego and Hawk that first night. Nick gave em the password. The waiter was looking at him, his face expressionless. "I was told you knew where the action was going," Nick finally growled.
  
  
  The waiter nodded over his shoulder for Em to enter. The door slammed shut behind them. "Go ahead," the waiter said. This time, they didn't go through the ladies ' room, but reached a secret passage through a storeroom-like storage area opposite the kitchen. The waiter opened a steel door at the end of it and ushered Nick into the familiar cramped little office.
  
  
  This must be the person that Joy-san had told emu about, N3 thought. Johnny Hung is fat. And judging by the overflowing key chain he carried and the confident and authoritative way he moved around the office, he was more than just another waiter at Bali Hai.
  
  
  Nick remembered the brutal kick Candy had given him in the groin the night they'd been trapped here in the office. More acting, he thought.
  
  
  "This way, prease," Hung Fat said. Nick followed him into a long, narrow room with a two-way mirror. The rows of cameras and tape recorders were silent. Today, no film was shot along the slits. Nick stared through the infrared glass at the women adorned with elaborately bejeweled jewelry and the men with round, well-fed faces who sat smiling at each other in pools of soft ice, their lips moving in silent conversation.
  
  
  "Mrs. Burncastle," Hung Fat said, pointing to a middle-aged dowager wearing an ornate diamond pendant and sparkling chandelier earrings. "Nah house has seven hundred and fifty of these decorations. She's going to visit her daughter in Rime next week. The house will be wasted. But you need a reliable person. We're looking for revenue."
  
  
  Nick shook his head. "Not this kind of action," he growled. Its loaded. I'm looking for her gambling. Best bets". He watched them enter the restaurant through the bar. They were obviously at a disco. The waiter led ih to a corner table set slightly apart from the others. He brushed away the hidden signboard and leaned forward in all obsequiousness to carry out ih's order.
  
  
  Nick said, "I have a hundred G's" to play, and I don't want to break my parole by going to Las Vegas or the Bahamas. I want to be open here in Florida."
  
  
  "A hundred G's," Hung Fat said thoughtfully. "Welly is a big bet. I'll call her on the phone, see what I can do. Wait here in advance."
  
  
  The burnt rope around Rino Tree's neck had been carefully treated with powder, but it was still obvious. Especially when he turned his head. Then it gathered together like an old leaf. The ego scowl, the low-cut hairline even lower, accentuated the ego suit - black trousers, black silk shirt, immaculate white sweater with sleeves, with a belt, a gold wristwatch the size of a grapefruit slice.
  
  
  Candy couldn't seem to get enough of it. She was all around him, her wide-set blue eyes devouring him, her body rubbing against his like a hungry kitten. Nick found a number that matched the ih table and turned on the sound system. "... Please, baby, don't spoil me," Candy whined. "Hit me, yell at me, but don't freeze. You are welcome. I can handle anything but this."
  
  
  Reno pulled a pack of cigarette butts from around his pocket, shook out one, and lit it. He blew smoke through his nostrils in a thin misty cloud. "I gave you a mission," he croaked. "You screwed up."
  
  
  "Baby, I did everything you asked. I can't help that Eddie touched me."
  
  
  Reno shook his head. "You," he said. "You're the one who brought the guy straight to Eddie. It was just stupid." Calmly, unhurriedly, he pressed the lit cigarette to her hand.
  
  
  She drew in a sharp breath. Tears were streaming down her face. However, she didn't move, didn't hit him. "I know a lover. I deserve it, " she moaned. "I really let you down. Please find in your fold a dollar to forgive me..."
  
  
  Nick's life flinched at the disgusting little scene that had unfolded before his eyes.
  
  
  "Please don't move. Very quiet." The voice behind him lacked intonation, but
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  the gun, pressed hard against the ego's back, carries its own message, which is not easy to understand. Good. Take a step forward and slowly turn around with your hands outstretched in front of you."
  
  
  Nick did as the emu was told. Johnny Hyun Fat was surrounded by two gorillas. Big, fleshy non-Chinese gorillas, wearing button-down hats and ham-sized fists. "Keep your ego up, boys."
  
  
  One of them cuffed nen while the other ran his hands professionally over him, washing out the special .38 Colt Cobra that-according to Elgar's cover - was the only weapon Nick packed. "So," Hung Fat said. "Who are you? You're not Elgar because you don't know me. Elgar knows I don't sound like Charlie Chan. Besides, I owe her some money. If you really were an Ice Man, you would have slapped me in the face. for this purpose."
  
  
  "I was going to, don't worry," Nick said through gritted teeth. "I just wanted to get a feel for the situation first, he couldn't understand how you were acting, and that fake accent..."
  
  
  Hung Fat shook his head. "Nothing good, friend. Elgar had always been interested in the ice heist. Even when he had the dough. He couldn't resist the itch. Just don't add up." He turned to the gorillas. "Max, Teddy trampling Brownsville," he snapped. "Eighty percent for beginners."
  
  
  Max punched Nick in the jaw, and Teddy let Em hit him in the face. As he leaned forward, Max held up a tribe name. On the floor, he saw them move his alenka to his left leg, and braced himself for the next blows. He knew it would be bad. They were wearing soccer cleats.
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  He rolled over, struggled to his hands and knees, his target hanging to the ground like a dead animal. The floor was shaking. He smelled hot grease around his nostrils. He vaguely knew that he was alive, but he temporarily couldn't remember who he was, where he came from, or what had happened to him.
  
  
  He opened his eyes. The rain of red painfully pierced ego's skull. He moved his hand. The pain increased. So he lay still, watching the sharp reddish fragments flash by in front of his ego's eyes. He summed up the results. He could feel his legs and arms. He could move his head from side to side. He could see the metal coffin he was lying in. He could hear the steady roar of the engine.
  
  
  He was in some kind of moving object. Car trunk? No, too big, too smooth. Airplane. Vote and that's it. He could feel the faint ups and downs, that feeling of weightlessness that accompanied flying.
  
  
  "Teddy, take care of our friend," a voice said from somewhere to his right. "He's coming."
  
  
  Teddy. Maximum. Johnny Hung is fat. Now it's back to him. Brooklyn-style stomping. Eighty percent is the cruelest blow a person can take without breaking the ego bones. Rage gave the emu strength. He started to get to his feet ...
  
  
  A sharp pain flashed in the back of his head, and he threw himself forward into the darkness that rose up from the floor.
  
  
  It seemed like the ego was gone, for a moment, but it should have lasted longer. As consciousness slowly seeped back, all at once, he found himself walking around the metal coffin and sitting strapped in a chair of some sort inside a large glass sphere tied with steel pipes.
  
  
  The sphere hung at least fifty feet above the ground in a huge cavernous chamber. Walls of computers lined the far wall, making soft musical sounds like children's roller-skating toys. Men in white coats who looked like surgeons were working on them, pushing switches, loading reels of tape. Other men with headphones and dangling forks stood looking at Nick. Around the edges of the room sat a collection of strange - looking devices-rotating chairs that looked like giant kitchen blenders, tilting tables, egg drums of disorientation that rotated on multiple axes at fantastic speeds, heat chambers that looked like steel saunas, exercise unicycles, Aqua-EVA simulation pools built around canvas and wire.
  
  
  One of the white-uniformed figures connected a microphone to the console in front of him and spoke. Nick could hear ego's voice, tiny and distant, slipping into ego's ear... Thank you for volunteering. The idea is to test how much vibration the human body can withstand. High-speed rotation and somersault when returning can change the position of a person. a man's liver is a full six inches ... "
  
  
  If Nick could hear this person, then maybe... " Get me out of here!" he roared at the top of his voice.
  
  
  "...There are certain changes in zero gravity, " the voice continued without pause. "The blood vessels, the walls of the veins are softening. Bones secrete calcium into the blood. There are serious shifts in the level of fluid in the body, muscle weakening. However, it is unlikely that you will reach this point."
  
  
  The chair began to turn slowly. Now it started to pick up speed. At the same time, it began to sway up and down with increasing force. "Remember that you control the mechanism yourself," said the voice in the ego's ear. "This is the button under the left index finger. When you feel that you have reached the limit of your stamina, tap sl. The movement will stop. Thanks
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  again for volunteering. Communication thread"
  
  
  Nick pressed the button. Nothing happened. The chair spun faster and faster. The vibrations increased. The universe became a chaos of unbearable motion. Ego, the brain crumbled under the terrible onslaught. There was a hum in ego's ears, and over it he heard another sound. Ego's own voice, screaming in agony against the destructive shaking. Ego's thumb hit the button again and again, but there was no reaction, just a buzzing in his ears and the bites of the straps tearing his body to pieces.
  
  
  Ego screams turned into screams as the attack on ego senses continued. He closed his eyes in agony, but it didn't help. The very cells of the ego brain, the blood corpuscles, seemed to throb, bursting into a growing crescendo of pain.
  
  
  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure stopped. He opened his eyes, but saw no change in the red-flecked darkness. Ego, brain pounding inside the skull, muscles of the face and body shaking uncontrollably. Gradually, little by little, the ego, the feelings began to return to normal. The red flashes turned crimson, then green, and then disappeared. The background blended with them in ever-increasing lightness, and something pale and still shone through the haze of ego-damaged vision.
  
  
  It was a face.
  
  
  A thin, dead face with dead gray eyes and a wild scar on its neck. The mouth moved. Nen said, " Is there anything else you want to tell us? Anything you forgot?"
  
  
  Nick shook his head, and then it was nothing but a long, deep dive into the darkness. He surfaced once, briefly, only to feel the faint ups and downs of the cool metal floor beneath him and know that he was in the air again; then the darkness spread before his eyes like the wings of a large bird, and he felt a cold, sticky stream of air sampling on his face and knew what it was - death.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He was awakened by a scream - a terrible, inhuman scream around hell.
  
  
  The ego response was an automatic, animal response to danger. He hit it with his hands and feet, rolled to the left, and landed on his feet in a half-crouch, the ego rings of his right hand closing around the gun that wasn't there.
  
  
  He was naked. And alone. The bedroom has thick white carpeting and Kelly-colored satin furniture. He was looking in the direction the noise was coming from. But there was nothing there. Nothing that moved inside or out.
  
  
  Late morning sunlight streamed in through the arched windows at the far end of the room. Outside, palm trees hung limp from the heat. The sky was a pale, blurry blue for ihk, and the holy light was reflected back in blinding flashes, as if the ego of the surface was being played with mirrors. Nick carefully scanned the bathroom and dressing room. After making sure that there was no danger lurking behind him, he returned to the bedroom and stood there, frowning. Everything was very quiet, then suddenly there was a sharp, hysterical scream that woke ego.
  
  
  He crossed the room and looked out the window. The cage was sitting on the terrace below. Nick smiled grimly. Myna bird! He watched it hop back and forth, its oily black plumage ruffling. At the sight of this, another bird returned to him. With it came the smell of death, pain, and-in a series of vivid, razor-sharp images-everything that had happened to him. He looked down at his body. We have marks on nen And the pain is gone. But he automatically cringed at the thought of further punishment.
  
  
  A new perspective on torture, he thought grimly. Twice as effective as the old one, because you recovered so quickly. No consequences other than dehydration. He stuck out his iso rta tongue, and immediately a sharp chloral hydrate twist broke out. This ego made me wonder how long he had been here and where "here"was. He felt movement behind him and spun around, tensing, ready to defend himself.
  
  
  "Good morning, sir. I hope you're feeling better."
  
  
  The butler was making his way through the heavy white carpet with a tray in his hand. He was young and healthy, with eyes like gray pebbles, and Nick noticed the distinctive bulge under his ego jacket. Nen was wearing a shoulder strap. On the tray was a glass of orange juice and a Mickey Elgar wallet. "You dropped this last night, sir," the butler said softly. "I think you'll find that everything is there."
  
  
  Nick gulped down his juice. "Where is she?" he demanded.
  
  
  The butler didn't bat an eye. "Go ahead, sir. Alexander Simian's estate in Palm Adversity. You were washed up on the beach last night."
  
  
  "Washed up on the beach!"
  
  
  "Yes, sir. I'm afraid your boat has been wrecked. It ran aground on a reef." He turned to leave. "I'll tell Mr. Simian that you're up. A couple of Swedes are in the closet, sir. We wrung out the ee, though I'm afraid the salt water, hey, didn't help." The door closed silently behind him.
  
  
  Nick opened his wallet. A hundred clear portraits of Grover Cleveland were still there. He opened the closet and found himself looking in the full-length mirror on the inside of the bed. Mickey E
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Igar was still there. Yesterday's "training session" didn't bother us a hair. When he looked at himself, he once again felt a sense of admiration for the Editor's lab. The new, flesh-like plastic silicone masks may be uncomfortable to wear, but they are reliable. Ih could not be removed by any movement, scratching or smearing. Only hot water and know-how could do this.
  
  
  His suit smelled faintly of salt water. Nick frowned as he dressed. So was the shipwreck story true? The rest is a nightmare? A face in Reno, Three blurs blurred in focus. Is there anything else you want to tell us?" This was the standard of interrogation. Ego was used against someone who had just come up. The idea was to convince ih that they had already said that there were only a few items left to fill out. Nick wasn't going to fall for it. He knew he hadn't spoken. He had been in this business for too long; his ego training was too thorough.
  
  
  A voice boomed in the corridor outside. Shaggy was approaching. The door opened and a familiar head, a bald eagle on huge stooped shoulders, leaned over it. Simian purred merrily. "Ready to play some poker? My partner, Mr. Tree, told me that you like to play big."
  
  
  Nick nodded. "That's right"
  
  
  "Then follow me, Mr. Elgar, follow me."
  
  
  Simian strode quickly down the hall and down the wide staircase surrounded by cast stone pillars, shaggy domineering egos ringing in the Spanish tiles. Nick followed, his eyes busy, his ego's photographic memory recording every detail. They crossed the first-floor reception area with a twenty-foot-high ceiling and passed through a series of galleries with gilded columns. Everything on the Internet hanging on the walls was famous, mostly it was on the Internet of the Italian Renaissance School, and the uniformed GKI police noticed something and assumed that they were originals, not printouts.
  
  
  They went up another flight of stairs, through a museum-like room filled with glass cases of coins, plaster, and bronze statuettes on pedestals, and Simian pressed his navel to little David and Goliath. A section of the wall slid noiselessly aside, and he motioned for Nick to enter.
  
  
  Nick did so and found himself in a damp concrete hallway. Simian walked past him as the panel closed. He opened the door.
  
  
  The room was dark, filled with cigar smoke. The only holy light came from a single green-shaded light bulb that now hung a few feet above a large round table. There were three sleeveless men sitting at the table. The Odin around them looked up. "Are you going to play, tailor take it?" he snarled at Simian. "Or are you going to wander around everywhere?" It was a bald, stocky man with pale fishy eyes that now turned to Nick, and rested for a moment on his face, as if trying to find a place to insert it.
  
  
  "Mickey Elgar, Jacksonville," Simian said. "It's going to land in your hand."
  
  
  "Not until we're done here, just one more," Fisheye said. "You." He pointed at Nick. "Move there and keep your trap closed."
  
  
  But now the ego is known. Irwin Spang, from the old Sierra Inn crowd, was one of the leaders of Syndicate, a sprawling nationwide criminal organization operating at every level of business, from vending machines and loan sharks to the stock market and Washington politics.
  
  
  "I thought you'd be ready for a break," Simian said, sitting down and picking up his cards.
  
  
  The fat man next to Spang laughed. It was a dry laugh that made his big, slack-jawed egos shake. Ego's eyes were unusually small and tightly closed. Sweat trickled down Ego's face, and he ran a twisted handkerchief through the inside of his collar. "We'll take a break, Alex, don't worry," he croaked hoarsely. "Rather, how we squeezed you dry."
  
  
  The voice was as familiar to Nick as it was to Ego. The fourteen days he had testified before the Senate Fifth Amendment Committee ten years earlier had made ego as famous as the voice of Donald Duck, which he crudely resembled. Sam "Bronco" Barone is another syndicate director known as The Enforcer.
  
  
  Nick collected the saliva in his mouth. He began to think that he was safe, that the masquerade had worked. They didn't break the ego, they didn't fall for Elgar's mask. He even imagined himself walking out of this room. Now he knew it would never happen. He saw an "Enforcer", a man who is usually considered dead or hiding in his native Tunis. He saw Irwin Spang in an ego company (a connection that the federal government can never prove), and he saw both men in the same room as Alex Simian - a sight that made Nick the most important witness in US criminal history.
  
  
  "Let's go play poker," said the fourth man at the table. He was a dapper, tanned ghost from Madison Avenue. Nick realized what ego was doing at the Senate hearing. Dave Roscoe, lead lawyer for the Syndicate.
  
  
  Nick watched them play. Bronco went through four hands in a row, and then got three queens. He opened it, pulled, but not Stahl better, and got out. Simian won with two pairs, and the Bronco showed its first positions. Spang stared at hi
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  M. "What, Sam?" he growled. "You don't like winning? You were overpowered by Alexa's stand-ins."
  
  
  Bronco smiled grimly. "It wasn't enough for my money," he croaked. "I want a big one when I catch an Alexa purse."
  
  
  Simian frowned. Nick felt the tension around the chair. Spang turned in his chair. "Hey, Red," he croaked. "Let's get some air."
  
  
  Nick turned, surprised to see three more figures in the darkened room. Around them, Odin was a bespectacled man with a green visor. He was sitting at a desk in the dark, with a calculating machine in front of him. The others were in Reno, Tree and Clint Sands, the head of the GCI police. Sands stood up and pressed the light switch. A blue haze began to rise toward the ceiling, then disappeared as it was sucked into the exhaust vent. Reno Tree sat with his hands on the back of his chair, looking at Nick with a small smile on his lips.
  
  
  Bronco missed two or three more hands, then he saw a thousand-dollar bet and raised it by the same amount that Spang and Dave Roscoe had leveled and Simian had raised a thousand. Bronco raised two G's. Dave Roscoe turned the corner and Spang saw it. Simian gave em another G. It looked like this was what Bronco had been waiting for. "Ha!" He inserted four G's.
  
  
  Spang stepped back, and Simian gave Bronco an icy look. Bronco grinned at emu. Everyone in the room started to hold their breath.
  
  
  "No," Simian said grimly, and threw down his cards. "I'm not going to be dragged into this."
  
  
  Bronco laid out his cards. The best thing he had was a high ten. Simian's expression was grim and angry. Bronco started laughing.
  
  
  Suddenly Nick knew what he was up to. There are three ways to play poker, and Bronco played third-against the person who wants to win the most. He's the one who usually overplays. The need to win closes the ego's luck. Make him angry and he's dead.
  
  
  "What does that mean, Sydney?" Bronco croaked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
  
  
  The man at the counting machine turned on the saint and tabulated some numbers. He tore off the tape and handed it to Reno. "That's twelve hundred G less than he owes you, Mr. B," Reno said.
  
  
  "We're getting there," Bronco said. "By the year 2000, we will be settled."
  
  
  "All right, I'm leaving," Dave Roscoe said. "I have to stretch my legs."
  
  
  "Why don't we all take a break?" Spang said. "Give Alex a chance to scrape together some money." He nodded at Nick. "You're right on time, buddy."
  
  
  The three around them walked out through the rooms, and Simian pointed to a chair. "You're an action hotel," he said to Nick. "Sit down." Reno Tree and Red Sands came out in the shade and sat down on chairs on either side of him. "Ten-G is a chip. Any objections?" Nick shook his head. "Business, then."
  
  
  Ten minutes later, the ego was cleaned out. But at last everything became clear. All the missing keys were there. All the answers he wanted and didn't even know it.
  
  
  There was only one problem - how to leave with this knowledge and live. Nick decided that the direct approach was better. He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Well, vote and that's it," he said. "Its deflated. I think I'll take it."
  
  
  Simian didn't even look. He was too busy counting the Cleavelands. "Of course, "he said. When you want to drop another bundle, contact me. Reno, Red, near ego."
  
  
  They spent an ego a day and did it-literally.
  
  
  The last thing Nick saw was Rino's hand turning quickly toward the heads ' egos. There was a brief feeling of sickening pain, and then darkness.
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  He was there, waiting for him as he slowly regained consciousness. One web thought that lit up the ego's brain with a sensation that was almost physical-escape. Emu had to run.
  
  
  This completed the collection of information. It's time to act.
  
  
  He lay perfectly still, disciplined by the training that was imprinted even on the ego of the sleeping mind. In the darkness, the ego's senses pulled out tentacles. They began a slow, methodical study. He was lying on wooden planks. It was cold, damp, and draughty. The air smelled of the sea. He could hear the faint patter of water on stilts. Ego his sixth sense told him that he was in a hall, in a room that wasn't very large.
  
  
  He flexed his muscles gently. It wasn't connected. The eyelids of ego's eyes flew open as abruptly as the camera's articular ones, but neither eye was looking into rheumatism. It was dark-night. He forced himself to stand up. Moonlight shone faintly through the window to the left. He got to his feet and walked over to him. The frame was bolted to the molding. There were rusty bars across the ego. He walked softly to the door, tripped over a loose board, and almost fell. The door was locked. It was solid, old-fashioned. He could have tried kicking it, but he knew the noise would make ih run.
  
  
  He came back and knelt on the loose board. It was two-by-six, raised half an inch at one end. He found a broken broomstick in the dark nearby and worked the board further. It ran from the middle of the floor to the baseboard. Ego's hand found Ben
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  on nen, having stumbled on rubble. Nothing more. Even better, the gap under the floor, and what looked like the ceiling of the other room below, was quite deep. Deep enough to hide the person.
  
  
  He went to work, tuning part of his mind to external noises. The Emu had to lift two more boards before it could slip under them. It was a little cramped, but he managed it. The emu then had to lower the planks by pulling on the exposed nails. Inch by inch they descended, but they couldn't have pressed themselves to the floor. He hoped the shock would interfere with a closer inspection of the room.
  
  
  As he lay in the cramped darkness, he thought about playing poker and the desperation with which Simian played with his ego hand. It was more than just a game. Every step on the menu was almost a matter of life and death. Odin was around the richest people in the world - but he craved Nick's paltry hundreds of dollars with a passion born not of greed, but of desperation. Perhaps even fear ...
  
  
  Nick's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. He listened, his muscles tensed, ready for action. There was a moment of silence. Then his feet scraped sharply on the wooden floor. They ran down the corridor outside and down the stairs. They stumbled briefly, recovered. A door slammed somewhere below.
  
  
  Nick lifted the floorboards. He slid out from under them and jumped to his feet. The door slammed against the wall as he pushed it open. Then he was at the head of the stairs, going down them in big leaps, three at a time, not bothering about the noise because Teddy's loud, panicked voice on the phone was solving ego research problems.
  
  
  "I'm not kidding, take the tailor, he's gone," the gorilla shouted into the mouthpiece. "Get the guys over here-quick." He hung up, turned around, and the lower half of their egos practically fell off. Nick lunged forward with the last step, the fingers of his right hand tightening and tightening.
  
  
  Gorilla's hand hit ego on the shoulder, but wavered in midair as N3's fingers sank into ego's diaphragm just below the sternum. Teddy was standing with his legs apart and arms outstretched, sucking in oxygen, and Nick clenched his hand into a fist and punched his ego. He heard his teeth snap and the man fell sideways, hit the floor, and froze. Blood flowed through the ego of the rta. Nick leaned over him, pulled the Smith & Wesson Terrier out of its holster, and ran to the door.
  
  
  The houses cut Ego off from the highway, and from that direction, shaggy sounds rang out in the grounds. Mimmo Ego's ear boomed a gunshot. Nick turned around. He saw the bulky shadow of a boathouse on the edge of the breakwater about two hundred yards away. He started toward it, low-lying, crouching and twisting as if he were running across a battlefield.
  
  
  A man came out around the front entrance. He was in uniform and carrying a rifle. "Stop ego!" a voice shouted from behind Nick. The GCI guard started to raise his rifle. The S&W shuddered twice in Nick's hand with a roar, and the man spun around, the rifle flying out of his hands.
  
  
  The boat's engine was still warm. The guard must have just returned from patrol. Nick leaned back and pressed the starter button. The engine immediately caught fire. He opened the throttle wide. A powerful boat roared around the boathouse and crossed the bay. He could see tiny jets rising on the calm, moonlit surface in front of him, but he didn't hear the gunfire.
  
  
  As he neared the narrow entrance to the breakwater, he eased the throttle and turned the wheel to the left. The maneuver was carefully carried by ego. Outside, he turned the wheel completely, and the protective rocks of the breakwater were between him and the monkey estate. Then he opened the throttle wide again and headed north, toward the distant twinkling lights of Riviera Beach.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Simian is up to his ears in this," Nick said, " and works through Reno Tree and Bali Hai. And there's something else. I think he's broken and connected to the Syndicate."
  
  
  There was a brief silence, and then Hawke's voice came over the shortwave speaker in room 1209 of the Gemini Hotel. "You may well be right," he said. "But with this type of operator, it would take government accountants ten years to prove it. Simian's financial empire is a maze of complex transactions..."
  
  
  "Most of them are worthless," Nick finished. "This is a paper empire; I am convinced of it. The slightest push can overthrow it."
  
  
  "It's a mockery of what happened here in Washington," Hawke mused. Yesterday was not when Senator Kenton launched a devastating attack on Connelly Aviation. He talked about constant component changes, estimated costs that have tripled, and the company's inaction on security issues. And he vast country, NASA abandon Connelly and use the services of GKI for the program on the moon. instead of." "Of course, everyone on Capitol Hill knows that Kenton is in the hall in the back pocket of the GCI lobby, but in ego performances, there's sha
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  doesn't understand public trust very well. Connelly shares fell sharply on Wall Street yesterday."
  
  
  "These are all numbers," Nick said. "Simian is desperate to get a contract with Apollo. We are talking about twenty billion dollars. This is the amount that emus apparently need to recover their possessions."
  
  
  Hawk paused, thinking. Then he said: "There is one thing that we were able to verify. In Reno, Tri, Major Sollitz, Johnny Hung Fat, and Simian served in the same Japanese prisoner-of-war camp in the Philippines during the war. Three and Chinaman are mixed up in Simian's Fake Empire, and it is almost certain that Sollitz Stahl is a traitor in the camp and was later protected and then blackmailed by Simian when he was needed by emu. We still have to check it out."
  
  
  "And I still need to check out Hung Fat," Nick said. "I pray that he will come to a dead end, that he does not represent a connection with Beijing. I'll contact you as soon as I know."
  
  
  "Better hurry, N3. Time is running out," Hawk said. "As you know," Phoenix One is scheduled to launch in twenty-seven hours.
  
  
  The words took a few seconds to register. "Twenty-seven!" Nick exclaimed. "Fifty-one, isn't it?" But Hawke has already signed the contract.
  
  
  "You've lost twenty-four hours somewhere," said Hank Peterson, who was sitting across from Nick and listening. He glanced at his watch. "It's 15:00 now. You called me on the Riviera Disaster at 2: 00 a.m. and told me to pick you up. At that time, you were gone for fifty-one hours."
  
  
  These two plane rides, Nick thought, were torture. It happened there. Lost a whole day ...
  
  
  The phone rang. He picked it up. It was Joy San. "Look," Nick said, " I'm sorry I didn't call you, she was ..."
  
  
  "You're some kind of agent," she interrupted tensely, " and I understand you work for the U.S. government. So I have to show you something. He's currently at work at the NASA Medical Center. Merritt Island Center. Can you go straight here? "
  
  
  "If you give me permission at the gate," Nick said. Dr. Sun said she would be there and hung up. "You'd better put the radio away," he told Peterson, " and wait for me here. It won't be long."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "This is one of the training engineers," Dr. Sun said, leading Nick down the antiseptic corridor of the Medical Building. "It was delivered this morning, rambling incoherently about how the Phoenix One is equipped with a special device that will put the ego under external control at launch time. Everyone here treated him like a madman, but I thought you should see it, so I talked to him ... just in case ."
  
  
  She opened the door and stepped aside. Nick came in. The curtains were drawn, and a nurse sat on the bed, taking the patient's pulse. Nick looked at the man. Emu was in his forties and had turned gray early. The bridge of his nose showed signs of pinching his glasses. The nurse said, " He's resting now. Dr. Dunlap gave Emu an injection."
  
  
  Joy-san said: "That's all." And when the door closed behind the nurse, she muttered:: "Damn the tailor," and leaned over the man, forcing the ego to open its eyelids. The students swam through them, out of focus. "He can't tell us anything right now."
  
  
  Nick squeezed mimmo nah. "It's urgent." He pressed his thumb to the nerve in the man's temple. The pain made ego's eyes open. It seemed to revive him for a moment. "What is this Phoenix One guidance system?" Nick demanded.
  
  
  "My wife..." the man muttered. "They have mine... my wife and children... I know they're going to die... but I can't keep doing what they want me to do..."
  
  
  Wife and kids again. Nick looked around the room, saw the wall phone, and quickly went to it. He dials the number of the Gemini Hotel. There was something Peterson said to em on the way around Riviera Beach, something about this NASA dependant bus that crashed ... He was so busy trying to figure out Simian's financial situation that he was only half listening to " Room Twelve-oh-nine, please." After ten rings, the call was transferred to the chair. "Could you check room twelve-nine?" Nick said. "There must be rheumatism." My ego began to gnaw away at my anxiety. He told Peterson to wait there.
  
  
  "Is that Mr. Harmon?" The employee on duty used the name under which the Nickname was registered. Nick said it was. "Are you looking for Mr. Pierce?" It was Peterson's cover story. "I'm afraid you just missed him," Clera said. "He left a few minutes ago with two policemen."
  
  
  "Green uniforms, white safety helmets?" Nick said in a strained voice.
  
  
  "Actually. GKI forces. He didn't say when he'd be back. Can I see her?" .."
  
  
  Nick hung up. They got him.
  
  
  And because of Nick's own carelessness. Emu should have changed HQ, then after the Candy Corner Collapsed exploded emu in the face. However, in his haste to see things through to both ends, he forgot to do so. She determined that the ego was the enemy's location, and they sent a sweep team. Result: They had Peterson and possibly radio contact with AX.
  
  
  Joy San-was watching him. "It was the power of the GKI that you just described," she said. "They kept cl
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  For the past few days, I've been followed, followed to and from work. Its just talking to them. They want her to stop by HQ on her way home. They said they wanted to ask me some questions. Should she go? Are they working with you on this case? "
  
  
  Nick shook his head. "They're on the other side."
  
  
  A look of alarm crossed her face. She pointed at the man in the trash. "I told them about nen," she whispered. "I couldn't reach you at first, so I called them. Her hotel and learn about Jean's ego and kids..."
  
  
  "And they told you they were all right," Nick finished for Nah, feeling ice suddenly trickle down Ego's shoulders and fingertips. "They said they were at the HCI Medical Institute in Miami, so they were completely safe."
  
  
  "Yes, that's right..."
  
  
  "Now listen carefully," he interjected, and began describing the large room filled with computers and space-testing devices where the ego was being tortured. "Have you ever seen or been to such a place?"
  
  
  "Yes, this is the top floor of the GKI Medical Institute," she said. "Section of aerospace research".
  
  
  He was careful not to let anything show on his face. He didn't want her to panic. "You'd better come with me," he said.
  
  
  She looked surprised. "Where to?"
  
  
  "Miami. I think we should investigate this Medical Institute. You know what to do inside. You can help me."
  
  
  "Can you come to my place first? I want it, I want to buy something."
  
  
  "No time," he said. They will wait for ih there. Cocoa-Happy was in the hands of the enemy.
  
  
  "I'll have to talk to the project director." She began to doubt it. "I'm on duty right now when the countdown started."
  
  
  "I wouldn't do that," he said calmly. The enemy also infiltrated NASA. "You'll have to believe my judgment," he added,"when I tell her that the fate of Phoenix One depends on what we do in the next few hours."
  
  
  The fate of not only the moon ship, but he didn't want to go into details. Emu returned Peterson's message: women and children who were injured in a car accident and are now being held hostage in the GKI Medical Center are in nen special operations. Peterson checked out her husbands ' jobs at NASA, and found that they all worked in the same division: electronic control.
  
  
  The closed room was unbearably hot, but it was a random image that brought sweat to Nick's forehead. An image of a three-stage Saturn 5 taking off and then wavering slightly as an external control took over, guiding the ego's payload of six million gallons of highly flammable kerosene and liquid oxygen to its new target, Miami.
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  The attendant was standing by the Lamborghini's open door, waiting for the maitre d ' to nod.
  
  
  He didn't get it.
  
  
  Don Lee's face looked "unqualified" as Nick Carter stepped out of the shadows into the circle of light under the Bali Hai sidewalk awning. Nick turned around, locking his hand with Joy San's, letting Lee get a good look at her. The maneuver had the desired effect. Lee's eyes paused for a moment in uncertainty.
  
  
  The two around them moved toward him. Tonight, N3 face was his own ego, as were the deadly paraphernalia he carried with him: Wilhelmina in a comfortable waist holster, Hugo in a scabbard inches above Ego's right wrist, and Pierre and a few of his closest relatives snuggled up in the waist pocket.
  
  
  Lee glanced at the notebook in his hand. "Name, sir?" It was an unnecessary task. He knew perfectly well that this name wasn't on the ego list.
  
  
  "Harmon," Nick said. "Sam Harmon."
  
  
  The rheumatism came instantly. "I don't believe I see..." Hugo slipped out of his hiding place, the ego blades of a vicious ice pick blade groped for life, you know. "Ah, yes, it's time to vote," the maitre d ' breathed, trying hard to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Mr. and Mrs. Hannon." The escort got behind the wheel of the Lamborghini and turned Ego into the parking lot.
  
  
  "Let's go to your office," Nick croaked.
  
  
  "This way, sir." He led ih through the foyer, mimmo dressing room, snapping his fingers at the mate. "Lundi, take the door."
  
  
  As they moved along the leopard-striped banquettes, Nick muttered in Lee's ear, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.": "I know about two-way mirrors, the other one, so don't try to do anything. Act for estestvenno - as if you're showing us a chair."
  
  
  The office was in the back, near the service entrance. Lee opened the door and stepped aside. Nick shook his head. "You first." The maitre d ' shrugged and went in, and they followed. Nick's eyes scanned the room, searching for other entrances, anything suspicious or potentially dangerous.
  
  
  This was the "exhibition" office where Bali Hai's legitimate activities were conducted. There was a white carpet on the floor, a black leather sofa, a curved chair with Calder's cell phone above it, and a free-form glass coffee table in front of the sofa.
  
  
  Nick locked the door behind him and leaned against it. Ego's gaze returned to the couch. Joy San's eyes followed him, and she blushed. It was a celebrity couch, Havin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  g plays a supporting role in the now famous pornographic photo.
  
  
  "What do you want?" Don Lee demanded. "Money?"
  
  
  Nick crossed the room in a swift, cold wind. Before Lee could move, Nick swung a quick left scythe across the throat with the edge of his arm. When you folded in half, he added two hard hooks - a left hook and a right hook - to his solar plexus. The Hawaiian fell forward, and Nick picked up each tribe. The man fell like a sack of slate. "So," said N3. "I want answers, and time is running out." He dragged Lee over to the couch. "Let's say I know all about Johnny Hung Fat, in Reno, Tree, and the operation you're doing here. Let's start with that."
  
  
  Lee shook his head, trying to clear it. Blood made dark, writhing lines on his chin. "I built this place around nothing," he said dully. "I was a slave day and night, invested all my money in it. In the end, it achieved what the hotel did - and then lost it." Ego's face twisted. "Gambling. I've always loved it. Her sunset into debt. I had to get other people involved."
  
  
  "The syndicate?"
  
  
  Lee nodded. "They let me stay on as a nominee owner, but that's ih of the job. Absolutely fantastic. I don't have the right to vote. You've seen what they've done to this place."
  
  
  "In that secret office in the back," Nick said, " she was found with microdots and photographic equipment that indicated a connection to Red China. Is there anything in it?"
  
  
  Lee shook his head. "It's just some game they're playing. I do not know why - they don't tell me anything."
  
  
  "What about Hyun Fat? Is there a possibility that he might be a red agent?"
  
  
  Lee laughed, then clenched his jaw at the sudden pain. "Johnny is strictly a capitalist," he said. "He is an excellent fraudster, a trusting person. Selfishness is Chiang Kai-shek's treasure. He must have sold emu five million cards in every Chinatown of a big city."
  
  
  "I want to talk to him," Nick said. "Call the ego here."
  
  
  "I'm already here, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  Nick turned around. The flat oriental face was impassive, almost bored. One hand covered Joy-San's mouth, the other held a switchblade. The tip rested against her carotid artery. At the slightest movement, it pierced her. "Of course, we also bugged the office of Donna Lee." Hyun Fat's lips smiled. "You know how cunning we Easterners can be."
  
  
  Behind him was Reno Tree. What had been a solid wall was now a door. The dark wolf-faced bandit turned and closed the door behind him. The door was so flush with the wall that you couldn't see our line, our wallpapering line, for more than a meter away. However, at the bottom of the baseboard, the connection was not so perfect. Nick cursed himself for not noticing the thin vertical line in the white paint of the baseboard.
  
  
  In Reno, the Three slowly moved toward Nick, eyes glittering as they drilled holes. "You move, we kill her," he said simply. He pulled out a twelve-inch piece of soft, flexible wire and tossed it on the floor in front of Nick. "Pick it up, "he said. Good. Now turn around, hands behind your back. Tie up your thumb."
  
  
  Nick slowly turned around, I know that the first hint of a misstep will send a switchblade plunging into Joy San's throat. Behind ego, his fingers twisted the wire, making a small double bow, and waited.
  
  
  The Reno Tree was good. Perfect killer: brain and sinew cat, stack dollar machine. He knew all the intrigues of the game. For example, force the victim to bind themselves. This left the bandit at large, out of reach, and the victim occupied and caught off guard. It was difficult to defeat this man.
  
  
  "Lie face down on the couch," Reno Tree said firmly. Nick walked over to him and bench press, hope starting to fade. He knew what was coming next. "Legs," the Tree said. With this bundle, you could tie a person with a six-inch cord. This will hold the ego more securely than breaking and handcuffing.
  
  
  He bent his knees and lifted his leg, pressing it against the crotch formed by the bent knee of the other leg, all the while trying to find a way out. Did not have. The tree moved after him, grabbing ego's raised leg with lightning speed, pinning it down hard so that the other foot hit the back of his calf and thigh. With his other hand, he lifted Nick's wrists and hooked them around his raised leg. Then he eased the pressure on that foot, and it bounced off the thumb tie, so that Nick's hands and feet were painfully, hopelessly locked together.
  
  
  Reno Tree laughed. "Don't worry about the wire, other. The sharks will cut through it."
  
  
  "They need an incentive, Reno." Hung Fat said it. "A little blood, you know what I mean?"
  
  
  "How's that for a start?"
  
  
  The impact seemed to crush Nick's skull. When he lost consciousness, he could feel the blood flowing down ego's nasal tubes and suffocating ego with its warm, salty, metallic taste. He tried to restrain it, to stop the ego flow by sheer force of will, but of course he couldn't. It came out through the nose, iso rta, even around the ears. This time he was finished, and he knew it.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  At first he thought
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  He was in & nb sailed away. Deep water. Exit. The ocean has an outdoor activity, a body that a swimmer can really feel. You rise and fall with him, like a woman. Movement calms, gives rest, unravels all the knots.
  
  
  The way he felt now, only when the pain in his lower back became unbearable. And it had nothing to do with swimming.
  
  
  Ego's eyes flew open. He wasn't lying face down anymore.. He was lying on his back. The room was dark. Ego's hands were still clasped with his thumbs. He could feel ih pain beneath him. But ego's legs were free. He spread the ih. Something still held ih captive. There are two things on the dell itself. Pants pulled down to the ankles, and something warm and soft and excruciatingly pleasant around the ego of life.
  
  
  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the silhouette of a woman's body moving expertly and wantonly above him, her hair swaying freely with each sinuous movement of her smooth hips and pointed breasts. In the air, Vitaly's perfume Candy Collapsed, and the breathless whisper that ignited ego, passion, too.
  
  
  It didn't make sense. He forced himself to stop, to somehow push her aside. But he couldn't. He was already too far away. Systematically and with deliberate brutality, he stoned his body into hers, losing himself in a violent, loveless argument of passion.
  
  
  In the last movement, her fingernails slid deep into his chest. She lunged at him, her mouth sinking into his neck. He felt her sharp little teeth sink unbearably into him for a moment. When she pulled away, a thin trickle of blood drenched Ego's face and chest.
  
  
  "Oh, Nicholas, baby, she wishes things were different," she moaned, her breath hot and ragged. "You can't know how I felt that day after I thought I killed you."
  
  
  "Annoying?"
  
  
  "Come on, laugh, honey. But things could have been so wonderful between us. You know, "she added suddenly," I've never had anything personal against you. It's just that I'm hopelessly clinging to Reno. It's not sex, it's... I can't tell you, but I'll do whatever he asks if it means I can stay with him."
  
  
  "There's nothing like loyalty," Nick said. He sent his sixth sense, his spy, to investigate the room and its surroundings. He told em they were alone. The distant music was gone. And the usual restaurant sounds too. Bali Hai was closed for the night. "What are you doing here?" he asked, suddenly wondering if this could be another one of Rino's cruel jokes.
  
  
  "I came looking for Donna Lee," she said. "He's here." She pointed to a chair. "The throat was cut from ear to ear. This is Reno's specialty-the razor. I don't think they need it anymore."
  
  
  "It was Rino who also killed Pat Hammer's family, wasn't it? It was working with a razor."
  
  
  "Yes, my man did it. But Johnny Hung Fat and Jack Sands were there to help."
  
  
  Nick's life was suddenly cramped with worries. "What about Joy-san?" he asked. "Where is she?"
  
  
  Candy stepped away from him. "She's all right," she said suddenly in a cold voice. "I'll get you a towel. You're covered in blood."
  
  
  When she came back, she was soft again. She washed ego's face and chest and threw the towel away. But she didn't stop. Her hands moved rhythmically, hypnotically, over his body. "I'm going to prove what I said," she whispered softly. "I'm going to let you go. A handsome man like you shouldn't die - at least not in the way Rino planned for you." She shuddered. "Turn your life around." He did, and she loosened the wire cocks around ego's fingers.
  
  
  "Where is he?" he asked, leading ih the rest of the way.
  
  
  "There's a meeting going on at Simian's house tonight," she said. "They're all there."
  
  
  "There's no one outside?"
  
  
  "Just a couple of GCI cops," she said. "Well, they call ih cops, but Red Sands and Reno brought ih around the ranks of the Syndicate. They're just hoods, and they're not the brightest variety, either."
  
  
  "And Joy-san?" he insisted. She didn't say anything. "Where is she?" "What is it?" he demanded sharply. "Are you hiding something from me?"
  
  
  "What's the use?" She said dully. "It's like trying to change the direction of water flow." She went over and turned on the brylev. "Through this," she said. Nick walked over to the hidden door, glancing briefly at Don Lee's body lying in a halo of congealed blood under the table.
  
  
  "Where's the lead?"
  
  
  "Back to the parking lot," she said. "Also to that room with double-sided glass. She's in the office next to him."
  
  
  He found it lying between the wall and a couple of folders, bound hand and foot with a telephone cord. Her eyes were closed, and she kept the acrid smell of chloral hydrate. He took her pulse. It was a mess. Her skin was hot and dry to the touch. Old-fashioned Mickey Finn-rough but effective.
  
  
  He untied her and slapped her across the face, but she only muttered something unintelligible and rolled over. "You better concentrate on getting her to the car," Candy said from behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  we'll take care of two guards. Wait here."
  
  
  She was gone for about five minutes. When she returned, she was out of breath and her blouse was wobbly with blood. "I should have killed ih," she panted. "They recognized me." She lifted her miniskirt and slid a flat .22 waffle into her hip holster. "Don't worry about the noise. Ih bodies drowned out the shots." She lifted her hands and pushed her hair back, closing her eyes for a moment to hide what was happening. "Give me a kiss," she said. "Then hit me hard."
  
  
  He kissed her, but said: "Don't be a fool, Candy. Come with us."
  
  
  "No, that's not good," she said with a broken smile. "I need what Rino can give me."
  
  
  Nick pointed to the cigarette burn in her hand. "The one?"
  
  
  She nodded. "This is his girlfriend-a human ashtray. In any case, she had tried to escape before. I always come back. So hit me hard, and hard, knock me out. So I'll have an alibi."
  
  
  He hit her the way she'd asked him to, so it wouldn't be too hard. Ego knuckles cracked in her hard jaw, and she fell, arms flailing, and slammed full length into the office. He walked over and looked at nah. Her face was now calm, as calm as a sleeping child's, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. She was pleased. After all.
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  The Lamborghini glided silently between the expensive buildings on North Miami Avenue. It was 4: 00 in the morning.The main intersections were quiet, with few cars moving, and only occasional pedestrians passing by.
  
  
  Nick glanced at Joy-San. She sat down deep in the red leather bucket seat, leaning her head back on the folded tonneau and closing her eyes. The wind made insistent little snatches in her ebony-black hair. During the drive south of Palm Beach, outside of Fort Lauderdale, she only shook herself once and muttered: "What time is it?"
  
  
  It will be another two or three hours before it can function properly. In the meantime, Nick needed to find a place to park her while he explored the HCI medical center.
  
  
  He turned west on Flagler, past the Dade County Courthouse, then north, northwest. Seventh, towards the chain of apartments in the motels surrounding the Seaside station. The instant inn of the hotel was almost the only place he could hope to get an unconscious mimmo girl to check in at four o'clock in the morning.
  
  
  He walked around the side streets around the Terminal, back and forth, until he found one of the most suitable ones - the Rex Apartment, where the bed linen was changed ten times a night, judging by the couple who didn't leave together, but went in opposite directions without looking back.
  
  
  A ragged web palm tree leaned against the light above the house labeled "Office." Nick opened the screen door and went in. "I took my girlfriend outside," he said to the sullen Cuban behind the counter. "She drank too much. Is it okay if she sleeps here?"
  
  
  The Cuban didn't even look up from the women's magazine he was studying. "Are you leaving her or staying?"
  
  
  "I'll be right here," Nick said. It would be less suspicious if he pretended to stay.
  
  
  "That's twenty." The man held out his hand, palm up. "In advance. And stop here on the way. I want to make sure you don't have any stiffness with you."
  
  
  Nick returned with Joi San in his arms, and this time the clerk's eyes looked up. They touched the girl's face, then Nick's, and suddenly the pupils were very bright. Ego's breath made a soft hissing sound. He dropped the woman's magazine and stood up, reaching across the counter to squeeze the smooth, soft flesh of her forearm.
  
  
  Nick took his hand away. "Look, but don't touch," he warned.
  
  
  "I just want to see that she's alive," he growled. He tossed the key over the counter. "Two-five. On the second floor, the thread of the hall."
  
  
  The bare concrete walls of the room were painted the same unnatural green as the exterior of the buildings. Through a crack in the lowered curtain, Sergei fell on the hollow bed, on the worn carpet. Nick put Joy San on the bed, went to the door, and locked it. Then he went to the window and pulled back the curtain. The room opened onto a short alley. The holy light came from a light bulb hanging on a sign on the building across the street: REX RESIDENTS ONLY get A FREE credit card.
  
  
  He opened the window and leaned out. It was no more than twelve feet to the ground, and there were plenty of crevices that he could pick up with his foot on the way back. He took one last look at the girl, then leaped out onto the ledge and dropped cat-like to the concrete below. He landed on his hands and feet, dropped to his knees, then rose again and moved forward, a shadow among other shadows.
  
  
  Seconds later, he was behind the wheel of a Lamborghini, speeding through the glittering lights of the Big Miami pre-dawn gas stations and heading northwest. Twentieth to Biscayne Boulevard.
  
  
  The HCI Medical Center was a huge, pretentious glass rock that reflected the smaller buildings of the downtown business district as if they were trapped inside it. Spacious sculpture of any shape by forged iron
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  the Russian stood out ahead. Foot-high letters carved from solid steel are stretched across the building's facade, voicing the message: Dedicated to the ART OF HEALING-ALEXANDER SIMIAN, 1966.
  
  
  Nick followed him down Biscayne Boulevard, one eye on the building itself, the other on the entrances. The main one was dark, guarded by two green-uniformed figures. The emergency entrance was on the Twenty-first Street side. It was brightly lit, and there was an ambulance in front of it. A green-uniformed police officer was standing under a steel awning, talking to his team.
  
  
  Nick turned south, heading northeast. Second Avenue. An ambulance, he thought. This must be how ego was brought there around the airport. This was one of the advantages of owning a hospital. It was your private world, immune to outside interference. In the hospital, you can do whatever you want without being asked any questions. The most horrific tortures could be used in the name of "medical research." Your enemies can be put in straitjackets and locked up in a mental hospital for their own safety. You can even kill them-doctors have always lost patients in the operating room. No one thought twice about it.
  
  
  A black GCI patrol car slid into Nick's rearview mirror. He slowed down and turned on the right turn signal. The patrol car caught up with him, and she glared at him as he turned onto Twentieth Street. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed an ih bumper sticker: "Your safety; our business. He chuckled, and the chuckle turned to a shiver in the humid predawn air.
  
  
  There were other advantages to owning a hospital. A Senate committee brought up a couple during the Del Simian investigation. If you followed the tax angles and played it right, owning a hospital allowed you to get the maximum amount of cash from operations with minimal tax liabilities. It will also give you a place where you can meet the leading figures of the underworld in complete privacy. At the same time, it provided status and allowed a math major like Simian to climb another rung on the social acceptance ladder.
  
  
  Nick spent ten minutes in the growing traffic of the downtown area, keeping his eyes on the mirror, dragging the Lamborghini with his heel and toe in the corners to brush off any possible marks. Then he carefully turned back to the Medical Center, and parked at a point on Biscayne Boulevard where the EMU could clearly see the main entrance to the building, the entrance to the ambulance building, and the entrance to the clinic. He rolled up all the windows, slid into the seat, and waited.
  
  
  At ten minutes to six, the day shift arrived. A steady stream of hospital staff, nurses and doctors entered the building, and a few minutes later the night shift rushed to the parking lot and the nearest bus stops. At seven o'clock in the morning, three GKI guards were relieved. But that wasn't what caught Nick's attention.
  
  
  Imperceptibly, unmistakably, the presence of another, more dangerous line of defense was reflected in N3's finely tuned sixth sense. Unmarked vehicles with plainclothes crews slowly circled the area. The rest were parked in alleys. The third line of defense watched around the windows of nearby houses. The place was a well-guarded fortress.
  
  
  Nick started the engine, put the Lamborghini in gear, and drove into the first lane of traffic without taking his eyes off the mirror. A two-tone Chevrolet pulled out a dozen cars. Nick started making square turns, block by block, turning up the lights on amber and using his speed through Bay Front Park. The two-tone Chevy disappeared, and Nick headed for the Rex Hotel.
  
  
  He glanced at his watch and stretched his lithe, yoga-trained body toward the first one, around the arms and leg, in the alley. Seven-thirty. Joy Sun had five and a half hours to recover. A cup of coffee, and she should be ready to go. Help emu find his way to the impregnable Medical Center.
  
  
  He sat down on the windowsill and peered through the raised bars of the blinds. He saw that a holy light was burning near the bed, and now the girl was under the covers. She must have been cold, pulled the ih over her. He pulled back the curtain and slid into the room. "Joy," he said softly. "It's time to start. How are you feeling?" She was barely visible under the bedclothes. Only one hand showed.
  
  
  He walked over to the bed. In his hand, palm up, fingers clenched, was what looked like a dark red thread. He leaned over her to get a closer look. It was a drop of dried blood.
  
  
  He slowly pulled back the blanket.
  
  
  There lay the horribly dead face and figure that had so recently clung to her in naked passion, covering her face and body with kisses. In the trash that came out through the predawn darkness, Candy's body collapsed.
  
  
  Her lovely blue eyes, set wide apart, bulged like glass balls. The tongue that had been so eager to find its own came out around the blue, grimacing lips. The skin is full
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  "the shapely body was covered in dried blood and cut with dozens of dark, brutal razor cuts.
  
  
  He felt a hint of sourness in his throat. Ego life shuddered and shuddered. He swallowed, trying to stifle the nausea that flooded his throat. At such moments, Nick can forever exit through the game, a retired farmer across Maryland. But even as he thought about it, his thoughts moved at computer speed. They had Joy San now. It means...
  
  
  He staggered back from the bed. It's too late. Johnny Hung Fat and Rino Tree were standing in the doorway, smiling. The ih guns had sausage-shaped silencers. "She's waiting for you at the medical center," Hung Fat said. "We're all like that."
  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  Brutal wolf mouth in Reno, Three said: "It looks like you really want to get into the Medical Center, another one. So this is your chance."
  
  
  Nick was already in the hall, being dragged along in ih's strong, irresistible grip. He was still in a state of shock. Our strength, our will. A Cuban employee danced in front of them, repeating the same thing over and over. "You're going to tell Bronco how you helped her, huh? Tell emu, please, hockey?"
  
  
  "Yes, also, of course. We'll tell the emu."
  
  
  "Interesting, isn't it?" said Hung Fat to Nick. "Here we thought we lost you forever because of that Candy bitch..."
  
  
  "Then what do you know?" Rino chuckled, Three on the other side of him. "You're checking in openly at the Syndicate Hotel, and you've already reported a guy in a Lamborghini with a beautiful Chinese doll. I call it cooperation..."
  
  
  They were on the sidewalk now. A slow-moving Lincoln car pulled up behind them. The driver leaned out and picked up the phone on the dashboard of the car. "Simian," he said. "He wants to know where the hell you guys are. We're running late."
  
  
  Nick was dragged into this. It was a seven-seat executive transport, with flat walls, massive black color and steel trim, with seats around the skin of a female leopard. A small TV screen located behind a glass partition separating the driver from other passengers. Simian's face was outlined on the nah. "Finally," ego's voice crackled over the intercom. "Pores. Welcome aboard, Mr. Carter." Closed-circuit television. Two-way reception. Pretty smooth. The bald eagle's target turned towards the Reno tree. "Come straight here," he snapped. "Too close. The meter is already at T-minus-two-seventeen." The screen went blank.
  
  
  The tree leaned forward and turned on the intercom. "Medical center. Step on it."
  
  
  The Lincoln pulled smoothly and silently away from the curb, joining the fast-moving morning traffic in the northwest. Seventh. Now Nick was cold and deadly calm. The shock was gone. The reminder that Phoenix One was due to take off in just two hours and seventeen minutes put ego's nerves in optimal condition.
  
  
  He waited for them to turn around, then took a deep breath and kicked himself hard in the front seat, pulling himself out of reach of Hung Fat's gun as he slammed his right hand hard into his wrist in Reno, Three. He felt his bones shatter beneath him.. The bandit screamed, which hurt. But it was fast and still deadly. The gun was already in ego's other hand, and it was covering ego again. "Chloroform, tailor take it," Tree yelled, clutching his wounded cock to his stomach.
  
  
  Nick felt a wet cloth being pulled over his nose and mouth. He could see Hyun Fat hovering above him. Ego's face was the size of a house, and his features were beginning to float in a strange way. Nick tried to hit him, but he couldn't move. "It was stupid," Hung Fat said. At least, Nick thought it was the Chinese who said it. But maybe it was Nick himself.
  
  
  A black wave of active recreation panic washed over him. Why was it dark?
  
  
  He tried to sit up, but was thrown back by the rope tied tightly around ego's neck. He could hear the clock ticking on his wrist, but Ego's wrist was tied to something behind his back. He turned around, trying to see it. It took several minutes, but he finally saw the phosphorescent numbers on the dial. Three minutes past ten.
  
  
  Morning or night? If it was morning, it was only seventeen minutes away. If it's night, it's over. The ego target bounced from side to side, trying to find a clue in the endless starry darkness that surrounded her ego.
  
  
  The ego wasn't on the street, it can't be. The air was cool, with a neutral smell. He was in a huge room of some sort. He opened his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs. Ego's voice bounced off a dozen corners, turning into a jumble of echoes. With a sigh of relief, he looked around again. Maybe that night was daytime brylev. What he first thought were stars, seemingly the flashing lights of hundreds of dials. He was in some kind of control center...
  
  
  Without warning, there was a bright flash, like a bomb exploding. A voice - Simian's voice, flat and indifferent-said: "Did you call, Mr. Carter? How do you feel? Are you receiving me well?"
  
  
  Nick turned his head in the direction of the voice. Ego's eyes were blinded by the light. He is kb
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ih squeezed it hard, then opened it again. A large bald eagle's target filled the huge screen at the far end of the room. Nick caught a glimpse of the leopard-skin upholstery as Simian leaned forward, adjusting the controls. He saw a blurry stream of objects moving mimically around the man's left shoulder. He was in the Lincoln, traveling somewhere.
  
  
  But the main thing Nick saw was that he was holy. It bloomed for Simian's ugly head in all its glory! Nick decided to shout out his relief before the time delay. But all he said was, " Where is she, Simian?"
  
  
  The huge face smiled. "On the top floor of the Medical Center, Mr. Carter. In Rodrick's room. This means controlling the directional guidance of the missile."
  
  
  "I know what that means," Nick snapped. "Why is her still alive? What's the name of the game?"
  
  
  "No game, Mr. Carter. The games are over. Now we are serious. You are still alive because I find you a worthy opponent, someone who could really appreciate the intricacies of my master plan."
  
  
  Killing wasn't enough. Simian's monstrous vanity had to be patted first. "I'm not a very good captive audience," Nick croaked. "I carried it easily. Besides, you're more interesting than any plan you could come up with, Simian. Let me tell you something about myself. You can correct me if I'm wrong..." He spoke quickly, loudly, trying to keep Simian from noticing Ego's shoulder movements. Ego, trying to see his watch earlier had loosened the knots that held ego's right hand, and now he was desperately working on them. "You're broke, Simian. GKI Industries is a paper empire. You deceived your millions of shareholders. And now you're in debt to the Syndicate because of your insatiable passion for gambling. They agreed to help you win the moon. "They knew it was their only chance to get their money back."
  
  
  Simian smiled thinly. "To a certain extent, actually," he said. "But it's not just gambling debts, Mr. Carter. I'm afraid the Syndicate has its back to moan."
  
  
  The second goal was added to the picture. It was in Reno, three in ugly close-ups. "What our friend here means," he croaked, " is that he took the Syndicate to the cleaners with one of his boiler operations on Wall Sturt. The crowd kept putting money into it, trying to get their initial investment back. But the more they invested, the worse it got. They were losing millions."
  
  
  Simian nodded. "Absolutely fantastic. You see, "he added," the Syndicate takes the lion's share of any profits I make from this small enterprise. This is unfortunate, because all the initial preparatory work, all the mental work, was mine. Connelly Aviation, the Apollo crashes, even the reinforcement of the original GKI police by Syndicate hoods - all of these are my ideas ."
  
  
  "But why destroy Phoenix One?" demanded Nick. The flesh around the ego wrist was torn off, and the pain of trying to untie the knots sent shockwaves through the agony of the ego hands. He gasped, "and to hide it, he quickly said," In any case, the contract doesn't belong to GKI. Why kill three more astronauts?"
  
  
  "For starters, Mr. Carter, there's a corkscrew about your second capsule." Simian said this with the bored, slightly impatient air of a corporate ceo explaining some problem to some troubled shareholder. "It must be destroyed. But why - you will no doubt ask-at the cost of human lives? Because, Mr. Carter, GKI factories need at least two years to participate in the lunar project. As it stands, this is NASA's strongest argument yet. for staying with Connelly. But public disgust with the coming massacre, as you can imagine, will require delays of at least two years ... "
  
  
  "A massacre?" The ego of life crawled with the realization of what Simian meant. The death of three people wasn't a massacre; it was a city ablaze with flames. "You mean Miami?"
  
  
  "Please understand, Mr. Carter. This is not just a senseless act of destruction. It serves a dual purpose - it turns public opinion against the lunar program, and it also destroys genuine evidence." Nick looked puzzled. "Proof, Mr. Carter. In the room you're studying. Sophisticated direction tracking equipment. We can't leave the ego there after that, can we?"
  
  
  Nick shivered slightly at the chill that ran down his spine. "There's also the tax aspect," he croaked. "You're making a pretty good profit from destroying your own Medical center."
  
  
  Simian beamed. "Of course. Two birds, so to speak, hit the same rocket. But in a mad world, Mr. Carter, self-interest approaches the level of mystery." He glanced at his watch, and the chairman of the board of Directors once again concluded the inconclusive shareholders 'meeting:" And now I must say goodbye to you."
  
  
  "Answer me one more corkscrew!" Nick shouted. Now he could slip away a little. He held his breath and made one effort, yanking on the ropes. The skin on the back of ego's hand broke, and blood flowed down ego's fingers. "I'm not alone here, am I?"
  
  
  "It'll look like we've been warned, won't it?" smiled Simian. "No, of course not. The hospital is fully staffed and has the usual compliment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  t patients ".
  
  
  "And hers, sure that your dollar stack is bleeding for all of us!" He began to tremble with helpless rage. "All the way to the bank!" He bit off the words, spitting ih on the screen. The hazel tree slid easier because of the blood. He fought it, trying to squeeze his knuckles together.
  
  
  "Your anger is meaningless," Simian shrugged. "The equipment is automated. It's already programmed. Nothing around what you or she say can change the situation right now. The moment Phoenix-One lifts off from the launch pad at Cape Kennedy, NY, automatic guidance at the Medical Center will take over. it will seem that it will get out of control. The ego's self-destruct mechanism will jam. It will rush to the hospital, spewing millions of gallons of volatile fuel into downtown Miami. The medical center will simply melt away, and with it all the incriminating evidence. What a terrible tragedy, everyone will say. And in two years, when the lunar project finally starts again, NASA will order a contract with GKI. It's very simple, Mr. Carter ." Simian leaned forward, and Nick caught a glimpse of coconut trees spreading out over Ego's left shoulder. "Now, goodbye. I'm switching you to a program that's already running."
  
  
  The screen went dark for a moment, then slowly came back to life. The huge Saturn rocket filled the ego from top to bottom. Portal's spider-like arm had already swung out of the way. A trickle of steam rose around his nose. A series of superimposed numbers floated across the bottom of the screen, recording the elapsed time.
  
  
  There were only a few minutes and thirty-two seconds left.
  
  
  The blood around the ego of the torn hide curled up in a line, and the ego's first attempts broke the clots. He gasped, which hurt. "This is Mission Control," the voice on the screen drawled. "How do you like it, Be proud?"
  
  
  "It's all right from here," a second voice answered him. "We'll go for P equals one."
  
  
  "This was flight commander Gordon Nash responding to a corkscrew around Mission Control, Houston," the announcer's voice cut off. "Now the countdown is three minutes and forty-eight seconds to take off, all systems working..."
  
  
  Sweating, he could feel fresh blood trickling down the backs of Ego's hands. The cable slid easily over the provided lubricant. On the fourth attempt, Emu managed to work out one joint and the widest part of his twisted palm.
  
  
  And suddenly the ego's hand was free.
  
  
  "T-minus two minutes and fifty-six seconds," the voice announced. Nick turned a blind eye to that. Ego's fingers were pinned down by pain. He tore at the stubborn rope with his teeth.
  
  
  After a few seconds, both hands were free. He loosened the rope around his neck, pulled it over his head, and began to work on his ankles, his fingers shaking with the effort ...
  
  
  "Two minutes later, the Apollo spacecraft was renamed Phoenix One in Rivne..."
  
  
  He was on his feet now, moving tensely toward the door, which he could see was now being displayed on the screen. It wasn't locked. Why can this be? And there were no guards outside. Why can this be? They were all gone, the rats that had left the doomed ship.
  
  
  He hurried down the deserted hall, surprised to find Hugh, Wilhelmina, Pierre, and his family still in their seats. But then again, why not? What protection will they have from the coming Holocaust?
  
  
  First he tried to go to the stairwell, but it was locked, then to the elevators, but the buttons were removed. The upper floor was bricked up. He hurried back down the hall, trying out the day. They opened into empty, abandoned rooms. All but the one that was blocked. Three sharp kicks from the heel tore metal from wood, and the door flew open.
  
  
  It was a kind of control center. The walls were lined with television monitors. The odin around them was turned on. He showed the Phoenix One on the launch pad, ready for takeoff. Nick turned around and asked for the phone. Well, it wasn't, so he started turning on the remaining monitors. The various wards and corridors of the medical center flickered before my eyes. They were overflowing with patients. Nurses and doctors moved through the corridors. He turned up the volume and picked up the microphone, hoping that the ego's voice would reach them, warn them in time ...
  
  
  Suddenly he stopped. Something caught the ego's attention.
  
  
  The monitors were grouped around the one that showed the ee rocket on the launch pad - they were recording various views of the lunar port at Cape Kennedy, NY, and Nick knew that one around these views wasn't open to normal TV cameras! One that shows the top secret interior of the launch control checkpoint.
  
  
  He connected the microphone jack to the appropriate number on the console. "Hello there!" he screamed. "Hello there! Do you accept me?" Run Control Blockhouse, this is the medical center of GKI. Do you accept me?"
  
  
  He knew what had happened. Simian instructed his directional engineers to build a secret two-way link to the cape for use in emergencies.
  
  
  A shadow crossed the screen. An incredulous voice barked, " What the hell is going on here?" The face is blurred in close-up focus - a grim military fa with lantern jaws.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ce. " Who authorized this link? Who are you?"
  
  
  Nick said: "I must contact General McAlester-without delay."
  
  
  "You can handle it," the military man croaked, grabbing the phone, " candid through Edgar Hoover. Gratz is here, security, " he barked into the phone. "Wait for bibl. Something strange is happening. And bring McAlester here to the double."
  
  
  Nick collected the saliva back into his parched mouth. Slowly, he began to breathe again.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He sent the Lamborghini racing down palm-lined Ocean Avenue. The sun was shining brightly, around a cloudless sky. The homes of the well-to-do whizzed past with discreet hedges and wrought-iron fences.
  
  
  He looked like a handsome, carefree playboy for the afternoon, but Agent N3's mind was preoccupied with revenge and destruction.
  
  
  There was a radio in the car. The voice said, " ... a leak from a pinhole in the Saturn fuel tank has caused an indefinite delay. We understand that they are working on it now. If repairs cause Phoenix One to fall short of the 15:00 launch deadline, the task will be cleared within 24 hours. Follow the news on WQXT Radio to learn about further developments... "
  
  
  This was the story he and McAlester had chosen. This will keep Simian and the ego crowd from getting suspicious. At the same time, it made ih nervous, sitting on the edge of the chairs, keeping her eyes glued to the TV until Nick reached for them.
  
  
  He knew they were in Palm Phytophthora-in Katea, Simian's villa by the sea. He became aware of coconut trees fanning out over the financier's shoulder as he leaned forward in the Lincoln to adjust the controls of the closed-circuit TV. These were the palm trees that surrounded Ego's private driveway.
  
  
  N3 hoped that the emu would be able to beat out a special team to clean up the area. Emu had to use microphones and speakers to settle personal scores.
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. He left for Miami an hour ago. The guidance engineers ' plane was now flying south from Cape Kennedy, NY. They would have forty-five minutes in Rivnen to unleash the complex electronic nightmare Simian had created. If it takes longer, the locality of Russia will be postponed until tomorrow. But then, what's a twenty-four-hour delay compared to the fiery destruction of the city?
  
  
  Another plane, a small, private one, was heading north at that moment, and along with it were Nick's best wishes, as well as a couple of fond memories. Hank Peterson was sending Joy Sun-back to her post at the Kennedy Space Port Medical Center, NY.
  
  
  Nick bent down, driving with one hand, pulling Wilhelmina out of her hiding place.
  
  
  He entered the Cathay grounds through an automatic gate that opened when the Lamborghini passed through the pedal. A hard-faced guy in a green uniform came out around the kiosk, looked around, and ran up to it, tugging at his service holster. Nick slowed his pace. He stretched out his right arm, raising his shoulder high, and pulled the trigger. Wilhelmina flinched slightly, and the GCI guard slammed his face into the ground. Dust rose around him.
  
  
  A second gunshot rang out, and the Lamborghini's windshield shattered, and it started raining on Nick. He hit the bullying button, opened the door, and dived in one smooth motion. He heard the roar of a cannon behind him as he rolled, and another gawk hit the dust where the ego goal had been. He turned half a turn, then reversed the rotation and fired. Wilhelmina flinched twice in her ego's hand, then twice more, coughing in her throat, and the four GCI guards coming up on either side of the kiosk sprawled as the bullets hit home.
  
  
  He spun around in a half-crouch, his left arm protecting his ego's vital organs in the FBI-approved way, Luger held ready. But there was no one else. Donkey dust on five wires.
  
  
  Did they hear gunshots in the villa? Nick took a handful of his eyes, remembered the sound of the surf, and doubted it. He walked over to the bodies and stood looking at them. He aimed high, resulting in five fatalities. He chose the largest one and brought it to the kiosk.
  
  
  The GKI uniform he was wearing allowed emu to approach the next group of guards to kill one with Hugo and the other with a karate kick to the neck. This led ego inside the villa. The sound of the TV and the voice carried him through the deserted halls to the covered stone terrace in the east wing.
  
  
  A group of men were sitting in front of a portable TV. They were wearing dark jeans and terry-cloth robes, and towels were wrapped around their necks. It looked like they were going to head for the pool, which was visible to the left of the terrace, but something on the TV held ih back. It was an observer of the Barents Sea territory. He said: "We expect an announcement at any time. Yes, it's cooked. It just arrived. The voice of NASA communicator Paul Jensen around Mission Control in Houston, saying that the Russian Phoenix-1 locality has been cleared for twenty-four hours ... "
  
  
  "Dammitohell!" roared Simian. "Red, Reno!" he snapped. "Go back to Miami. We can't take any chances with this Carter guy. Johnny, get lau.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Now I'm heading for the yacht."
  
  
  Nick's hand closed around the large metal ball in his pocket. "Wait," he croaked. "No one is moving." Four startled faces turned toward him. At the same time, he caught a sudden movement at the edge of his vision. A couple of GCI guards who had been lounging on the walls rushed towards him, brandishing the butts of their assault rifles. N3 is connected to the metal marble of sharp pointers. It rolled across the flagstones toward them, hissing like a deadly gas.
  
  
  The two men froze in place. Only ih's eyes moved.
  
  
  Simian backed away, clutching his face. The staring hurt Nick in the lobe of his right ear. This was due to the pistol Red Sands was holding as he backed away from the terrazza and crossed the lawn, moving ahead of the deadly fumes. Killmaster's wrist jerked up. Hugo flew into the air, sinking deep into Sands ' chest. He continued his backflip, slamming his feet into the pool.
  
  
  "My eyes!" Simian roared. "I can't see it!"
  
  
  Nick turned to him. Reno Tree supported Ego by the shoulder as he led him off the terrace. Nick followed them. Something hit ego's right shoulder like a board with incredible force. The impact knocked him down. He landed on all fours. He didn't feel resentful, but time slowed down until everything was visible in great detail. One of the things he saw was Johnny Hung the Fat standing over him, holding a chair leg. He dropped his ego and ran after Rino-Tree and Simian.
  
  
  The three around them hurried across the wide lawn, heading for the boathouse.
  
  
  Nick got unsteadily to his feet. Pain washed over his ego in dark waves. He started to follow them, but his legs fell off. They wouldn't support it. He tried again. This time the emu managed to stay awake, but he had to move slowly.
  
  
  The boat's engine came to life as N3 pulled up to the boat. Hung-Fat turned the ee around, spinning the wheel, and looked over the stern to see how it was doing. Simian slouched in the front seat next to him, his fingers still clutching at his eyes. Reno Tree sat in the backseat. He saw Nick approaching and spun around, trying to pull something.
  
  
  N3 ran the last ten yards, reaching up and swinging from the low hanging beam above his head, pressing his face and reaching out, kicking him hard on the rise and letting him go while he was still climbing. He fell on his toes on the edge of the boat's stern, arched up, clutching desperately at the air.
  
  
  He would have lost his balance if Three hadn't poked him with a boat hook in Reno. Nick's hands gripped the hook and pulled. The shoulder pushed Ego forward to his knees, and made him twist and writhe from the backseat like a hunted eel.
  
  
  The boat broke out around the darkness into the blinding sunlight, pitching sharply to the left, the water curving around nah on either side in a huge, foam-covered wake. Rino had already pulled out a gun and made an ego of Nick. N3 lowered the boat hook. A gawk innocently swept mimmo ego's head, and Rino screamed as his good arm dissolved into blood and bone. It was a woman's cry, so high-pitched, almost silent. Killmaster suppressed his ego with his hands.
  
  
  Ego's thumbs dug into the arteries on either side of Reno's strained throat. The wet, glistening wolf's mouth opened. Obscene's dead gray eyes bulged around her head. The gawk caught Nick in the ear. Their heads rang with concussion. He looked up. Hung Fatty turned in his chair. He steered with one hand and fired with the other as the boat raced through the air intake, engines screaming for free and revving up as the pylons spun in the air and then sank back into the water.
  
  
  "Watch out!" shouted Nick. Hyun Fatty turned around. Killmaster's thumbs completed the work that someone else had started. They bit into the purple scar of Reno Wood, almost piercing the thick, dead skin. The man's marten eyes flashed. The tongue poked out and fell out around the open rta, and a terrible gargle escaped from the depths of the ego lungs.
  
  
  Another gawk whizzed by. Nick felt the ego wind. He removed his fingers from the dead man's throat and turned to the left. "After you!" he shouted. "Watch out!" And this time, he meant it. They roared between Simian's yacht and the breakwater, and through the splattered windshield, he could see a nylon cable tying the bow to a pile. It was no more than three feet away, and Hung Fat got up from his seat, looming over him for the kill.
  
  
  "This is the oldest trick in the world," he grinned, and then suddenly there was a dull thud, and the Chinese was horizontally in the air, and the boat came out from under him. Something came out of him, and Nick saw that it was an ego goal. He splashed in, then about twenty yards behind them, and the headless body followed him, sinking without a trace.
  
  
  Nick turned around. He saw Simian grabbing blindly at the steering wheel. It's too late. They were heading straight for the jetty. He dived over the side.
  
  
  An explosive outdoor activity hit him when
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  it surfaced. The hot air blew over him. Shards of metal and plywood rained down. Something big crashed into the water near ego's head. Then, as his eardrums released some of the pressure of the explosion, he heard screams. High-pitched, inhuman screams. A piece of flaming wreckage was slowly climbing up the jagged rocks of the breakwater. Looking closer, Nick saw that it was Simian. Ego's hands were flapping at his sides. He was trying to extinguish the flames, but he looked more like a huge bird trying to fly, a phoenix trying to rise around its funeral pyre. Only he couldn't, fell down with a heavy sigh, and died ...
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Oh, Sam, look! It is prepared. Isn't it beautiful?"
  
  
  Nick Carter lifted his head from the soft rolling pillow of her chest. "What's going on?" he muttered indistinctly.
  
  
  The TV sat at the foot of ih's bed in his Miami Beach hotel room, but he didn't notice it. His thoughts were elsewhere - he was focused on the beautiful, tanned redhead with tobacco-brown skin and white lipstick who was called Cynthia. Now he heard a voice that spoke quickly, excitedly: "... a terrifying orange fire roaring through the eight nozzles of Saturn as liquid oxygen and kerosene explode together. This is the perfect start for Phoenix One..."
  
  
  He stared out at the set with misty eyes, watching the huge car rise majestically from Merritt Island and curve out over the Atlantic at the beginning of its giant acceleration curve. Then he turned away, burying his face again in the dark, fragrant valley between her breasts. "Where were we before my vacation was so rudely interrupted?" he muttered.
  
  
  "Sam Harmon!" Nick's Florida girlfriend's voice was shocked. "Sam, I'm surprised at you." But the shaken note turned languid under the ego's caresses. "Aren't you interested in our space program?" she moaned as her fingernails began to scratch at Ego's back. "Of course," he chuckled. "Stop me if this rocket starts coming here."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Judas the Spy
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  Judas the Spy
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  "How about ih the general plan, Akim," Nick said,"you don't learn anything?"
  
  
  "Only the islands. We're so low-down in & nb, she slaps the glass and I can't see clearly."
  
  
  "How about that sail on the port side?"
  
  
  Nick focused on the dials, his hands busier than an amateur pilot's on his first instrument flight. He moved his large frame to the side to allow the small Indonesian youth to turn the periscope's frame. Akim looked weak and scared. "It's a big prau. Sail away from us."
  
  
  "I'll take it further. Keep an eye out for something that will tell you where we are. And on the reefs or rocks..."
  
  
  "It will get dark in a few minutes, and I won't see her at all," the Mayor replied. He had the softest voice Nick had ever heard from a man. This pretty young man should have been eighteen. A man? It's so absurd, as if the ego voice hasn't changed - or there may be another reason. That would make everything perfect; getting lost on a hostile shore with a gay first mate.
  
  
  Nick chuckled and felt better. The two-man submarine was a diver's toy, a rich man's toy. It was well made, but it was difficult to handle the surface. Nick kept a 270-degree course, trying to control buoyancy, pitch, and direction.
  
  
  Nick said, " Forget the periscope for four minutes. I'll let her calm down as we approach. At three nodes, we won't have any big problems anyway."
  
  
  "There should be no pitfalls here," the Mayor replied. "There is one on Fong Island, but not in the south. This is a gentle beach. We usually have good weather. I think this is one of the last storms of the rainy season."
  
  
  In the soft yellow light of the cramped cabin, Nick looked up at Akim. If the boy was scared, he kept his jaw tight. The smooth contours of the ego's almost beautiful face were as calm and serene as ever.
  
  
  Nick recalled Admiral Richards ' confidential comment before the helicopter lifted ih off the carrier. "I do not know what you are looking for, Mr. Bard, but the place you are going to is a seething hell. It looks like heaven, but it's pure hell. And look at this little guy. He says he is Minankabau. But I think he's Javanese ."
  
  
  Nick was curious. In this email business, you have picked up and memorized every scrap of information. "What does that mean?"
  
  
  "As a New Yorker claiming to be a dairy farmer in Bellows Falls, Vermont. He spent six months in Jakarta when it was Dutch Batavia. I was interested in horse racing. One study says that there are forty-six sample cases."
  
  
  After Nick and Akeem boarded the 99,000-ton aircraft carrier about their discovery at Lyceum Harbor, it took Admiral Richards three days to deal with Nick. A second radio message on top-secret red paper helped. Mr. Bard was no doubt a nuisance to the Navy, as were all State Department or CIA operations, but the admiral had his own opinion.
  
  
  When Richards discovered that Nick was reserved, pleasant, and knew something about ships, he invited the passenger into his spacious cabin, the only one on the ship with three portholes.
  
  
  When Richards discovered that Nick knew his old friend, Captain Talbot Hamilton, around the Royal Navy, he took a liking to his passenger. Nick took the elevator up to the admiral's quarters, five decks up.
  
  
  I watched the Phantom and Skyhawk jets being ejected by catapults during a training flight on a clear day, and I glanced at the computers and sophisticated electronic equipment in the large battle room. Ego wasn't invited to try out the admiral's white-upholstered swivel chair.
  
  
  Nick liked Richards ' chess and pipe tobacco. The Admiral liked to test the passenger's reaction. In fact, Della Richards wanted to become a doctor and psychiatrist, but his father, a Marine colonel, prevented this step. "Forget it, Cornelius, "he told Admiral - then-J. three years after Annapolis," stay in the navy, where promotion begins, until you succeed in COMCENTER. MFA documents is a good place, but it's a dead end. And you weren't forced to get out and you had to work."
  
  
  Richards thought "Al Bard" was a cool agent. Trying to push the ego beyond certain points came up against the observation that" Washington has a say in this, " and of course you were stopped in shallow water. But the Bard was an ordinary man - he kept aloof and respected everyone. You can't ask for more than that.
  
  
  During last night on board Nick Richards said: "I took a look at that little sub that was already going with you. Nicely built, but they can be unreliable. If you have any problems immediately after the copter throws you into the water, shoot a red rocket. I'll ask the pilot to keep an eye on her for as long as possible."
  
  
  "Thank you, sir," Nick said. "I'll remember that. She was tested by the device for three days in Hawaii. Spent five hours steering them out to sea."
  
  
  "The guy-what's his name, Achim-was with you?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then your Alyonka will be the same. Have you ever had it in a rough sea?
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "Don't take any chances ..."
  
  
  Richards meant well, Nick thought as he tried to run at periscope depth using his horizontal fins. So did the designers of this small submarine. As they neared the island, there was a stronger outdoor activity, and it could never compare to the buoyancy and depth of flights. They swayed like a Halloween apple.
  
  
  "Akim, do you ever get seasick?"
  
  
  "Of course not. I learned to swim when I learned to walk."
  
  
  "Don't forget what we're doing tonight."
  
  
  "Al, I assure you, I can swim better than you can."
  
  
  "Don't bet on it," Nick said. The guy might be wrong. I guess he's been in & nb all his life. On the other hand, Nick Carter, as number three in AX, practiced working at & nb, as he called it, every few days of his life. He remained in great shape and had plenty of physical skills to increase his chances of staying alive. We thought that the only professions or arts that required a more rigorous life schedule than the ego were those of circus athletes.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, he made a small U-boat open onto the hard beach. He jumped out, tied the cable to the bow hook, and with a lot of help from the rollers that cut into the haze of the sea surf, and with some voluntary but weak jerks from Akim, he lifted the ship over the waterline and secured the ego with two lines to the anchor and a giant banyan tree.
  
  
  Nick used the flashlight to finish the knot on the rope around the tree. Then he extinguished the holy light and straightened up, feeling the coral sand give in to his ego's weight. The tropical night fell like a blanket. Stars splattered purple from above. From the shoreline, the glow of the dress flickered and transformed. Through the thunder and thunder of the breakers, he heard the sounds of the jungle. The screams of birds and animals that would be endless if ih listened.
  
  
  "Akim..."
  
  
  "Yes?" The rheumatism came through the darkness a few feet away from me.
  
  
  "Any idea what path we should take?"
  
  
  “no. Maybe I can say it in the morning."
  
  
  "Good morning! Tonight, her hotel will reach Phong Island."
  
  
  A soft voice answered: "Tonight-tomorrow night - next week's night. It will still be there. The sun will still rise."
  
  
  Nick snorted in disgust and clambered up onto the sub, pulling out two light cotton blankets, an axe and a folding saw, a pack of sandwiches, and a thermos of coffee. Mariana. Why did some cultures develop such a strong taste for an uncertain future? Relax, there was an ih password. Leave it until tomorrow.
  
  
  He laid the map on the beach at the end of the jungle thicket, using the flash sparingly. Akim helped as best he could, stumbling in the dark, and Nick felt a pang of guilt. Odin's ego mottos were: "Do it, you'll last longer." And, of course, they had a ferret with them, as they met in Hawaii, Akim behaved superbly and worked hard, training with the submarine, teaching Nick the Indonesian version of Malay, and teaching Emu about local customs.
  
  
  Akim Machmur was either very valuable to Nick and AX, or emu liked him
  
  
  On his way to school in Canada, a teenager sneaked into the FBI office in Honolulu and spoke about kidnapping and blackmail in Indonesia. The bureau advised the CIA and AX on official procedure in international affairs, and David Hawke, Nick's direct superior and director, AX, flew with Nick to Hawaii.
  
  
  "Indonesia is one of the hot spots in the world," Hawke explained, handing Nick a briefcase of reference materials. "As you know, they have just taken on a giant bloodbath, and Chikom is desperate to save their political power and regain control. The teenager may be describing a local criminal gang. They have some pretty girls. But with Judas and Heinrich Muller. On the loose in a big Chinese junk, I can smell it. Just ih games to kidnap young people around rich families and demand money and cooperation with Chicoms - (Chinese Communists). Of course, ih families know this. But where else can you find people who would kill their relatives for a reasonable price? "
  
  
  "Is Akim real?" Nick asked.
  
  
  The CIA-JACK radioed us the photo. And we supplied one McGill software teacher just for a quick check-up. He's the Machmoor boy, all right. Like most amateurs, he ran away and set off an alarm before he realized all the data. Emu should have stayed with his family and gathered the facts. This, Nicholas, is what you're getting into ... "
  
  
  After a long conversation with Akim, Hawk made a decision. Nick and Akim will go to the key post of activity - the enclave of Machmura on Phong Island. Nick was to retain the role in which ego was introduced to Akima and which he would use as a cover in Jakarta; he was "Al Bard", an American art importer.
  
  
  Akim was told that "Mr. Bard" also worked for what is called the American special services. He seemed quite impressed, or maybe Nick's stern, tanned appearance and ego's look of firm but gentle confidence helped.
  
  
  As Hawke made the plan and they began intensive training, Nick briefly questioned Hawke's judgment. "We could have flown in through the usual channels," Nick said. "You could have delivered the submarine to me later."
  
  
  "Trust me, Nicholas," Hawk said. "I think you'll agree with me before this case gets older or after you talk to Hans Nordenboss, our man in Jakarta. I know that you have seen a lot of intrigue and corruption. In Indonesia, it's a way of life. You can appreciate your subtle approach, and you may need a sub."
  
  
  "Is she armed?"
  
  
  “no. You will have fourteen pounds of explosives and your usual weapons."
  
  
  Now, standing in a tropical night with the sour musty smell of the jungle in my nostrils and the roaring sounds of the jungle in my ears, Nick wished Hawk had shown up. A heavy animal crashed nearby, and Nick turned toward the sound. He had his special Luger, Wilhelmina, under his arm, and Hugo, with a sharp blade that could slide into his palm when touched, but this world felt huge, as if it might require a lot of firepower.
  
  
  He said to the darkness, " Akim. Can I try walking on the beach?"
  
  
  "We can give it a try."
  
  
  "Which way would it be logical to get to Fong Island?"
  
  
  "I don't know."
  
  
  Nick made a hole in the sand halfway between the jungle line and the surf, and flopped down. Welcome to Indonesia!
  
  
  Akim joined him. Nick smelled the boy's sweet scent. He rejected his thoughts. Akim behaved like a good soldier, obeying the orders of a respected sergeant major. What if he used perfume? The guy always tried. It wouldn't be fair to think so...
  
  
  Nick slept with catlike alertness. Several times ego was woken up by the sounds of the jungle, and the wind splashing spray from the ih blanket. He noted the time - 4: 19. It will be 12.19 in Washington the day before. He hoped Hawke was enjoying a good meal ...
  
  
  He woke up, blinded by the bright dawn sun, and startled by a large black figure standing next to him. He rolled away in the opposite direction, hitting the target, aiming for Wilhelmina. Akim shouted: "Don't shoot."
  
  
  "I wasn't going to," Nick growled.
  
  
  It was the largest great ape Nick had ever seen. She was brownish, with small ears, and when Nick looked closely at the sparse reddish-brown long hair, he saw that she was a woman. Nick straightened cautiously and grinned. "An orangutan. Good morning, Mabel."
  
  
  Akim nodded. "Oni parts are friendly. She brought you presents. Look out there in the sand."
  
  
  A few yards away were three ripe golden papayas. Nick picked one up. "Thank you, Mabel."
  
  
  "They are the most humanoid apes," suggested Akim. "She's just like you. "
  
  
  "I'm glad. I need friends." The big animal hurried into the jungle and reappeared a moment later with a strange oval red fruit.
  
  
  "Don't eat this," Akim warned. "Some people can eat it, but some people will get sick from it."
  
  
  Nick tossed Akim a delicious-looking papaya when Mabel returned. Akim reflexively caught it. Mabel gave a startled cry and jumped at Akim!
  
  
  Akeem spun around and tried to dodge, but the orangutan moved like an NFL quarterback with a ball and a clear field. She dropped the red fruit, grabbed the papaya from Akim, threw it into the sea, and began to tear off Akim's clothes. The shirt and pants were torn apart in one massive tear. The monkey was grabbing onto Akim's shorts when Nick yelled,"Hey!" he ran forward. He grabbed the monkey's head with his left hand, Luger ready in his right.
  
  
  "Go away. Allons. Vamos!..."Nick kept shouting in different languages and pointing at the jungle.
  
  
  Mabel - he thought of her as Mabel, and actually felt embarrassed when she recoiled, holding out one long hand, palm up, in a pleading gesture. She turned slowly and backed away into the tangled undergrowth.
  
  
  He sent a letter to the Akim. "Since the voice of why did you always seem strange. Why did you pretend to be a boy around you, honey? Who are you?"
  
  
  Akim turned out to be a girl, petite, with beautiful forms. She was fumbling with a pair of ripped jeans, naked except for a narrow strip of white fabric that was tightly wrapped around her chest. She wasn't in a hurry and didn't seem flustered like some girls - she was seriously twirling her ruined pants from side to side, shaking her beautiful head. Nah was matter-of-fact and reasonably candid about the lack of clothing Nick had noticed at the Bali party. Indeed, this compact cutie resembled one of the beautifully built doll beauties who served as models for artists, entertainers, or were simply delightful companions.
  
  
  Her skin was a light mocha shade, and her arms and legs, though thin, were covered with hidden muscles, as if ih had been painted by Paul Gauguin. Her thighs and buttocks were ample framing for her small, flat body, and Nick understood why Akim always wore long, loose sports shirts to hide those pretty curves.
  
  
  He felt a pleasant warmth in his legs and lower back as he looked at nah - and suddenly found himself thinking that the little brown minx was actually posing for an emu! She examined the torn fabric again and again, giving em a chance to examine it! She wasn't flirtatious, there wasn't even the slightest hint of smug condescension. She was just acting with a playful naturalness, because a woman's intuition told her that this was absolutely the perfect time to relax and impress a handsome man.
  
  
  "I'm surprised," he said. "I can see that you are much prettier as a girl than as a boy."
  
  
  She tilted her head and squinted at him, a mischievous twinkle adding to the sparkle in her bright black eyes. Like Akim, he decided, she was trying to keep a firm grip on the muscles of her jaw. Now, more than ever, she looked like the most beautiful pair of Balinese dancers or the startlingly cute Eurasians you've seen in Singapore and Hong Kong. Her lips were small and full, and when she calmed down, there was only a slight pout, and the sticks were firm, high ovals that you knew would be surprisingly flexible when you kissed her, like a warm marshmallow with muscles. She lowered her dark lashes. "Are you very angry?"
  
  
  He holstered the Luger . "You're spinning yarn, and I'm lost on the jungle shore, and you've already cost my country maybe sixty or eighty thousand dollars." He handed her a shirt, a hopeless rag. "Why shouldn't I be angry?"
  
  
  "Her name is Tala Machmur," she said. "Akim's sister".
  
  
  Nick nodded expressionlessly. He must be different. A confidential report from Nordenboss stated that Tala Makhmour was among the young men captured by the kidnappers. "Go ahead."
  
  
  "I knew you wouldn't listen to the girl. No one is listening. So I took the Akim's papers and pretended to be him to get you to come and help us."
  
  
  "Such a long journey. Why not?"
  
  
  "Me... I don't understand your corkscrew."
  
  
  "Your family could have given the notice to an American official in Jakarta or traveled to Singapore or Hong Kong and contacted us."
  
  
  "There are votes. Our families don't need any help! They just want ih to be left alone. Voice why they pay and stay silent. They're used to it. Everyone always pays someone. We publish to politicians, the army, and so on. This is a normal transaction. These families won't even discuss their problems with each other yet."
  
  
  Nick remembered Hawke's words: "... intrigue and corruption. In Indonesia, it's a way of life." As usual, Hawk was predicting the future with computer precision.
  
  
  He kicked a piece of pink coral. "So your family doesn't need any help. Its just a big surprise that you deposits home. No wonder you're so eager to slip out of Phong Island without warning."
  
  
  "Please don't be angry." She struggled with her jeans and shirt. He figured she wouldn't go anywhere without a sewing machine, but the view was wonderful. She caught Ego's solemn gaze and walked over to him, holding the pieces of cloth in front of her. "Please join us, and at the same time you will help your country. We went through a bloody war. Phong Island escaped it, it is true, but in Malang, not far from the coast, two thousand people died. And they're still looking for the jungle for the Chinese."
  
  
  "So. I thought you hated the Chinese."
  
  
  "We don't hate anyone. Some of our Chinese people have lived here for many generations. But when people do the wrong thing and everyone gets angry, they kill. Old grudges. Jealousy. Religious differences".
  
  
  "Superstition is more important than intelligence," Nick muttered. He'd seen it in action. He patted the smooth brown hand, noting how exquisitely drawn it was. "Well, here we are. Let's find Fong Island."
  
  
  She shook the bundle of cloth. "Can you pass me one of the blankets?"
  
  
  "Against"."
  
  
  He stubbornly didn't look away, and enjoyed watching Nah as she stripped off her old clothes and deftly wrapped herself in a blanket that became like a sarong. Her bright black eyes were mischievous. "It's more convenient anyway."
  
  
  "You like it," he said. She unwound the white cloth band that bound her chest, and the sarong was beautifully filled in. "Yes," he added, " delicious. Where are we now?"
  
  
  She turned and studied the gentle curve of the bay, bordered on the eastern shore by twisted mangroves. The beach was a white crescent, a sea sapphire in the clear dawn, except where the green and azure breakers fell on the pink coral reef. A few sea slugs dropped behind the surf line like foot-long caterpillars.
  
  
  "We may be on Adata Island," she said. "It's uninhabited. The family uses the ego as a kind of zoo. It is home to crocodiles, snakes and tigers. If we turn to the north bank, we can move on to Phong."
  
  
  "No wonder Conrad Hilton missed it," Nick said. "Sit down and give me half an hour. Then we'll leave."
  
  
  He re-anchored the small submarine and covered it with driftwood and jungle until it looked like a pile of wreckage on the beach. Tala went west along the sea. They rounded several small headlands, and she exclaimed, " This is Adata. We're at Chris Beach."
  
  
  "Chris? A knife?"
  
  
  "A curved dagger. Snake, I think, is an English word."
  
  
  "How far is it to Phong?"
  
  
  "One pot". She giggled.
  
  
  "Explain more?"
  
  
  "In Malay, it's one way to whine. Or, for example, half a day."
  
  
  Nick swore under his breath and started walking. "Let's go."
  
  
  They reached a ravine that cut across the beach from the inside, where the jungle rose in the distance as if it were hills. Tala stopped walking. "Maybe it would be shorter to go up the path by the stream and go north. It's harder to walk, but it's half the amount of walking on the beach, going to the western end of Adata and coming back."
  
  
  "Lead the way."
  
  
  The trail was terrible, with countless cliffs and vines that resisted Nick's axe like metal. The sun was high and ominous when Tala stopped at a pond with a stream running around it. "This is our finest hour. I am so sorry. We won't gain much time. I didn't realize that the trail hadn't been used for a long time."
  
  
  Nick grunted as he sliced through the vine with the sharp edge of Hugo's stiletto. To ego's surprise, it pierced ego faster than the axe. Good old Stuart! The AX armament chief always claimed that Hugo was a model of the best steel in the world - emu would have been pleased to hear that. Nick pressed Hugo back to his sleeve. "Today - tomorrow. The sun will rise again."
  
  
  Tala laughed. "Thank you. You remember."
  
  
  He unwrapped the rations. Chocolate is covered with mud, cookies are covered with batter. He opened K-type crackers and cheese, and oni ih was eaten. The movement back along the trail alerted ego, and Ego's hand snatched Wilhelmina out as he hissed, " Down, Tala."
  
  
  Mabel was walking along the rough road. In the shadow of the jungle, it looked black again, not brown. Nick said, "Oh, tailor," and tossed Amy a chocolate chip cookie. She took the presents and happily took a bite, looking like a widow at tea at the Plaza. When she finished, Nick yelled, " Stop it!: "Now run!"
  
  
  She's gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  After walking a couple of miles downhill, they came to a jungle stream about ten yards wide. Tala said: "Wait."
  
  
  She went and undressed,
  
  
  , deftly made a small package around her sarong and swam to the other side like a slender brown fish. Nick watched admiringly. She called out, " I think it's all right. Let's go."
  
  
  Nick took off his rubber-lined boat boots and wrapped ih in an ax shirt. He had made five or six powerful thrusts when he heard Tala's cry and saw movement upstream out of the corner of his eye. A brown, gnarled log seemed to be sliding down the nearest bank under its own outboard motor. An alligator? No, the crocodile! And he knew that crocodiles were the worst! Ego reflexes were fast. It's too late to waste time flipping - didn't they say the spray helped! He grabbed his shirt and ballet slippers in one hand, letting go of the axe, and lunged forward with powerful overhead kicks and a wide boom.
  
  
  It would be a neck! Or would you say jaws and beginnings? Tala loomed over him. She raised the stick and slapped Dundee on the back. A deafening scream tore through the jungle, and he heard a giant splash behind him. Ego's fingers touched the ground, and he dropped the bag and came out on the beach like a seal swimming on an ice floe. He turned to see Mabel, waist-deep in the dark stream, beating a crocodile with a giant tree branch.
  
  
  Tala threw another branch at the reptile. Nick rubbed his back.
  
  
  "Oh," he said. "Her goal is better than yours."
  
  
  Tala collapsed beside him, sobbing as if her small body had finally taken in too much and the floodgates had burst. "Oh, Al, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't see it. This monster almost got you. And you're a good person - you're a good person."
  
  
  She stroked the ego in her hand. Nick looked up and smiled. Mabel came out on the other side and frowned. At least he was sure it was a frown. "I'm a pretty good person. More".
  
  
  He held the slender Indonesian girl in his arms for ten minutes, until her hysterical throats subsided. Nah didn't have time to rewind her sarong, and he noted with approval that her plump breasts were beautifully designed, just like in Playboy magazine. Didn't they say that these people aren't shy about breasts? They covered for ih only because the civilized ladies insisted on it. He can touch one. Resisting the impulse, he gave a small sigh of approval.
  
  
  When Tala seemed calm, he went to the stream and fetched his shirt and ballet slippers with a stick. Mabel was gone.
  
  
  When they reached the beach, which was an exact replica of the one they had left, the sun was on the western edge of the trees. Nick said, " One pot, huh? We ate a full meal."
  
  
  "It was my idea," Tala said humbly. "We should have gone around."
  
  
  "I'm teasing you. We probably couldn't have had a better time. Is that Fong?"
  
  
  Across the main road, stretching from side to side as far as one could see, and supported by triple mountains or volcanic cores, was the beach and coastline. He had a cultured, civilized appearance, unlike Adata. Meadows or fields rose on the higher ground in green and brown oblong lines, and there were clusters of what looked like houses. Nick thought he saw a truck or bus on the road when he squinted.
  
  
  "Is there a way to signal them? Do you happen to have a mirror?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  Nick frowned. The submarine had a full jungle survival kit, but it all seemed silly to drag the ego around. The matches in his ego pocket looked like cashews. He polished Hugo's thin blade and tried to direct the flashes on Fong Island, directing the last rays of the sun. He thought that maybe he could fake some flashes, but in this strange country, he thought grimly, who cares?
  
  
  Tala was sitting on the sand, her glossy black hair hanging down over her shoulders, her small body hunched with fatigue. Nick felt a painful weariness in his own legs and feet and joined her. "I can run around on them all day tomorrow."
  
  
  Tala leaned on him. Exhausted, he thought at first, until a thin hand slid across ego's forearm and pressed against it. He admired the perfect moon-shaped cream circles at the base of her nails. Man, she was a pretty girl.
  
  
  She said softly, " You must think I'm terrible. She was asked to do the right thing, but it ended up being a mess."
  
  
  He squeezed her hand gently. "It just looks worse because you're so tired. Tomorrow I will explain to her before your father that you are a heroine. You sent a letter asking for help. They'll sing and dance while the whole family celebrates your bravery."
  
  
  She laughed, as if Ay liked the fantasy. Then he took a deep breath. "You don't know my family. If the Mayor had done it, maybe. But she's just a girl."
  
  
  "Some girl." Emu was more comfortable hugging her. She didn't mind. She snuggled up.
  
  
  After a while, his crevices began to ache. He did a slow bench press on the sand, and she followed him like a seashell. She began to run one small hand lightly over ego's chest and neck.
  
  
  Thin fingers stroked ego's chin, traced his lips, stroked his eyes. They massaged his earlobe and temples with a knowing dexterity that, combined with the day's exercise, almost put him to sleep. Except that when a teasing, gentle touch touched ego's nipples and navel, he woke up again.
  
  
  Her lips softly brushed against ego's ear. "You're a good person", "Al".
  
  
  "You said that before. You're sure, aren't you?"
  
  
  "I know. Mabel knew." She giggled.
  
  
  "Don't touch my friend," he muttered sleepily.
  
  
  "Do you have a girlfriend?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  "Is she a beautiful American?"
  
  
  “no. She's a nasty Eskimo, but take my tailor, she can make a nice pottage."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Fish stew".
  
  
  "I really don't have a boyfriend."
  
  
  "Come on. Nice little dish, how are you? Not all of your local steamers are blind. And you're smart. Educated. And by the way "- he gave her a little squeeze as he hugged her - " thank you for hitting me." this one's a crocodile. It took courage ."
  
  
  She gurgled happily. "There was nothing." Enticing fingers danced candid over the ego belt, and Nick inhaled the hot, rich air. Voting, as it happens. Warm tropical night - hot blood boils. Mine is warming up, and is taking a break such a bad idea?
  
  
  He rolled onto his side, clutching Wilhelmina under his arm again. Tala fit him as comfortably as the Luger in its holster.
  
  
  "No, a handsome young man on Phong Island for you?"
  
  
  "Not really. Gan Bik Tiang says he loves me, but I think he's confused."
  
  
  "How confused are you?"
  
  
  "He seems nervous around me. He barely touches me."
  
  
  "I'm nervous around you. But I like to touch it..."
  
  
  "If I had a strong other - or husband-I wouldn't be afraid of anything."
  
  
  Nick pulled back the hand that had been slowly moving towards those attractive young breasts and patted her on the shoulder. This required thinking. A husband? Ha! It would be wise to study Makhmurov before getting into trouble. There were strange customs-like we get into the daughter, and we get into you. Wouldn't it be nice if they were members of a tribe where tradition says it's a great honor for you to ride one of ih's underage daughters? There is no such luck.
  
  
  He dozed off. The fingers on his forehead were back, mesmerizing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  The Tala jack is the only transmission of the ego. He started to jump, and a hand pressed against Ego's chest. The first thing he saw was a gleaming knife, two feet long, not far from his nose, the tip at his throat. It had a symmetrical blade with a curved snake. Hands grabbed the ego to the arms and legs. Five or six people held egos, and they weren't weaklings, he decided after an experimental tug.
  
  
  Tala was dragged away from him.
  
  
  Nick's gaze followed the gleaming blade to the holder , a stern young Chinese man with very short hair and neatly trimmed features.
  
  
  The Chinese asked in perfect English, " Kill the ego, Tala?"
  
  
  "Don't do this until I give you a message," Nick snapped. That seemed as smart as any of the others.
  
  
  The Chinese man frowned. "Her Gan Bik Tiang. Who are you?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Stop!" shouted Tala.
  
  
  It's time for Hey to join the action, Nick thought. He lay still and said: "Her name is Al Bard, an American businessman. Miss Makhmoor brought her home."
  
  
  Rolling his eyes, he watched as Tala approached the dump . She said, " He's with us, Gun. He brought me back from Hawaii. Her, talking to people around her monotonously and..."
  
  
  She continued the flow of Malay-Indonesian that Nick couldn't follow. Men started to get off ego's hands and feet. Finally, the skinny Chinese teen took off the kris and carefully placed ego, the belt cover. He held out his hand, and Nick took it as if the emu needed it. There's nothing wrong with grabbing one, around them-just in case. He pretended to be clumsy and looked hurt and scared, but as he got to his feet, he studied the situation while tripping over the sand. Seven people. One is holding a shotgun. If necessary, he would neutralize ego first, and the odds were higher than even taking ih all of them. Hours and years of practice-judo, karate, savate-and deadly precision, with Wilhelmina and Hugo Lee giving you a huge advantage.
  
  
  He shook his head, rubbed his arm, and staggered over to lick his K in math with a shotgun. "Please excuse us, "Gan said," Tala says you came to help us. I thought she might be your prisoner." We saw the flash last night, and we came back before dawn."
  
  
  "I understand," Nick said. "No harm done. Nice to meet you. Tala was talking about you."
  
  
  Gan looked pleased. "Where's your longboat? "
  
  
  Nick shot Tala a warning look. "The US Navy landed us here. On the other side of the island."
  
  
  "I see. Our boat is located right on the shore. Can you get up?"
  
  
  Nick decided that the ego game was improving. "I'm fine. How are things in Phong?"
  
  
  "Not good. Not bad. We have our own problems..."
  
  
  "Tala told dn. Is there any more news from the bandits?"
  
  
  “yeah. It's always the same. More money, otherwise they will kill the hostages..."
  
  
  Nick was sure he was going to say "Tala." But Tala was here! They were walking on the beach. Gan said: "You will meet Adam Makhmur. He won't be happy to see you."
  
  
  "I heard. We can offer powerful help. Its sure that Tala told you that I also have a connection with the government. Why don't he and the other victims welcome it?"
  
  
  "They don't believe in government assistance. They believe in the power of money, and their own plans. Your own... I think that's a tricky English word."
  
  
  "And they don't even cooperate with each other..."
  
  
  “no. It's not what they think it is. Everyone believes that if you are a wage earner, everything will be fine and you can always get more money. Do you know the story of the chicken and golden eggs?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "That's right. They can't understand how bandits can kill a chicken carrying gold."
  
  
  "But you think otherwise..."
  
  
  They rounded the spit around the pink-and-white sand, and Nick saw a small sailing vessel, a double-deck vessel with a half-lowered lateen sail, flapping in the light wind. The man tried to fix it. He stopped when he saw ih. Gan was silent for a few minutes. Finally, he said, " Some of the people around us are younger. We see, read, and think differently."
  
  
  "Your English is excellent, and you have an American rather than a British accent. Did you go to school in the United States?"
  
  
  "Berkeley," Gun said shortly.
  
  
  There was little chance of talking in prau. The big sail made the most of the light wind, and the small craft crossed the stretch of land at four or five knots, while the Indonesians threw supports over it. They were muscular, tough men, all bone and sinew, and they were excellent sailors. I'm not saying our words, they moved their alenka to maintain better windage.
  
  
  On a clear morning, Phong Island looked more businesslike than at dusk. They made their way to a special pier that was set up on stilts about two hundred yards from the shore. At the ego end was a complex of warehouses and sheds, trucks of several sizes; to the east, a small steam train maneuvered tiny wagons at the railway station.
  
  
  Nick leaned close to Gunn's ear. "What are you sending?"
  
  
  "Lynx, kapok, coconut products, coffee, rubber. Lead and bauxite from other islands. Mr. Machmoor is very wary."
  
  
  "How's business?"
  
  
  "Mr. Makhmur owns many stores. Big one in Jakarta. We always have markets, except when world prices are falling a lot."
  
  
  Nick thought that Gan Bykov was also on the lookout. They were moored in a floating dock at the big pier, next to a two-masted schooner where a truck crane was loading sacks onto pallets.
  
  
  Gan Bykov led Tala and Nick along the port of Bar and up the paved path to the special, a cool-looking building with hinged shutters. They entered an office with a picturesque decor that combines European and Asian motifs; the walls around the polished wood were decorated with works of art that Nick thought were outstanding, two giant fans circled overhead, mocking the high, silent air conditioner in the corner. A wide administrative chair around an iron tree was surrounded by a state-of-the-art counting machine, switchboard, and recording equipment.
  
  
  The man behind the desk was big-broad, short-with sharp brown eyes. He was dressed in immaculate, tailored white cotton. A noble Chinese man in a linen suit over a blue polo shirt was sitting on a bench of well-rubbed tikk. Gan Bykov said: "Mr. Machmoor is Mr. Al Bard. He brought Tala." Nick shook hands, and Gun drew ego to the Chinaman. "This is my father, Ong Chan."
  
  
  They were pleasant people with no tricks. Nick didn't feel any hostility - it was more like "it's good that you came, and it will be good when you leave."
  
  
  Adam Makhmur said: "Tala will want to eat and relax. Gan, please take her to the house in my car and come back."
  
  
  Tala glanced at Nick - I told you-and followed Gun out of the room. Patriarch Machmurov motioned Nick to a chair. "Thank you for bringing back my fast-paced daughter. I hope it wasn't a problem."
  
  
  "It doesn't matter at all."
  
  
  "How did she contact you?"
  
  
  Nick put it on the horse. He told them what Tala had said in Hawaii and, without naming HER, hinted that he was an" agent " of the United States in addition to being a "folk art plug-in." When will it stop
  
  
  Adam exchanged a glance with Ong Chang. Nick thought they exchanged a nod, but reading ihk was like guessing the face-down card of a good five-card poker game.
  
  
  Adam said, " That's partly true. Odin was around my kids... uh, detained until the ferret has met certain requirements. But I would prefer to keep the ego in the family. We hope so... reach a solution without any outside help."
  
  
  "They'll bleed themselves white," Nick said sincerely.
  
  
  "We have significant resources. And no one is ever crazy enough to kill a golden goose. We don't want any interference."
  
  
  "Don't interfere, Mr. Machmoor. Help. Substantial, powerful assistance if the situation requires it."
  
  
  "We know it's yours ... agents have power. Its met some around them over the past few years. Mr. Hans Nordenboss is on his way here by air right now. Her, I think he's your assistant. As soon as it arrives. I hope you both enjoy my hospitality and enjoy a good meal before you leave. "
  
  
  "You are called a very intelligent person, Mr. Makhmur. Would a smart general reject reinforcements?"
  
  
  "If they involve additional danger. Mr. Bard, I have over two thousand good people. And I can get it just as quickly if I want it."
  
  
  "Do they know where the mysterious prisoner junk is?"
  
  
  Makhmur frowned. “no. But we will do it in time."
  
  
  "Do you have enough of your own planes to fly annually?"
  
  
  Ong Chang coughed politely. "Mr. Bard, this is harder than you might think. Our country is the size of your continent, but consists of more than three thousand islands with an almost infinite number of harbors and shelters. Thousands of ships come and go. All types. This is a real pirate all over the hotel as well. Do you remember any pirate stories? They are still valid today. And very efficient, now, with old sailing ships and new powerful ones that can outrun all but the fastest naval vessels ."
  
  
  Nick nodded. "I've heard that smuggling is still a leading industry. The Philippines has protested about this from time to time. But now consider Nordenboss. He is an authority in this field. He meets with many important people and listens. And when we receive weapons , we can call for real help. State-of-the-art devices that even your thousands of people and many ships can't match."
  
  
  "We know," Adam Makhmur replied. "However, no matter how much of an authority Mr. Nordenboss is, this is a different and complex society. I met him with Hans Nordenboss. I respect her ego abilities. But I repeat, please leave us alone."
  
  
  "Will you tell me if there were any new requirements?"
  
  
  The two older men exchanged a quick glance again. Nick decided never to play bridge against them. "No, that's not your concern," Makhmur said.
  
  
  "Of course, we don't have any authority to conduct an investigation in your country unless you or your authorities want us to do so," Nick admitted softly and very politely, as if he had accepted ih's wish. "We dorms would help, but if we can't - we can't. On the other hand, if we happen to come across something useful for your police-I'm sure you'll cooperate with us - I mean with them."
  
  
  Adam Makhmoor handed Nick a box of short, blunt Dutch cigars. Nick took one, as did Ong Chang. They breathed in silence for a while. The cigar was excellent. Finally, Ong Chang remarked with an expressionless face, " You will find that our organs can be perplexing - from a Western perspective."
  
  
  "I've heard some comments about IHT," Nick admitted.
  
  
  "In this area, armies are more valuable than the police."
  
  
  "I understand."
  
  
  "They are very poorly paid."
  
  
  "So they collect a little here and there."
  
  
  "As has always been the case for uncontrolled armies," Ong Chang agreed politely. "This is one of the things that your Washington, Jefferson and Payne knew so well about and defended your country."
  
  
  Nick glanced quickly at the Chinaman's face to see if the egos were joking. You can also try reading the temperature in a printed calendar. "It must be hard to do business."
  
  
  "But not impossible," Machmur explained. "Doing business here is like politics, it becomes the art of doing your best. Only fools want to stop trading while they get their share."
  
  
  "So you can handle the authorities. How are you going to deal with the blackmailers and kidnappers when they get rougher?"
  
  
  "We will open the way when the time comes. Meanwhile, we are careful. Most of the Indonesian youth around the world are now under protection or studying abroad."
  
  
  "What are you going to do with Tala?"
  
  
  "We need to discuss this. Maybe just go to a school in Canada..."
  
  
  Nick thought he'd say "also," which would give him a chance to ask about Akima. Instead Adam said quickly:
  
  
  "Mr. Nordenboss will be here in about two hours. You should be ready to take a bath and eat some food, and I'm sure we can equip you well in the store." He stood up. "And I'll give you a little tour of our lands."
  
  
  Ego owners led Nick to the parking lot, where a young man in a tucked-in sarong was lazily mopping up a land rover in the open air. He wore a hibiscus tree behind his ear, but he drove carefully and well.
  
  
  They passed through a substantial village about a mile away, crowded with people and children, whose architecture clearly reflected Dutch influence. The residents were colorfully dressed, busy and cheerful, and the grounds were very clean and tidy. "Your city looks prosperous," Nick commented politely.
  
  
  "Compared to cities or some around poor agricultural regions or overpopulated ones, we're doing pretty well," Adam replied. "Or it could be a tailspin of how much math is needed. We grow so much rice that we export ego, and we have a lot of livestock. Contrary to what you may have heard, these people are hardworking whenever they have something worthwhile to do. If we can achieve political stability for a while and put more effort into our birth control programs, I believe we can solve our problems. Indonesia is one of the richest but least developed regions in the world."
  
  
  Ong chimed in, " We were our own worst enemies. But we're learning. Once we start working together, these problems will disappear."
  
  
  It's like whistling in the dark, Nick thought. Hijackers in the bushes, armies at the door, a revolution underfoot, and half the natives trying to kill the other half because they didn't accept a certain set of superstitions - ih problems aren't over yet.
  
  
  They reached another village with a large commercial building in the center, opening onto a large, grassy square shaded by giant trees. A small brownish stream flowed through the park area, its banks ablaze with bright flowers: poinsettias, hibiscus trees, azaleas, fire vines, and mimosas. The road led frankly through a small settlement, and on both sides of the path were intricate patterns of bamboo and thatched houses.
  
  
  The sign above the store simply said MACHMOOR. It was surprisingly well-stocked, and Nick was quickly thanks to an extensive supply of new cotton trousers and shirts, rubber-soled shoes, and a fashionable straw hat. Adam is a vast country, ego choose more, but Nick declined, explaining that ego luggage is in the hall in Jakarta. Adam waved off Nick's offer of payment, and they stepped out onto the wide veranda as two army trucks pulled up.
  
  
  The officer who came up the steps was hard and straight and brown as thorns. You might have guessed ego's character from the way a few natives who were lounging in the shadows retreated. They didn't seem scared, but just cautious - like they could back away from a carrier of a disease or a dog that doesn't bite. He greeted Adam and Ong in Indonesian-Malay.
  
  
  Adam said in English,"This is Mr. Al-Bard, Colonel Sudirmat, an American buyer." Nick guessed that " buyer "gave you more status than"documentation." Colonel Sudirmat's handshake was gentle, in contrast to the ego of a hard exterior.
  
  
  The military man said: "Welcome. I didn't know you had arrived..."
  
  
  "He came by private helicopter," Adam said quickly. "Nordenboss is on its way."
  
  
  The fragile dark eyes studied Nick thoughtfully. The Colonel had to look up, and Nick thought he hated it. "Are you Mr. Nordenboss's partner?"
  
  
  "In a way. He's going to help me travel and look at the goods. You can say that we are old friends."
  
  
  "Your passport..." Sudirmat held out his hand. Nick saw Adam frown in concern.
  
  
  "In my luggage," Nick said with a smile. "Should the ego of the headquarters bring it? They didn't tell me..."
  
  
  "This is not necessary," Sudirmat said. "I'll take a look at it before I leave."
  
  
  "I'm really sorry I didn't know you ever did," Nick said.
  
  
  "There are no rules. Just my wish."
  
  
  They played that land Rover game again and drove down the road, followed by the snarling trucks. Adam said softly, " We outplayed it. You don't have a passport."
  
  
  "I'll do it as soon as Hans Nordenboss arrives. A perfectly valid passport with a visa, entry stamps and everything you need. Can we detain Sudirmat before they ferret?"
  
  
  Adam sighed. "He wants money. I can pay it to emu now or later. It'll take us an hour. Bing-stop the car." Adam got out around the car and shouted to the truck that pulled up behind them, " Leo, let's go back to my office and finish our business, and then we can join the others in the house."
  
  
  "Why not?" Sudirmat replied. "Get in."
  
  
  Nick and Ong drove off in the Land Rover. Ong spat over his side. "The leech. And it has a hundred mouths."
  
  
  They walked around a small mountain with terraces and
  
  
  with the crops of the fields. Nick caught Ong's eye and pointed at the driver. "Can we talk?"
  
  
  "Bing is correct."
  
  
  "Can you give me more information about the bandits or kidnappers? I understand that they may have ties to China."
  
  
  Ong Tiang nodded grimly. "Everyone in Indonesia has Chinese connections, Mr. Bard. I can't say that you are a well-read person. You may already know that we, three million Chinese, dominate the economy of 106 million Indonesians. The income of the average Indonesian native is five percent of the income of an Indonesian. You would call us capitalists. The Indonesians are attacking us, calling us communists. Isn't this a strange picture? "
  
  
  "Very much. You say that you do not cooperate and will not cooperate with bandits if they are connected to China."
  
  
  "The situation speaks for itself," Ong said sadly. My own son is being threatened. He no longer goes to Jakarta without four or five security guards."
  
  
  "Gan Ox?"
  
  
  “yeah. Although I have other sons at school in England." Ong wiped his face with a handkerchief. "We don't know anything about China. We've lived here for four generations, some around us for a lot longer. The Dutch laughed and chased us in 1740. We think of ourselves as Indonesians ... but when ih blood gets hot, rocks can start flying in the face of a Chinese person from the street."
  
  
  Nick sensed that Ong Tiang welcomed the opportunity to discuss his concerns with the Americans. Why did it seem until recently that Chinese and Americans always get along? Nick said softly: "I know of another race that has already experienced senseless hatred. Man is a young animal. Most of the time, he acts around emotions rather than through considerations of reason, especially in a crowd. Now you have a chance to do something. Determine the day. Get information or find out how I can get to the bandits ih sailing junk ."
  
  
  Ong's solemn expression became less mysterious. He looked sad and worried. "I can't. You don't understand us as well as you think. We solve our own problems."
  
  
  "You mean ignore ih. You're paying for it. You hope for the best. It doesn't work. You just open yourself up to new requirements. Or the animal-man I mentioned is a power-hungry despot, criminal, or politician, and you're in real trouble. Time to fight. Prima care call. Attack."
  
  
  Ong shook his head slightly and didn't want to say any more. They pulled up to a special U-shaped house facing the road. It blended into the tropical landscape, as if it had grown with the rest of the lush trees and flowers. Nen had large wooden awnings, wide glass-enclosed verandahs, and, Nick guessed, about thirty rooms.
  
  
  Ong exchanged a few words with a pretty young girl in a white sarong and then said to Nick, "She'll show you to your room, Mr. Bard. She speaks weak English, but speaks good Malay and Dutch if you know ih. In the main room - you can't miss it ."
  
  
  Nick followed the white sarong, admiring the waves of ego. Ego's room was spacious, with a modern twenty-year-old British-style bathroom with a metal towel rack the size of a small blanket. He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, using the equipment neatly laid out in the medicine cabinet, and felt better. He undressed and cleaned Wilhelmina, then tightened her seat belts. In order for a large pistol to be hidden in a sports shirt, you need it to be perfectly suspended.
  
  
  He was lying down on a large bed, admiring the carved wooden frame, on which hung a voluminous mosquito net. The pillows were hard and as long as they were stuffed with barrack bags; he remembered that the ihs were called " Dutch wives." He pulled himself together and assumed a completely relaxed position, his arms at his sides, palms facing down, every muscle ego softening and gathering fresh blood and energy as he mentally ordered every single part of his powerful body to stretch and recover. It was a yoga routine he had researched in India, valuable for quick recuperation, for gaining strength during periods of physical or mental stress, for holding your breath longer, and for stimulating clear thinking. He found some aspects of yoga meaningless and others priceless, which is not surprising - he came to the same conclusions after studying Zen, Christian science, and hypnosis.
  
  
  He took a moment to think about his apartment in Washington, his small hunting lodge in the Catskills, and David Hawke. The emu liked the images. When the door to the room opened, it was very quiet, and he felt refreshed and confident.
  
  
  Nick was lying in his shorts, with a luger and a knife under the new neatly folded trousers that lay next to him. He put his hand on the gun without making a sound and tilted his head so that he could see the door. The Bull's Gun came in. Ego's hands were empty. He quietly walked over to the bed
  
  
  .
  
  
  The young Chinese man stopped ten feet away , a slender figure in the gloom of a large, quiet room. "Mr. Bard ..."
  
  
  "Yes," Nick said instantly.
  
  
  "Mr. Nordenboss will be here in twenty minutes. I thought you'd want to know."
  
  
  "How do you know?"
  
  
  "A friend of mine on the west coast has a radio. He saw the plane and gave me the estimated time of arrival."
  
  
  "And you heard that Colonel Sudirmat asked to see my passport, and Mr. Machmoor or your father asked you to check on Nordenboss and give me advice. I can't say much about your fighting spirit here, but your communication is pretty damn good."
  
  
  Nick swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He knew that Gan Bykov was studying the ego, thinking about the scars, noting the honed physical condition, and assessing the strength of the white man's powerful body. Gan Bykov shrugged his shoulders. "Older men are conservative and maybe they're right. But there are some around us who think very differently."
  
  
  "Because you studied the story of the old man who moved the mountain?"
  
  
  “no. Because we look at the world with our eyes wide open. If Sukarno had good people who could help emu, things would be better. The Dutch don't want us to get too smart. We need to catch up. independently."
  
  
  Nick chuckled. "You have his own intelligence system, young man. Adam Makhmur told you about Sudirmat and the passport. Bean told you about my conversation with your father. And that guy from the coast announced Nordenboss. What about fighting with the troops? have you organized a militia, self-defense unit,or underground? "
  
  
  "Should I tell her what to eat?"
  
  
  "Perhaps not-yet. Don't trust anyone over thirty."
  
  
  Gan Bykov was momentarily confused. "Why not? that's what American students say."
  
  
  Nick dressed quickly and politely lied, " But don't worry about helping me."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "I'm twenty-nine."
  
  
  Gun Bull watched expressionlessly as Nick corrected Wilhelmina and Hugo. It was impossible to hide the weapon, but Nick had the impression that Gun Bull could be persuaded long before he gave up the secrets. "Can I bring her to you Nordenboss?" Gan asked the Bull.
  
  
  "Are you going to meet him?"
  
  
  "I can."
  
  
  "Ask ego to put my luggage in my room and give me a passport as soon as he can."
  
  
  "It will do," the young Chinese replied, and left. Nick gave em time to walk down the long hallway, then stepped out into the cool, dark hallway. In this wing were day on both sides, day with shutters all over the natural wood for maximum ventilation of the rooms. Nick chose a door almost opposite the hall. The neatly arranged items indicated that she was busy. He quickly closed the door and tried another one. The third room he explored was obviously an unused guest room. He went in, set up a chair so that he could look out through the doorways, and Stahl waited.
  
  
  The first person to knock on the door was a guy with a flower behind his ear-the driver of a Land Rover Bing. Nick waited for the slender teenager to move down the hall, then silently walked up behind him and said, " Looking for me?"
  
  
  The boy jumped, turned around and looked confused, then put the note in Nick's hand and hurried away, even though Nick said, " Hey, wait..."
  
  
  The note said, "Beware of Sudirmat." See you tonight."
  
  
  Nick went back to his post outside the door, lit a cigarette, took half a dozen puffs, and used a match to burn the message. The girl's handwriting and a "T". It will be Tala. She didn't know that he evaluated people like Sudirmat in five seconds, then met them, and then, if possible, said nothing and let them get behind him.
  
  
  It was like watching an interesting play. The pretty girl who had previously escorted ego to the room softly walked over, knocked on the door of the room, and slipped into nah. She was carrying laundry. This may be necessary, or it may be an excuse. She came out a minute later and left.
  
  
  Next up was Ong Chang. Nick let Em knock and enter. Emu has nothing to talk about with the elderly Chinese - yet. Ong continued to refuse to cooperate until events proved that it was best to change the ego. The only thing he will respect the wise old Tiang in persuasion is example and action.
  
  
  Then Colonel Sudirmat appeared, looking like a thief who wanders around on a mat, watching his back, like a man who knows that he has left his enemies behind and that someday they will catch up. He knocked on the door. He knocked on the door.
  
  
  Nick grinned as he sat in the dark, holding one of the blinds open an eighth of an inch. Fist of power, ready to open, palm up. Em was eager to ask Nick for his passport, and he could do it in private if there was a chance of earning a few rupees.
  
  
  Sudirmat left with a displeased look. Mimmo passed several people, washed, rested and dressed for dinner, some in white underwear, some in a combination of European and Indonesian fashion. They all looked cool, colorful, and comfortable. Mimmo passed Adam Makhmur with an unknown Indonesian noble appearance, and Ong Tiang passed with two Chinese for example, ego age-they looked well-fed, cautious and well-off.
  
  
  Hans Nordenboss finally arrived with a suit bag, accompanied by a domestic servant with his belongings. Nick crossed the hall and opened the door to his room before Hans's knuckles hit the panel.
  
  
  Hans followed him into the room, thanked the young man who quickly left, and said, " Hi, Nick. I'll call him Al from now on. Where did you fall from then?"
  
  
  They felt sorry for each other's hands and exchanged smiles. Nick used to work with Nordenboss. He was a short, slightly disheveled man with close-cropped hair and a cheery pudding face. Around those who can deceive you-the body was made up of muscle and sinew, not fat, and a cheerful moon face masked a sharp mind and knowledge of Southeast Asia, which could be compared only to a few British and Dutch who lived their years in this region.
  
  
  Nick said: "I evaded Colonel Sudirmat. He wants to see my passport. He came looking for me."
  
  
  "The Bull Gang gave me a tip." Nordenboss took out a leather case from his breast pocket and handed it to Ego Nick. "Vote your passport, Mr. Bard. I'm perfectly fine. You arrived in Jakarta four days ago and stayed with me until yesterday. I brought you your clothes and stuff." He pointed to the suitcases. "In Jakarta, I have more of your gear. Including a couple of confidential things."
  
  
  "From Stewart?"
  
  
  “yeah. He always wants us to experience his little inventions."
  
  
  Nick lowered his voice to ferret's level until it rang out between them. "The child Akim was Tala Machmur. Adam and Ong don't need our help. Any word on Judas, Muller, or Junky?"
  
  
  "I'm Just a thread." Hans spoke just as quietly. "I have a lead in Jakarta that will definitely lead you somewhere. The pressure on these rich families is growing, but they are paying off and keeping their secrets to themselves."
  
  
  "Are the Chinese also returning to the political picture?"
  
  
  "And how. Only in the last few months. They have money to spend, and Judas ' influence is putting political pressure on them, I think. This is strange. Here, for example, is Adam Makhmur, a multi-millionaire who distributes money to those who want to ruin egos and all emus like that. And he almost has to smile when he pays."
  
  
  "But if they don't have Tala...?"
  
  
  "Who knows what other ego family member they have? Akim? Or another ego child?"
  
  
  "How many hostages does he have?"
  
  
  "Your guess is as good as mine. Most of these tycoons are Muslims, or pretend to be. They have several Zhen and children. Hard to verify. If you ask him, he will make some reasonable use - for example, a four-letter letter. Then will you ever know that the truth licks by twelve?"
  
  
  Nick chuckled. "These charming local customs." He took out a white linen suit around his bag and quickly put it on. "This Tala is cute. Does it have anything similar to nah?"
  
  
  "If Adam invites you to a big party where they cook a roast pig and dance serempi and golek, you will see more cute dolls than you can count. I attended one here about a year ago. The ceremony was attended by a thousand people. a feast for four days ."
  
  
  "Poked me an invitation."
  
  
  "I think you'll soon get one for helping Tala. They pay their obligations quickly and serve their owners well. We'll fly to the party when it's over. I'm flying in tonight. It's too late. We're leaving early in the morning ."
  
  
  Hans led Nick into the huge main room. It had a corner bar, a waterfall, refreshing air, a dance floor, and a four-person combo that played great French-style jazz. Nick met a couple of dozen men and women chatting endlessly, enjoying a lovely dinner of riesttafel, a "rice bar" with lamb curry and chicken, garnished with hard-boiled egg, sliced cucumber, bananas, peanuts, tingling chutney, and fruit and vegetables. I couldn't name it. There was a fine Indonesian ale, a fine Danish beer, and a good whiskey. After the servants left, several couples danced, including Tala and Gan Bull. Colonel Sudirmat had been drinking heavily and wasn't paying any attention to Nick.
  
  
  At eleven forty-six, Nick and Hans walked back down the hall, agreeing that they had eaten too much, had a wonderful evening, and had learned nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Nick unpacked his luggage and put on his clothes.
  
  
  He made a few notes in his little green notebook with his personal code-shorthand, so secret that he once told Hawke, " No one can steal an ego and find out anything. Parts of it I can't understand what I wrote. "
  
  
  At twelve-twenty, there was a knock on the door, and he let in Colonel Sudirmat, red-faced from the alcohol he had drunk, but still emitting, along with the fumes of the booze, an air of hard power in a small package. The Colonel smiled mechanically with his thin, dark lips. "I didn't want to disturb you at dinner. Can I see your passport, Mr. Bard?"
  
  
  Nick handed Em the booklet. Sudirmat examined it carefully, compared "Mr. Bard" with the photo, and examined the visa pages. "This was released just recently, Mr. Bard. You haven't been importing for very long."
  
  
  "My old foreign passport has expired."
  
  
  "Ah. Have you been friends with Mr. Nordenboss for a long time?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "I know about the ego ... connections. Do you have them too?"
  
  
  "I have a lot of connections."
  
  
  "Ah, that's interesting. Let me know if I can help."
  
  
  Nick gritted his teeth. Sudirmat stared at the silver refrigerator Nick had found on the table in his room, along with a bowl of fruit, tea in a thermos, a plate of cookies and small sandwiches, and a box of fine cigars. Nick waved at the table. "Would you like a drink for the night?"
  
  
  Sudirmat drank two bottles of beer, ate most of the sandwiches and cookies, put down one cigar a minute and lit another. Nick politely parried Ego's questions. When the colonel finally got up, Nick hurried to see Ego off for the day. Sudirmat paused at the opening. "Mr. Bard, we'll have to talk again if you insist on carrying a gun in my neighborhood."
  
  
  Nick looked down at his thin robe.
  
  
  "The one that was under your shirt today is definitely not when. Its supposed to enforce everyone ever did in my neighborhood, you know..."
  
  
  Nick closed the door. That much was clear. He could carry his own gun, but Colonel Sudirmat would have to pay for a personal license. Nick wondered if the Colonel's troops would ever see their pay. The private Indonesian received about two dollars a month. He lived by doing the same things that ego officers do on a large scale: He extorted and accepted bribes, extorted goods and cash from citizens, which was largely the reason for the persecution of the Chinese.
  
  
  Nick's information documents about the area contained some interesting data. He recalled one piece of advice: "... if he is involved with local soldiers, negotiate for money. Most give up their guns to you or criminals for sixteen dollars a day, no questions asked." He chuckled. Perhaps he would hide Wilhelmina and rent weapons from Colonel Ego. He put out all the lights except the low-power lamp, and bench-pressed on the big bed.
  
  
  The thin, high-pitched creak of door roosters is, at one point, the only transmission of ego. He trained to listen to it and ordered his friends to keep an eye on it. He watched the panel open without moving on the high mattress.
  
  
  Tala Machmoor slipped into the room and closed the door softly behind her. "Al..." came a soft whisper.
  
  
  "I'm sincerely here."
  
  
  Since the night was warm, he did a bench press on the bed in just his cotton boxers. They had arrived in the luggage Nordenboss had brought, and they were perfect for him. They must be excellent-they were sewn using the best available polished cotton, with a hidden crotch pocket for Pierre's food, one for the deadly gas pellets that N3 on AX-Nick Carter, alias Al Bard-was authorized to use.
  
  
  He debated whether to reach for his hand, but decided against it. He and Tala had been through enough together, seen enough of each other, to make at least some of the conventions unnecessary.
  
  
  She walked across the room in short strides, the smile on her small red lips as cheerful as a young girl's who is now meeting either the man she admired and built her dreams around, or the man she was already in love with. She was wearing a sarong around her in a very light yellow color with floral patterns of soft pink and green. The glossy black hair she'd put on at dinner - to Nick's admiring surprise-now fell over smooth brown shoulders.
  
  
  In the soft amber glow, she looked like every man's dream, beautiful, curvy, moving with smooth muscular movements that expressed grace, driven by great strength in her insanely rounded limbs.
  
  
  Nick smiled and flopped down on the bed. He whispered, " Hello. Good to see you, Tala. You look absolutely beautiful."
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment, then swam the ottoman to the bed and sat down, resting the emu's dark head on her shoulder. "Do you like my family?"
  
  
  "Very much. And Gun Bik is a good guy. He has a goal on his shoulders."
  
  
  She gave a small shrug and a noncommittal blink that girls use to tell a man-especially an older one - that the other or the younger person is fine, but let's not waste time talking about nen. "What are you going to do now, Al? I know that my father and Ong Chang refused your help."
  
  
  "Her education in Jakarta with Hans in the morning."
  
  
  "You won't find junk or Muller there."
  
  
  He immediately asked: "How did you find out about Mueller?"
  
  
  She blushed and looked down at her long, thin fingers. "It should be one for the entire gang that deals with robbing us."
  
  
  "And kidnaps people like you for blackmail?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Please, Tala." He reached out and took one around the delicate hands, holding it as lightly as a bird. "Don't hide information. Identify me so I can help you. Is there another man with Muller known as Judas or Bormann? A badly crippled man with a Mueller accent."
  
  
  She nodded again and gave out more than she thought. "I think so. No, I'm sure of it." She was trying to be honest, but Nick thought, how do you know about Judas's accent?
  
  
  "Tell me what other families they're holding in their hands."
  
  
  "I'm not sure about many of them. No one is talking. But I'm sure the Loponusias have their sons Chen Xin Liang and Song Yulin. And the daughter of M. A. King."
  
  
  "The last three are Chinese?"
  
  
  "Indonesian Chinese. They live in the Muslim area of North Sumatra. They are practically besieged."
  
  
  "You mean that nu can be killed at any moment?"
  
  
  "Not exactly. They can be fine as long as M. A. pays the army."
  
  
  Will ego money hold up until things change? "
  
  
  "He's very rich."
  
  
  "Like how Adam pays Colonel Sudirmat?"
  
  
  "Yes, except that the conditions in Sumatra are even worse."
  
  
  "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" He asked softly, wondering if she would tell him how she knew about Judas, and why she was free when according to the information she said, she should be a prisoner on the junk.
  
  
  She slowly shook her beautiful head, her long eyelashes drooping. Now she had both hands on his right arm, and she knew a lot about skin contact, Nick decided, as her smooth, delicate nails slid across his skin like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. They patted pleasant ego on the inside of her wrist and traced the veins of ego's bare arm while she pretended to examine ego's hand. He felt like an important customer in the salon, especially a beautiful manicurist. She turned ego's hand over and lightly stroked the fine lines at the base of ego's fingers, then traced them on her palm and detailed each line on his palm. No, he decided, she was with the most beautiful gypsy fortune-teller ever seen - what do they call her in the East? Her index finger crossed from his thumb to ego's little finger, then back down to ego's wrist, and a sudden tingling shiver ran delightfully through ego from the base of his spine to the hair on the back of his neck.
  
  
  "In Jakarta," she whispered in a soft, cooing tone, " you can learn something from Mata Nasut. She's nice. You will probably meet sl. She is very beautiful... pricefoothsbe prettier than its ever gonna be. forget me bella nah ." The little black-crested target leaned forward, and he felt her soft, warm lips on his palm. The tip of her small tongue began to swirl in the center, where her fingers disturbed every ego nerve.
  
  
  The tremor turned to alternating current. It tingled ecstatically between the top of ego's skull and the tips of his fingers. He said: "My dear, you're the girl I'll never forget. The courage you showed in that little submarine, the way you held your head, the kick you gave that crocodile when you saw me in danger - don't forget one thing." He raised his free hand and stroked the hair of the small head still bent in the palm of his hand near the ego of life. It was like heated silk.
  
  
  Her mouth left his arm, Rodion caught on the smooth wooden floor, and her dark eyes were inches from his. They shone like two polished stones in a temple statue, but they framed ih with a dark warmth that shone with life. "Do you really like me?"
  
  
  "I think you're one of a kind. You're gorgeous." No lies, Nick thought, but how do I go on with it? The light gusts of her sweet breath matched her own ego-enhanced rhythm, caused by the current she had generated along her ego spine, which now felt like a red-hot thread encased in ego and flesh.
  
  
  "Will you help us? What about me?"
  
  
  "I'll do what I can."
  
  
  "And you'll come back to me? Even if Mata Nasut is as beautiful as I say?"
  
  
  "I promise." Ego's hand came free, went up to her bare brown shoulders like a cameo, and stopped over her sarong. It was like closing another electrical break
  
  
  The small pinkish-pink lips were at the ego level of their own touch, and then softened ih's plump, almost plump curves into a humming smile that almost reminded em of what she looked like in the jungle after Mabel tore off her clothes. She dropped her head on his bare chest and sighed. She carried a delicious burden, exuding a warm fragrance; a scent he couldn't quite put his finger on, but the woman's scent was arousing. On his left breast, her tongue began an oval dance that he practiced on his palm.
  
  
  Tala Makhmur felt a moment of confusion as she tasted the clean, salty skin of this big man, who had rarely been out of her secret thoughts for medicinal purposes. Hey, I was familiar with human emotions and behavior in all its ego complexities and sensory details. She had never known modesty. Until the age of six, she ran around naked, spying on couples making love again and again on hot tropical nights, carefully watching erotic poses and dancing at night feasts when the children were supposed to be at school. She was experimenting with Gun Bik and Balum Nida, the most beautiful young man on Phong Island, and there wasn't a single part of the male body that she didn't examine in detail and test her reaction. Partly as part of a modern-day protest against unenforceable taboos, she and Gun Bik have copulated several times, and would have done so much more often if he had had his way.
  
  
  But with this American, she felt so different that it caused caution and a tailspin. Gan was fine. Tonight, she'd briefly resisted the hot, pulling compulsion that had dried her throat, so hey, parts of it had to be swallowed. It was like the gurus calling themselves a force that you can't resist, like when you crave cool water or are hungry, then have a long day and smell hot, delicious food. She said to herself: "I have no doubt that this is wrong and right, as the old women advise, because they have not found happiness and will deny it to others." As a contemporary, I consider only wisdom ...
  
  
  The hair on his huge chest tickled her cheek, and she stared at the brown-pink nipple that stood like a tiny island in front of her eyes. She noted the wetness of it with her tongue, kissed the hard-edged tip of it, and felt it shudder. After all, it wasn't much different from the carnivore plague or Baluma in its reactions, but ... ah, what a difference it made in her attitude towards him. In Hawaii, he was always helpful and quiet, although some people must have thought him a stupid and troublesome " boy." On the submarine, and on Adat, she felt that no matter what happened, he would take care of her. That was the real reason, she told herself, that she hadn't shown the fear she felt. She felt safe and secure with him. At first, she was surprised by the growing warmth in her, a glow that drew its fuel from the very proximity of the big American; his gaze fanned the flames, his touch was gasoline on fire.
  
  
  Now, pressed against him, she was almost overwhelmed by the fiery glow that burned through her core like a hot, arousing wick. She wanted to hold him, to hold him, to take his ego away, to keep it forever, so that the delicious flame would never be extinguished. Hey, I wanted to touch, stroke, and kiss every part of my ego, making it my own by right of exploration. She wrapped her little arms around ego so tightly that he opened his eyes. "My dear..."
  
  
  Nick looked down. Gauguin, where are you now, when here is the theme for your chalk and cyst, which screams for the ego to be captured and preserved, as it is now? Hot sweat glowed on her smooth brown neck and back. She rolled the emu's head on her chest in a nervously hypnotic rhythm, she kissed him, she looked at him with her black eyes, strangely arousing the ego with a raw passion that constantly flashed and sparkled in them.
  
  
  A perfect doll, he thought, a beautiful, ready-made and purposeful doll.
  
  
  He grabbed her with both hands just below her shoulders and lifted her up on top of him, half lifting her off the bed and carefully kissing her plump lips. He was surprised by ih's flexibility and unique sense of wet abundance. Enjoying ih's softness, her hot breath, and the feel of her touch on his skin, he thought how smart he was by nature to give these girls lips that were perfect for making love and for an artist to draw on. On canvas, they are expressive - they are irresistible against your background.
  
  
  She left the ottoman and arched her lithe body, but on top of it, the rest of herself. Brother, he thought, feeling his hard flesh in her luscious curves, now it would take some turning to change direction! He realized that she was lightly oiling and perfuming her body - no wonder it glowed so brightly when her temperature rose. The fragrance still eluded him; a blend of sandalwood and tropical flower essential oil?
  
  
  Tala made a wriggling, snuggling motion that pressed her against him like a caterpillar on a branch. He knew she could feel every part of him. After long minutes
  
  
  she gently tore her lips away from his and whispered: "I adore you."
  
  
  Nick said: "You can tell me how I feel about you, beautiful Javanese doll." He ran a finger lightly along the edge of her sarong. "It gets in the way, and you're screwing up your ego."
  
  
  She slowly lowered her feet to the floor, stood up, and unfurled her sarong as casually and casually as when she was swimming in the jungle. Only the voice atmosphere was different. His breath caught in his throat. Her twinkling eyes accurately sized up the ego, and her expression changed to a mischievous hedgehog, the amused look he had noticed earlier, so appealing because there was no mockery in nen - she shared your delight.
  
  
  She achieved a hand on her perfect brown thighs. "Do you approve?"
  
  
  Nick swallowed, hopped off the bed, and walked over to her. There was no one in the hallway. He closed the blinds and a solid interior door with a flat brass bolt of the quality reserved for yachts. He opened the window blinds to hide his eyes.
  
  
  He went back to bed and picked her up, holding her like a precious toy, holding her high and looking at her smile. Her modest calmness was more disturbing than her activity. He took a deep breath - in the soft light, she looked like a nude mannequin painted by Gauguin. She cooed something he couldn't understand, and her soft sound, warmth, and fragrance broke the doll's dream. When he gently laid her down on the white counterpane next to the pillow, she gurgled happily. Alenka of her lush breasts slightly parted ih, forming seductive plump pillows. They rose and fell with a faster rhythm than usual, and he realized that ih's lovemaking had aroused passions in her that were in tune with her own ego, but she was holding ih inside her, masking the seething zeal that he could now clearly see. Her small hands suddenly lifted. "Revenue".
  
  
  He snuggled up to her. He felt a momentary resistance, and a small grimace appeared on her beautiful face, which almost immediately dissipated, as if she was comforting him. Her hands closed under ego's armpits, pulling him with surprising strength, crawling up ego's back. He felt the delicious warmth of the delicious depths and the thousands of tingling tentacles that embraced him, relaxed, quivered, tickled, gently stroked his ego, and squeezed again. The ego spinal cord became an alternating thread that received warm, tiny, tingling thrusts. The vibration in the ego's lower back became very strong, and for a moment the ego was lifted up by waves that overwhelmed the ego's own.
  
  
  He forgot the time. Long after ih's explosive ecstasy had flared up and subsided, he raised a wet hand and looked at his wristwatch. "My God," he whispered, " two hours. If someone is looking for me..."
  
  
  His fingers danced across the ego's jaw, stroked the back of his neck, flowed down his chest, and revealed the relaxing flesh. They caused a new sudden thrill, like the trembling fingers of a concert pianist, trilling out a passage of passage.
  
  
  "No one is looking for me." She lifted her full lips to his again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the way to the breakfast room just after dawn, Nick stepped out onto the wide veranda. The sun was a yellow ball in a cloudless sky at the edge of the sea and the eastern shore. The landscape shone fresh and immaculate, the road and the lush vegetation that sloped down to the shoreline like a carefully crafted model, so beautiful that it almost didn't match reality.
  
  
  The air was fragrant, still fresh from the night breeze. This could be heaven, he thought, if you banished Colonel Sudirmats.
  
  
  Hans Nordenboss came out beside him, his stocky body moving soundlessly across the polished wooden deck. "Great, huh?"
  
  
  “yeah. What's that spicy smell?"
  
  
  "From the groves. Once this area was a cluster of park spices, as ih is called. Plantations of everything from nutmegs to birds. Now it's a small part of the business."
  
  
  "A great place to live. Too bad people can't just relax and enjoy it."
  
  
  Three trucks full of natives crawled like toys along the road far below. Nordenboss said: "That's part of your problem. Overpopulation. As long as humans breed like insects, they will create their own problems."
  
  
  Nick nodded. Hans is a realist. "I know you're right. I've seen it, the population tables."
  
  
  "Did you see Colonel Sudirmat last night?"
  
  
  "I'll keep the money, you saw him come into my room."
  
  
  "You won. On the very edge of it, I listened to the roar and explosion."
  
  
  "He looked at his passport. Hinted that I would pay emu if I continued to carry a gun."
  
  
  "Pay for the emu, if necessary. It comes to us, cheap. Ego's real income comes from its own people, big money from people like Makhmurs, and pennies from every peasant openly now. The army seizes power again. We'll soon see generals in big houses and imported Mercedes cars.
  
  
  Ih basic salary is about Rs 2,000 per month. That's twelve dollars."
  
  
  "What a setup for Judas. Do you know a woman named Mata Nasut?"
  
  
  Nordenboss looked surprised. "Man, you're leaving. She's the contact I want you to meet. She is the highest-paid model in Jakarta, an excellent graduate of the military department. Posing for real things and advertising, not tourist trash."
  
  
  Nick felt the invisible support of Hawke's shrewd logic. How appropriate is it for an art buyer to move in artist circles? "Tala mentioned sl. Whose side is Mata on?"
  
  
  "On her own, like most of the others you'll meet. She's by one around the oldest families, so she moves in the best circles, but she also lives in the circles of artists and intellectuals too. Smart. Has a lot of money. Lives high ."
  
  
  "She's not with us or against us, but she knows what we need to know," Nick mused. "And she's insightful. Let's approach it very logically, Hans. Maybe it's better if you don't enter me. Let me know if I can find the back stairs for her."
  
  
  "Go for it." Nordenboss chuckled. "If she had been a Greek god like you, and not a fat old man, she would have been asked to do research."
  
  
  "I've seen you work."
  
  
  They shared a moment of good-natured banter, a little relaxation of the men living on the edge of the abyss, and then went inside for breakfast.
  
  
  In keeping with Nordenboss ' prediction, Adam Makhmur invited ih to a party two weekends later. With a glance at Hans, Nick agreed.
  
  
  They drove along the coast to the bay, where the Makhmurs had a landing pad for seaplanes and flying boats, and they went out to the sea in a straight line without reefs. On the ramp was a flying boat Ishikawajima-Harima PX-S2. Nick stared at it, remembering more recent memos than AX, detailing developments and products. The ship had four GE T64-10 turboprop engines, a wingspan of 110 feet and its own weight of 23 tons.
  
  
  Nick watched as Hans returned the greeting of a Japanese man in a brown uniform with no insignia, who was unbuttoning his tie. "You mean you came here to drag me into this?"
  
  
  "Only the best."
  
  
  "I was expecting a four-person job with patches."
  
  
  "I thought you wanted to drive in style."
  
  
  Nick made a mental calculation. "Are you crazy? The hawk will kill us. A charter for four or five thousand dollars to pick me up!"
  
  
  Nordenboss couldn't keep his face open. He laughed out loud. "Relax. She was fished out by the ego around the guys around the CIA. He didn't do anything until tomorrow, when he goes to Singapore."
  
  
  Nick breathed a sigh of relief, puffing up his wands. "This is different. They can handle it - with a budget fifty times our own. Hawk has been very interested in spending lately."
  
  
  The phone rang in the small cabin by the ramp. The Japanese waved to Gansu. "For you."
  
  
  Hans returned, frowning. "Colonel Sudirmat and Gan Bull, six soldiers and two of Machmur's men - Gan's bodyguards, I believe-want a ride to Jakarta. I should have said " okay."
  
  
  "Is this anything to diverge for us?"
  
  
  "In this part of the world, anything can mean something. They go to Jakarta all the time. They have small planes, and even a private railway carriage. Play calmly and watch."
  
  
  Ih passengers arrived in twenty minutes. The take-off was unusually smooth, without any noise-the noise of an ordinary flying boat. They followed the shoreline, and Nick again denied the media reports of a model landscape as they buzzed over cultivated fields and plantations, alternating between chunks of jungle forest and oddly smooth grasslands. Hans explained the diversity below, pointing out that volcanic flows over the centuries have been clearing areas like a natural bulldozer, sometimes scraping jungle into the sea.
  
  
  Jakarta was in chaos. Nick and Hans said their goodbyes to the others and finally found a taxi that sped through the crowded streets. Nick was reminded of other Asian cities, although Jakarta may be a little cleaner and more colorful. The sidewalks were packed with little brown men, many in gay printed skirts, some in cotton pants and sports shirts, some in turbans or big round straw hats - or turbans with big straw hats on them. Large colorful umbrellas floated above the crowd. The Chinese seemed to choose quiet clothes of blue or black, while the Arab types wore long cloaks and red fezzes. Europeans were quite rare. Most of the brown people were elegant, relaxed, and young.
  
  
  They passed local markets filled with sheds and stalls. Bidding for all sorts of goods, live chickens in chicken coops, tubs of live fish, and piles of vegetables and fruits was a cacophony of cackling that sounded like a dozen languages. Nordenboss took the driver and gave Nick a short tour of the capital.
  
  
  They did a great job
  
  
  loop in front of impressive concrete buildings grouped around an oval green lawn. "Downtown Plaza, "Hans explained," Now let's look at the new buildings and hotels."
  
  
  After passing a few giant buildings, a few unfinished ones. Nick said: "It reminds me of a boulevard in Puerto Rico."
  
  
  “yeah. These were Sukarno's dreams. If he wasn't so much a dreamer as an administrator, he could do it. He ness too big alenka of the past. The emu lacked flexibility."
  
  
  "I take it he's still popular?"
  
  
  "That's why it's vegetating. Lives near the palace on weekends in Bogor until emu completes the house. Twenty-five million East Javanese are loyal to the Emu. That's why he's still alive."
  
  
  "How stable is the new regime?"
  
  
  Nordenboss snorted. "In a nutshell, they need an annual import of $ 550 million. Exports of $ 400 million. Interest and payments on external loans amount to $ 530 million. According to the latest data, there were seven million dollars in the Treasury."
  
  
  Nick studied Nordenboss for a moment. "You talk a lot, but you feel sorry for me, Hans. I think you like this country and its people."
  
  
  "Oh, tailor, Nick, I know her. They have some great properties. You will learn about goton-rojong-helping each other. Basically, they are good people, except when ih is driven by ih cursed superstitions. to the village. What is called a siesta in Latin countries is jam caret. This means an elastic hour. Swim, take a nap, talk, make love ."
  
  
  They drove around the city, passing large houses on the two-lane road. Five miles away, for example, they turned onto another, narrower road and then onto the driveway of a special, wide, dark-wood house set in the middle of a small park. "Yours?" Nick asked.
  
  
  "In my opinion."
  
  
  "What happens when you are transferred?"
  
  
  "I'm making preparations," Hans replied rather grimly. How many men do we have who speak Indonesian in five dialects, as well as Dutch, English and German?"
  
  
  The house was beautiful, both inside and out. Hans gave him a quick tour, explaining how the former kampong - laundry and servants ' quarters - had been converted into a pool stall, why he preferred fans to air conditioners, and showing Nick his collection of sinks that filled the room.
  
  
  They drank beer on the porch, surrounded by a blaze of flowers that swirled around the walls in flashes of purple, yellow, and orange. Orchids hung in spray under the eaves, and bright parrots chirped as their two large cages swayed in the light breeze.
  
  
  Nick finished his beer and said, " Well, I'll freshen up and go to town, if you have transportation."
  
  
  "Abu will take you anywhere. It's a guy in a white skirt and a black jacket. But calm down - you've only just arrived."
  
  
  "Hans, you are my family Stahl." Nick got up and walked across the wide porch. "Judas is out there with half a dozen prisoners, and he's using these people to blackmail them. You say you like them - let's get a little off our asses and help! Not to mention our own responsibility to stop Judas from staging a coup. for Chikomov. Why don't you talk to the Loponusias clan? "
  
  
  "Yes," Nordenboss said quietly. "Do you want another beer?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "Don't sulk."
  
  
  "Her edu to the center."
  
  
  "Do you want me to come with you?"
  
  
  “no. They should already know you, right?"
  
  
  "Of course. I'm supposed to work in petroleum engineering, but I can't keep anything secret here. Have lunch at Mario's. Eda is great."
  
  
  Nick sat on the edge of the chair, facing the stocky man. Hans ' features did not lose their cheerful mood. He said, " Oh, Nick, I'm with you all the way. But here you use your time. You don't mind. You didn't notice the Makhmurs running around the idle lights, did you? Loponusii - The same thing. They are charged. Wait. There is hope. These people are frivolous, but not stupid.
  
  
  "I see your point," Nick said, less warmly. "Maybe it's just a new broom. I want to connect, find out, find ih, and go after them."
  
  
  "Thank you for offering me an old broom."
  
  
  "You said that, and she's not here." Nick gently slapped the older man's arm. "I guess its just an energetic beaver, huh?"
  
  
  "Clean-clean. But you're in a new country. You'll find out. I have a native working for me in Loponusia. If we're lucky, we'll know when Judas is going to be paid off again. Then we'll move. We know the junk is somewhere off the north coast of Sumatra."
  
  
  "If we're lucky. How reliable is your man?"
  
  
  "Not really. But take the tailor, you're taking a risk because I'm crying.
  
  
  "How about we ask Junky from the plane?
  
  
  "We tried it. Wait until you are flying to other islands, and you will see the number of ships. Looks like traffic in Times Square. Thousands of ships."
  
  
  Nick let his broad shoulders slump. "I'll be running around the city. See you around six?"
  
  
  "I'll be right here. In the pool or playing with my shells." Nick looked to see if Ego Hans was joking. The round face was simply cheerful. Ego master jumped up from his chair. "Come on. I'll call you, Abu, and the car. And for me, another beer."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Abu was a short, thin man with black hair and a streak of white teeth that he often flashed. He took off his jacket and skirt, and now he has a tan and a black hat, cap, like abroad.
  
  
  Nick had two maps of Jakarta in his pocket, which he examined carefully. He said: "Abu, please take me to Embassy Row, where art is sold. Do you know this place?"
  
  
  “yeah. If you want art, Mr. Bard, my cousin has a fine shop in Gila Sturt. Lots of beautiful things. And on the fence, there are many artists showing their works. He can take you with him and make sure that you are not getting cheated. My cousin ... "
  
  
  "We'll be visiting your cousin soon," Nick interrupted Ego. "I have a special reason to go to Embassy Row first. Can you show me where to park?" It doesn't have to be near art squares. I can take her for a walk."
  
  
  Abu turned, white teeth flashing, and Nick winced as they sped past the mimmo truck. "I know."
  
  
  For two hours, Nick looked at the artwork in the open-air galleries-some around them are just space, on fences with barbed wire - on the walls, in squares and in more conventional stores. He researched the subject and was not enamored with the "Bandung School", which consists of cut-out scenes showing volcanoes, rice fields, and nude women in bright blues, purples, oranges, pinks, and greens. Some of the sculptures were better. "That's the way it should be," the dealer told emu. "Three hundred sculptors were left out of work when work on the Bung Sukarno National Monument stopped. The voice and all - there, on Freedom Square."
  
  
  Wandering around and absorbing the experience, Nick came to a special store with a small name on the window, lined in gold leaf - MOORE, HARRIS DALAM, DEALER. Nick noticed thoughtfully that the gold jewelry was on the inside of the glass, and the folding iron joints partially hidden at the edges of the windows were as sturdy as anything he'd ever seen on the Bowery in New York.
  
  
  There were only a few items on display in the shop windows, but they were magnificent. In the foreground were two life-size carved heads, a man and a woman, surrounded by dark wood the color of a well-smoked pipe around a rose hip. They combined the realism of photography with the impressionism of art. The man's features showed a calm strength. The woman was beautiful, with a combination of passion and intelligence that made you move through the carving to enjoy the slight changes in facial expression. The products were not painted, all ih grandeur was created simply by the talent that processed the rich wood.
  
  
  In the next window - there were four in the ih store-were three silver mugs. Each was different, each was an eyecup. Nick made a mental note to stay away from the circle-shaped silver. He didn't know much about it and suspected that one of the bowls was worth a fortune, while the others were ordinary. If you didn't know, it was a rework of the game with three shells.
  
  
  In the third window, we were on the Internet. They were better than the ones he'd looked at in open-air kiosks and on fences, but they were made for the quality tourist trade.
  
  
  In the fourth window was a life-size portrait of a woman in a simple blue sarong and wearing a flower over her left ear. The woman didn't look exactly Asian, although her eyes and skin were brown, and the artist had apparently spent a lot of time on her black hair. Nick lit a cigarette, looked, and thought.
  
  
  It can be a mixture of Portuguese and Malay. Her small, full lips were like Tala's, but there was a firmness in them that promised passion, carefully and unimaginably displayed. The wide-set eyes with the more pronounced cheekbones were calm and reserved, but hinted that you dared to open with a secret key.
  
  
  Nick sighed thoughtfully, stepped on his cigarette, and went to the store. A burly Clare with a gleeful smile made Stahl affectionately cordial when Nick handed Emu one of the cards labeled BARD GALLERIES, NEW YORK. ALBERT BARD, VICE PRESIDENT.
  
  
  Nick said: "I was thinking of buying a few things for our stores - if we can arrange a wholesale sale..." Ego was immediately taken to the back of the store, where a salesman knocked on a door intricately inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
  
  
  Josef Haris Dalam's large office was a private museum and treasury. I looked at Dalam
  
  
  He took the card, dismissed the clerk, and shook hands. "Welcome to Dalam. Have you heard of us?"
  
  
  "Briefly," Nick lied politely. "I understand you have excellent products. Some of the best in Jakarta around the world."
  
  
  "Some of the best around the world!" Dalam was slender, short, and agile, like the village youths Nick had seen climbing trees. His dark face had an actor's ability to portray instantaneous emotions; as they chatted, he looked tired, wary, calculating, and then mischievous. Nick decided it was empathy, a chameleon's instinct to adjust to the mood of the customer, that had brought Dalam from the gutter stand to this solid store. Dalam watched your face and tried them on like hats. For Nick, his dark face and gleaming teeth finally took on a serious and serious, but cheerful look. Nick frowned to see what was going to happen, and Dalam was suddenly angry. Nick laughed, and Dalam joined in.
  
  
  Dalam jumped into a tall box filled with silverware. "Look. Take your time. Have you ever seen anything like this?"
  
  
  Nick reached for the bracelet, but Dalam was six feet away. "Vote! Gold is rising in price - yes? Look at this boat. Three centuries. Alyonka is worth a fortune on a penny. On the dell itself, priceless. Prices are shown in yandex. Maps."
  
  
  The priceless price was $ 4,500. Dalam was further away, still talking. "Voting is a place. You'll see. Goods, yes, but real art. Irreplaceable, expressive art. Genius traits are frozen and plucked out through the flow of time. And ideas. Look at this..."
  
  
  He handed Nick a plump circle around a tree intricately carved in the color of rum coke. Nick admired the tiny stage on each side and the lettering around the edges. He found a silky yellow string between two sections. "It could be a yo-yo. Hey! It's a yo-yo!"
  
  
  Dalam repeated Nick's smile. " Yes... yes! But what's the idea? Do you know about Tibetan prayer wheels? Rotate and stack prayers in heaven? Odin po will meet your countrymen made a lot of money selling them in rolls of your excellent toilet paper, on which they wrote prayers, so that when they spun ih, oni amounted to thousands of prayers per spin. Learn it yo-yo. Zen, Buddhism, Hinduism and Christian - see, welcome Mary full of grace here! Spin and pray. Play and pray."
  
  
  Nick examined the carving more closely. Ih made an artist who could write a Bill of Rights on the hilt of a sword. "Well, I'll have her..." Under different circumstances, he finished, " ... damn."
  
  
  "Unique?"
  
  
  "You might say it's unbelievable."
  
  
  "But you hold the ego in your hand. People everywhere are worried. They're worried. You want to hold on to something. Advertise it in New York and see what happens, eh?"
  
  
  Nick squinted and saw the letters in Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, and Cyrillic that were supposed to be prayers. You can study this thing for a long time. Some of the tiny scenes were done so well that a magnifying glass will help.
  
  
  He pulled the loop around the yellow cord and flipped the yo-yo up and down. "I do not know what will happen. Probably sensational."
  
  
  "Promote ih through the United Nations! All men are brothers. Buy yourself an ecumenical top. And they are well balanced, look..."
  
  
  Dalam performed a different yo-yo. He made a loop, walked the dog, twisted the whip, and ended up with a special trick in which the wooden circle turned over on half the rope held in ego's teeth.
  
  
  Nick looked surprised. Dalam dropped the lacing and looked surprised. "Never seen anything like it? A man brought a dozen to Tokyo. Sold ih. Too conservative to advertise. I still ordered six more."
  
  
  "How much?"
  
  
  "Retail twenty dollars."
  
  
  "Wholesale?"
  
  
  "How many?"
  
  
  "A dozen."
  
  
  "Twelve dollars each."
  
  
  "Gross prices".
  
  
  Nick narrowed his eyes, focusing on Della. Dalam immediately imitated the emu. "11."
  
  
  "Do you have a gross?"
  
  
  "Not really. Delivery in three days."
  
  
  "Six dollars apiece. Everything will be just as good as this one. I'll take her gross in three days and another gross as soon as they're ready."
  
  
  They stopped at $ 7.40. Nick turned the sample over and over in his hand. The creation of the Albert Bard Importer was a modest investment.
  
  
  By payment? Dalam asked softly, a thoughtful expression matching Nick's. -
  
  
  "Cash. Letter of credit from the Bank of Indonesia. You must complete all documents at the customs office. Send it by plane to my gallery in New York, attention, Bill, Rod. All right?"
  
  
  "Delighted."
  
  
  "Now she would like to look at some paintings..."
  
  
  Dalam was trying to sell emu the Bandung School's tourist stuff, which he kept hidden in the corner of the store, behind curtains. He quoted some through them for $ 125, and then dropped to $ 4.75 " wholesale." Nick just laughed , joined by Dalam, who shrugged and moved on to the next pitch.
  
  
  Joseph Harris decided that "Albert the Bard" could not be, and emu showed excellent work. Nick bought two dozen paintings at an average wholesale price of $ 17.50 per person each - and they were truly talented works.
  
  
  They were standing in front of two small oil paintings of a beautiful woman. She was the woman in the pictures in the window. Nick said politely,"She's beautiful."
  
  
  "This is Mata Nasut."
  
  
  "Indeed. Nick cocked his head doubtfully, as if Emu didn't like the brushstrokes. Dalam confirmed his guess. In this mail-in business, you are a rare medical discoverer of what you knew or guessed. He didn't tell Tala that he had glanced at Mata Nasut's half-forgotten photograph of sixty-odd Bonellis loaned to emus ... he did not tell Nordenboss that Joseph Harris Dalam was imported into the list of important, possibly politically significant works of art. the dealer ... he won't tell anyone that Makhmurs and Tiangs are marked with a red dot in AX's technical data - "doubtful - use caution".
  
  
  Dalam said, " The handwritten drawing is simple. Come out and see what's in my window."
  
  
  Nick looked back at Mata Nasut's painting, and she seemed to return his gaze with everything - a restraint in her clear eyes, as hard as a velvet barrier rope, a promise of passion boldly displayed because the secret key was complete protection.
  
  
  "She's our leading model," Dalam said. "In New York, you remember Lisa Fonser; we're talking about Mat Nasut." He found the admiration in Nick's face, which for a moment was undisguised. "They're perfect for the New York market, right? They'll stop pedestrians on 57th Street, eh? Three hundred and fifty dollars for this one."
  
  
  "Retail?"
  
  
  "Oh, no. Wholesale trade".
  
  
  Nick grinned at the smaller man and got admiring white teeth in return. "Josef, you're trying to get an advantage out of me by tripling your prices, not doubling them. I could have paid $ 75 for this portrait. No more than that. But it would be nice to get four or five more similar to him, but also posing according to my requirements. Ble? "
  
  
  "It's possible. I can try it."
  
  
  "I don't need a commission agent or an agent. I need an art studio. Forget it."
  
  
  "Wait!" Dalam's plea was painful. "Come with me..."
  
  
  He moved back through the store, through another relic door at the back, through a winding corridor of mimmo warehouses crammed with merchandise, and into an office where two short brown men and a woman were working to close packed desks. Dalam stepped out into a small courtyard with a pillared roof, and the neighboring buildings formed ego walls.
  
  
  This was the "artistic" part of the factory. About a dozen painters and wood carvers worked hard and cheerfully. Nick strolled through the small group, trying not to sound doubtful. All the work was good, in many ways excellent.
  
  
  "An art studio," Dalam said. "The best in Jakarta".
  
  
  "Good craftsmanship," Nick replied. "Can you arrange for me to meet Mata tonight?"
  
  
  "Oh, her, I'm afraid that's impossible. You have to understand that she's nice. Nah has a lot of work to do. She gets five... twenty-five dollars an hour."
  
  
  "All right. Let's go back to your office and finish our business."
  
  
  Dalam filled out a simple order form and a sales bill. "I'll bring you the customs forms and stuff that you'll sign tomorrow. Let's go to the bank?"
  
  
  "Come on."
  
  
  The bank employee took the letter of credit and returned three minutes later with approval. Nick showed Dalam that there was $ 10,000 in the account. The art broker was thoughtful as they walked through the crowded streets on their way back. In front of the store, Nick said: "It was very pleasant. I'll pick her up tomorrow, no way when, and sign these papers. We can meet again someday."
  
  
  Dalam's response was pure pain. "You're not happy! Don't you need a picture of Mata? The voice is yours for your price." He waved at the cute face that stared back at them through the windows - a little bit of everything, Nick thought. "Come in - just for a minute. Have a cool beer or soda - tea-please be my guest - as an honor..."
  
  
  Nick walked into the store before the tears started to fall. He took a cold Dutch beer. Dalam beamed. "What else can I do for you? Evenings? Girls - all the cute girls you want, all ages, all skills, all colors? You know, amateurs, not professionals. Blue movies? The best color and sound tours in Japan . Watching movies with girls is very exciting ."
  
  
  Nick chuckled. Dalam grinned.
  
  
  Nick frowned ruefully. Dalam frowned in concern.
  
  
  Nick said: "Someday, when I have time, her hotel would enjoy your hospitality. You're an interesting person, Dalam, my other one, and an artist in the shower. A thief by training and education, but an artist, a thief. We could do more del, but only if you introduce me to Mata Nasut.
  
  
  Today or tonight. To sweeten your approach, you can say, hey, I want to involve her in modeling for at least ten hours. For the guy who, after all, paints your heads from photos. He's good."
  
  
  "He's my best ..."
  
  
  "I'll pay Emu well, and you'll get your share. But I'll handle the Mata deal myself." Dalam looked sad. "And if I meet Mata, and she poses for your man for my purposes, and you don't ruin the deal - I promise to buy more of your goods for export." Dalam's expression followed Nick's remarks like a roller coaster of emotions, but ended with a bright splash.
  
  
  Dalam exclaimed, " I'll try! I'll try everything for you, Mr. Bard. You are a person who knows what he wants and runs his business honestly. Oh, how nice it is to meet such a person in our country. ... "
  
  
  "Stop it," said good-natured Nick. "Pick up the phone and call me."
  
  
  Dalam started to dial a number.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  After several phone calls and long, fast conversations that Nick couldn't follow, Dalam announced, in the triumphant tone of a Caesar proclaiming victory, that Nick could come to Mat Nasut at seven o'clock.
  
  
  "It's very difficult. Very lucky, " the merchant said. "A lot of people never meet a Mata." Nick had his doubts. The country has had short shorts for a long time. In ego's experience, even the wealthier parts are eager to get a quick wad of cash. Dalam added that he had informed the Assistant that Mr. Albert Bard would pay twenty-five dollars an hour for her services.
  
  
  "I told you I'd handle it myself," Nick said. "If she's holding me back, it's up to you." Dalam looked startled. "Can I use your phone?"
  
  
  "Of course. By my payment method? Is that fair? You have no idea what her expenses are..."
  
  
  Nick stopped ego's conversation by putting a hand on Emu's shoulder - as if he were placing a large ham on a child's wrist - and leaned over the chair to look directly into the dark eyes. "We are friends now, Josef. Will we practice gotong rojong and thrive together, or will we joke the other in the other so that we both lose?"
  
  
  Like a mesmerized man, Dalam nudged Nick with the phone without looking at him. "Yes" ah "yes". His eyes brightened. "Do you want a percentage on future orders? I can mark the bills and give you..."
  
  
  "No, my other one. Let's try something new. We will be honest with my company and each other."
  
  
  Dalam seemed disappointed or disturbed by this radical idea. Then he shrugged, the small bones moving under Nick's hand like a wiry puppy trying to escape , and nodded. "Great."
  
  
  Nick patted Ego on the shoulder and picked up the phone. He told Nordenboss that he had a late appointment - could he leave Abu-and the car?
  
  
  "Of course," Hans said. "I'll be here if you need it."
  
  
  "I'm calling Mate Nasut to take some photos."
  
  
  "Good luck-good luck. But look."
  
  
  Nick showed Abu the address that Dalam had written on a piece of paper, and Abu said he knew the way. They passed a mimmo of new homes, similar to the cheap new Russian projects Nick had seen, near San Diego, then an even older neighborhood that once again had a strong Dutch influence. The house was solid, surrounded by the vibrant flowers, vines, and lush trees that Nick now associated with the village.
  
  
  She met ego on the spacious loggia and extended a firm hand to em. "Her Mata Nasut. Welcome, Mr. Bard."
  
  
  Its tones had a clear, rich clarity, like real maple syrup of the highest grade, with a strange accent, but without a false note. When she pronounced ego, her name doesn't make much sense otherwise; Nasrsut, with the accent on the last syllable and the double ah, pronounced with the soft roll of the church and the long cooing of coolness. Later, when he tried to imitate hey, he found that it took practice, like a real French tu.
  
  
  Nah had the long limbs of a model, which he thought might be the secret to her success in a country where many women were curved, attractive, and beautiful, but with a low build. She was a full-blooded member of the versatile Morgan family.
  
  
  They were served highballs in the spacious, bright living room, and she kept saying yes. She posed at home. Artist Dalam will be called as soon as Nah has time, in two or three days. "Mr. Bard" will be notified to join them and demonstrate their wishes in detail.
  
  
  It was all so easy. Nick gave her his most sincere smile, a guileless smile that he refused to acknowledge, and also gave Emu a boyish sincerity that was close to innocence. Mata looked at him coldly. "Aside from business, Mr. Bard, how do you like our country?"
  
  
  "I am surprised by its beauty. Of course, we have Florida and California, but they do not go to us in any comparison with the flowers, varieties will meet your flowers and trees.
  
  
  I've never been so fascinated by her."
  
  
  "But we're so slow..." She left it hanging.
  
  
  "You settled our project faster than I would have done in New York."
  
  
  "Because I know what you're doing while you're working."
  
  
  He decided that the smile on her beautiful lips was too long, and there was definitely fire in her dark eyes. "You're teasing me," he said. "You will tell me that your countrymen are indeed making better use of time. They are slower, more gentle. With pleasure, you might say."
  
  
  "I could suggest it."
  
  
  "well... I think you're right."
  
  
  The ego of rheumatism surprised her. She has discussed this topic many times with many foreigners. They defended their energy, hard work, and haste, and never admitted that they could be wrong.
  
  
  She studied Mr. Bard, wondering from what angle. Everyone had them: businessmen-CIA operatives, bankers-gold smugglers, and political fanatics... she met ih everyone. At least the Bard was interesting, the most beautiful person she'd met in years. He denied reports that appeared in the media hey, to someone-a very good actor-Richard Burton? Gregory Peck? She tilted her head to study it, and the effect was charming. Nicky smiled and finished his drink.
  
  
  An actor, she thought. He plays very well, too. Dalam said he had money - well, a lot of it.
  
  
  She thought he was very good-looking, because although he was a giant by local standards, he moved his large, graceful body with a gentle modesty that made it seem smaller to the ego. So different from the ones who bragged, it's like I'm saying, " Back off, shorties." Ego's eyes were so clear, and his mouth was always pleasantly curved. All men, she noticed, with a strong masculine jaw, but boyish enough not to take things too seriously.
  
  
  Somewhere in the back of the house, a servant rattled a plate, and she noted ego's wariness, ego's gaze toward both ends of the room. He would have been, she concluded cheerfully, the most handsome man at the Mario Club or Nirvana Dinner if the smooth-skinned actor Tony Poro hadn't been there. And of course-they were completely different types.
  
  
  "You're wonderful."
  
  
  Lost in thought, she flinched at the soft compliment. She smiled, and her even white teeth accentuated her lips so beautifully that he wondered how she'd kissed - he intended to find out. It was a woman. She said: "You're smart, Mr. Bard. That was great to say after a long silence."
  
  
  "Please call me Al."
  
  
  "Then you can call me Mata. Did you meet a lot of people with them ferret as you arrived?"
  
  
  "Makhmurs. Tyagi. Colonel Sudirmat. Do you know ih?"
  
  
  “yeah. We are a giant queue, but what can be called an interesting group is a small one. Maybe fifty families, but they're usually big."
  
  
  "And then there's the army..."
  
  
  Dark eyes slid over ego's face. "You're a fast learner, Al. This is the army."
  
  
  "Tell me something only if you want to - I'll never repeat what you say, but it might help me. Should I trust Colonel Sudirmat?"
  
  
  The expressions on their faces were frankly curious, not showing that he wouldn't trust Colonel Sudirmat to take the suitcase to the airport.
  
  
  Mata's dark brows drew together. She leaned forward, her tone very low. “no. Keep going about your business and don't ask questions like others do. The army is back in power. Generals will accumulate fortunes, and people will explode when they are hungry enough. You are in the web with professional spiders long practice. Don't turn into a fly. You are a strong man for a strong country, but you can die as quickly as thousands of others." She leaned back. "Have you seen Jakarta?"
  
  
  "Just a commercial center and a few suburbs. Her hotel would like you to show me more - say, tomorrow, not when?"
  
  
  "I'll be working."
  
  
  "Abort the meeting. Postpone it."
  
  
  "Ah, I can't ..."
  
  
  "If it's money-let me pay you your usual rate - as an escort." He smiled broadly. "Pricelegs are more fun than posing in bright lights."
  
  
  "Yes, but..."
  
  
  "I'll pick you up at noon. Here?"
  
  
  "Well..." There was another clang around the back of the house. Mata said: "Excuse me for a moment. I hope the cook isn't annoyed."
  
  
  She went through the archway, and Nick waited a few seconds, then quickly followed her. He passed through a Western-style dining room with an oblong table that could hold fourteen or sixteen people. He heard Mata's voice from the other side of the L-shaped corridor, which had three closed doors. He opened the first one. Large master bedroom. The next was a smaller bedroom, beautifully furnished and obviously owned by the Owner. He opened the next door and ran in through the nah when the man tried to climb through the window.
  
  
  "Stop right there," Nick growled.
  
  
  The man sitting on the windowsill froze. Nick saw a white coat and a head of smooth black hair. He said: "Let's go back. Miss Nasut wants to see you."
  
  
  The small figure slid slowly to the floor, pulled in its leg, and turned.
  
  
  Nick said, " Hey, Gun Bull. Should we call it a coincidence?"
  
  
  He heard movement in the day behind him and looked away from Gan Bull for a moment. Mata was sitting in the doorway. She held a small blue submachine gun pointed at him, low-lying and steady. She said: "I would call it a place where you have nothing to do. What did you want, Al?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick stood motionless, his mind calculating his chances like a computer. With the enemy in front and behind - he'll probably get one bullet from that shooter before he gets ih of both. He said: "Relax, Mata. She wanted to go to the bathroom and saw this guy coming out the window. The ego's name is Gan Bik Tiang."
  
  
  "I know the ego's name," Mata said dryly. "Are your kidneys weak, Al?"
  
  
  "Open now-yes." Nick laughed.
  
  
  "There was a gun lying there, Mata," said Gun Bull. "He's an American agent. He brought Tala home and she told em to contact you. He came to tell you, and I heard him searching the rooms, and he caught me coming out."
  
  
  "How interesting." Mata lowered the small weapon. Nick marked it as a Japanese Baby Nambu pistol. "I think both of you should leave."
  
  
  Nick said ," I think you're my type of woman, Mata. How did you even get that gun out so quickly?"
  
  
  Hey, Ego had liked compliments before - Nick hoped it would soften the cold atmosphere. Mata entered the hall and placed the weapons in a squat vase on a high carved shelf. "I live alone," she said simply.
  
  
  He smiled his friendliest smile. "Can't we have a drink and talk about it? I think we're all on the same side..."
  
  
  They drank, but Nick had no illusions. He was still Al Bard, who meant cash for Mata and Dalam-regardless of the ego of the other connections. He received a confession from Gun Bull that he came to Checkmate for the same purpose as Nick-information. With American help at the ihc, will she tell them what she knows about Judas ' next reckoning? Was Loponusias also supposed to visit the junk?
  
  
  Mata didn't have ih. She said in her calm tone, " Even if I could help you, I'm not sure. I don't want to get involved in politics. I had to fight just to survive."
  
  
  "But Judas keeps people who are your friends," Nick said.
  
  
  "My friends? My dear Albert, you don't know who my friends are."
  
  
  "Then do your country a favor."
  
  
  "My friends? My side?" She laughed softly. "I was just lucky to survive. I've learned not to interfere."
  
  
  Nick gave Gun Bull a ride back to town. The Chinese guy apologized. "His hotel and help. I've done her more harm than good."
  
  
  "Probably not," Nick told emu. "You cleared the air quickly. Mata knows exactly what I want her to do. It's up to me to decide if I get it for her."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  The next day, with Nordenboss's help, Nick rented a motorboat and took Abu with him as a pilot. He borrowed the owner's water skis and a basket of food and drink. They swam, skied, and talked. Mata was dressed beautifully, Mata in a bikini, which she only wore when they were away from the shore, was a vision. Abu-swam with them and went skiing. Nordenboss said he is absolutely trustworthy because he paid Emu more than any possible bribe and because he was with Agent AX for four years and did not make false moves.
  
  
  They had a great day together, and that evening he invited Mata to have dinner at Orientale and then to a nightclub at the Intercontinental Indonesia Hotel. She knew a lot of people, and Nick was busy shaking hands and memorizing names.
  
  
  And she was enjoying herself. He told himself that she was happy. They made an impressive couple, and she beamed when Josef Dalam joined them for a few minutes at the hotel and told her so. Dalam was in the company of six people, accompanying a beautiful girl who, according to Mata, was also a very popular model.
  
  
  "She's pretty," Nick said, " and maybe when she gets older, she'll have your charm."
  
  
  Jakarta sticks to the early hours of the morning, and just before eleven o'clock, Abu walked into the club and caught Nick's attention. Nick nodded, thinking the man was just a hotel to let him know the car was outside, but Abu walked over to the desk, handed em a note, and left. Nick glanced at nah - here's Tala. H. N.
  
  
  He held out his Partner's ego. She read the ego and said almost everything: "So, Al, you have two girls on your hands. She should remember the trip you two had from Hawaii."
  
  
  "I told you nothing was wrong, my dear."
  
  
  "I believe you, but..."
  
  
  He thought ih intuition was as reliable as radar. It was a good thing she hadn't asked him what had happened between him and Tala after they'd reached Makhmurov - or maybe she'd guessed. Soon, on the way home, she called Tala again. "Tala is a charming young lady. She thinks like a foreigner-I mean, nah doesn't have that timidity that we Asian women have shown in some things. She is interested in politics, the economy and the future of our country. You should enjoy talking to me."
  
  
  "Oh, I know her," Nick said heartily.
  
  
  "You're teasing me."
  
  
  "Dis if you have raised this topic, why not take an active part in the politics of your country? God knows there must be someone besides the swindlers, crooks, and tin soldiers I've seen and read about. The price of rice has tripled in the last six months. weeks. You'll see ragged people trying to buy lynx in them wooden barrels that the government puts up. I keep the money, it's marked up nine times and discounted twice before the ego is handed out. Its a stranger here. Her "I saw a filthy slum for the shining Indonesia Hotel", but won't you say no? Life in the villages you meet may be possible for the poor, but in the cities it is hopeless. So let's not laugh at Tala. She's trying to Determine."
  
  
  Mata was silent for a long time, then said without much conviction: "In rural areas, you can live almost without money. Our climate - our abundance of agriculture-is an easy life."
  
  
  "Is that why you're in town?"
  
  
  She walked over to him and closed her eyes. He felt a tear splatter on the back of his hand. When they stopped at her house, she turned to him. "Are you coming?"
  
  
  "I hope I was invited. With love."
  
  
  "Not in a hurry to get to Tala?"
  
  
  He held her a few steps away from the car and Abu, and kissed her gently. "Tell me... And I'll send it to Abu-back now. I can take a taxi in the morning, or he can pick me up."
  
  
  Alenka's voice was gentle, her hands briefly squeezing the ego muscles. Then she pulled away, shaking her gorgeous head slightly. "Send ego-honey."
  
  
  When he said he'd like to take off his tuxedo, belt, and tie, she busily led Ego into the feminine bedroom and handed him a coat rack. She sank down on the French chaise longue and looked up at him, burying her exotic face in the pillow of her forearms. "Why did you decide to stay with me instead of going to Tala's?"
  
  
  "Why did you invite me?"
  
  
  "I do not know. Maybe the guilt of what you said is bad for me and my country. You meant it. No man would say such things for romantic reasons - they are too likely to cause resentment."
  
  
  He took off his maroon belt. "I was honest, my dear. Lies have a habit of sticking together like scattered nails. You have to be more and more careful, and eventually they will catch you anyway."
  
  
  "What do you really think about Gun Bik being here?"
  
  
  "I haven't decided yet."
  
  
  "He's also honest. You should know that."
  
  
  "There's no chance that he'll be more faithful to his origin?"
  
  
  "China? He considers himself Indonesian. He took a big risk to help the Machmurs. And he loves Tala."
  
  
  Nick sat down in the living room, which was rocking gently like a giant cradle, and lit two cigarettes. he said softly through the blue smoke. "This is the entire hotel, and love, Mata. Nature created it, and man tramples on it all. If someone around us can help us get rid of the types of Judas and all the others that are hanging around people's necks, we should try. Just because we have our own little comfortable nest and corners, we can't ignore everything else. And if we do , one day the city will be destroyed in the coming explosion ."
  
  
  Tears glistened on the lower edges of her gorgeous dark eyes. She cried easily - or accumulated a lot of burn. "We are selfish. And hers is just like everyone else." She put her head on Emu's chest and he put his arm around her.
  
  
  "It's not your fault. Whose fault is it? The man was temporarily out of control. When you show up like flies and fight for education like a number of starving dogs, with only one small bone at all, you don't have much time for honesty ... and justice ... and kindness ... and love. But if everyone around us does what they can ... "
  
  
  "My guru says the same thing, but he thinks it's all preordained."
  
  
  "Does your guru work?"
  
  
  "Oh, no. He's such a saint. It's a great honor for him."
  
  
  "How can you talk about justice if others sweat instead of the food you eat? Is that fair? It seems unkind to those who are sweating."
  
  
  She sobbed softly. "You're so practical."
  
  
  "I don't want to get upset
  
  
  He lifted her chin. "Quite serious conversations. You have decided for yourself whether you want to help us. You're too beautiful to be sad at this time of night." He kissed her, and the cradle-like living room tilted as he stretched out some of his weight, carrying her with him. He found that her lips were like Tala's, voluptuous and plentiful, but around two-ah, he thought, there was no substitute for maturity. He declined to add-experience. She showed no shyness or false modesty; no tricks that, in the layman's opinion, do not help passion, but only distract it. Methodically, she stripped off her own gold dress with a single zipper, shrugged, and turned around. She studied the ego's dark, creamy skin against her own, reflexively checked the ego's large arm muscles, examined the ego's palms, kissed each ego's fingers, and made intricate patterns with her own hands so that the ego's lips would touch.
  
  
  He found her body in the reality of warm flesh, even more arousing than the promise in the portraits or the soft pressure as they danced. In the soft light, her cocoa-rich skin looked delicious and flawless, except for one dark mole the size of a nutmeg on her right buttock. The curves of her hips were pure art, and her breasts, like those of Tala and many of the women he had seen on these charming islands, were a visual delight and also ignited the senses when you caressed or kissed her. They were large, maybe 38C, but so elastic, perfectly placed and supporting the muscles that you didn't notice the size, you just sucked in a short breath.
  
  
  He whispered into his dark, fragrant hair, " No wonder you're the most sought-after model. You're gorgeous."
  
  
  "I have to reduce ih." Her efficiency she's free of ego. "Fortunately, for me, the favorites here are overweight women. But when I see her Twiggy and some of your New York models meet her, I worry. Styles may change."
  
  
  Nick chuckled, wondering what kind of man would trade the soft curves pressed against him for a lean one, and finding the ego might have to be groped.
  
  
  "Why are you laughing?"
  
  
  "It's going to go the other way, honey. Soon there will be comfortable girls with curves."
  
  
  "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "Almost. I'll check it out the next time I'm in New York or Paris."
  
  
  She stroked the ego of my life with the back of her long fingernails, resting the emu's head under her chin. "You're so big, Al. And strong. Do you have a lot of girls in America?"
  
  
  "I know some, but she's not attached, if that's what you mean."
  
  
  She kissed ego's chest, drew patterns on it with her tongue. "Oh, you still have salt. Wait ... " She went to the dressing table and brought out a small brown bottle that looked like a Roman mallow urn. "Oils. This is called the Love Helper. Isn't that a descriptive name?"
  
  
  She rubbed her ego, the sliding stimulus of her palms causing a teasing sensation. He amused himself by trying to control his yoga skin, telling hey to ignore the tender hands. It didn't work. Voice of the Ages and Yoga against sex. She massaged ego thoroughly, covering every square inch of ego's flesh, which then began to tremble impatiently at the approach of her fingers. She examined and smeared ego's ears with subtle artistry, turned him over, and he stretched contentedly while butterflies tapped him from his heels to his head. When Guo's small, shimmering fingers wrapped around his ego's loins for the second time, he relinquished control. He took off the bottle she had propped against him and set it on the floor. He spread it out on the chaise longue with his strong hands.
  
  
  She sighed as his hands and lips brushed hers. "Mmm... that's good."
  
  
  He lifted his face to hers. His dark eyes glowed like two pools of water dappled by moonlight. He muttered: "You see what you've done to me. Now it's my turn. Can I use her oil?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  He felt like a sculptor who was allowed to explore the incomparable lines of an authentic Greek statue, with his hands and fingers. It was perfection - it was a real art form-with the exciting difference that Mata Nasut was hotly alive. When he stopped to kiss her, she was overjoyed, moaning, grunting in rheumatism at the irritation of ego lips and ego hands. When his hands - which he was the first to admit were quite experienced-caressed the erogenous parts of her beautiful body, she writhed with pleasure, shuddering with delight, while his ego fingers lingered on the sensitive areas.
  
  
  She puts her hand on the back of Emu's head and presses ego's lips to hers. "See? Gotong-rojong. Fully share - fully help... " She pulled harder, and he found himself sinking into a hot, sultry, sharp-edged softness as parted lips greeted him, as a hot tongue suggested thoughts in a slow rhythm. Her breathing was faster than her movements, almost fiery with intensity. The ego heads ' arm jerked with surprising force and
  
  
  The second man suddenly tugged harder on her shoulder.
  
  
  He took her insistent tugs and gently approached her guidance, relishing the feeling of entering a secret, pesky world where time was stopped by delight. They merged into one pulsing being, inseparable and exultant, enjoying the blissful sensory reality created by each for the other. There was no need to rush, no need to plan or make an effort - the rhythm, swings, little twists and spirals came and went, repeated, varied and changed with mindless naturalness. His ego burned, his stomach and intestines tensed, as if he were in an elevator that had plummeted-and plummeted again-and again, and again.
  
  
  Mata gasped once, parting her lips, and moaned a musical phrase he couldn't understand before it closed around his lips again. Once again, ego control is gone-who needs it? As she captured the ego, emotions with her hands on his skin, she now enveloped the entire ego, body, and emotions, her blazing fervor becoming an irresistible magnet. Her fingernails closed on his skin, as light as a playful kitten's claws, and her toes curled into a rheumatism-pleasing sympathetic motion.
  
  
  "Aha, now," she murmured, as if around an rta ego.
  
  
  "Yes, "he answered quite readily,"yes, yes..."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  For Nick, the next seven days were the most frustrating and exciting through this that he had ever known. With the exception of three brief meetings with photographers, Mata became Ego's constant guide and companion. He wasn't going to waste any time, but ego's search for potential clients and contacts was like dancing in a warm sugar pump, and every time he tried to stop someone, he handed em a cool gin and tonic.
  
  
  Nordenboss approved. "You're learning. Keep moving with this crowd, and sooner or later you'll get to know something. If I get a notification from my loponusia plant, we can always fly there."
  
  
  Mata and Nick visited the best restaurants and clubs, visited two Yahoo sites, watched a game and a soccer match. He chartered a plane and they flew to Yogyakarta and Solo, visiting the indescribably wonderful Buddhist shrine in Borobudur and the 9th-century Prambana Temple. They flew side by side in craters with lakes of different colors, as if you were standing over an artist's tray and looking at the ego mixes.
  
  
  They flew up to Bandung, skirting a plateau filled with neat rice fields, forests, cinchona and tea plantations. He was surprised by the boundless friendliness of the Sundanese, the bright colors, the music, the instant laughter. They had spent the night at the Savoy Homan Hotel, and he had been struck by the ego's superior quality - or perhaps Mata's presence had lit up the ego impressions with a rosy glow.
  
  
  Nah was wonderful company. She dressed beautifully, behaved immaculately, and seemed to know everything and everyone.
  
  
  Tala lived in Jakarta, at Nordenboss's, and Nick stayed away, just wondering what story Tala had told Adam this time.
  
  
  But he made good use of it in her absence, not when it was warm in the pool at Puntjac. In the morning, he took Mata to the botanical gardens in Bogor, where they walked together like old lovers, awed by the hundreds of thousands of different varieties of tropical vegetation.
  
  
  After a delicious lunch at home by the pool, he was silent for a long time, until Mata said, " Honey, you're so quiet. What are you thinking?"
  
  
  "Tala".
  
  
  He could see the bright dark eyes dropping their sleepy reserve, widening and glittering. "I think Hans is fine.
  
  
  "She must have already gathered some information. Either way, I need to make some progress. This idyll was precious, sweet, but I need help."
  
  
  "Hold on. Time will bring you what you..."
  
  
  He leaned over her chaise longue and covered her beautiful lips with his own. When he pulled away, he said, " Be patient and shuffle the cards, eh? To a certain extent, everything is fine. But I can't let the enemy do everything shaggy. When we get back to the city, I have to leave you for a few days. You can catch up on your scheduled appointments."
  
  
  Her full lips opened and closed. "While you catch up with Tala?"
  
  
  "I'll see her."
  
  
  "How nice."
  
  
  "Maybe she can help me. Two heads are better than one, and all that."
  
  
  On the way back to Jakarta, Mata was silent. As they approached her house, quickly in the falling dusk, she said, " Let me try."
  
  
  He took her hand in his. "Please. Loponusias and the others?"
  
  
  “yeah. Maybe I can learn something."
  
  
  In the cool, now familiar tropical living room, he mixed whiskey and sodas, and when she returned to talk to the servants, he said, " Try it now."
  
  
  "Now?"
  
  
  "Voice and phone. Sweet,
  
  
  I trust her to you. Don't tell me you can't. With your friends and acquaintances ... "
  
  
  Mesmerized, she sat up and picked up the phone.
  
  
  He made another drink before she completed a series of calls, including sluggish and rapid-fire conversations in Indonesian and Dutch, to us, one around which he didn't understand. After replacing the phone and picking up the filled glass, she lowered her head for a moment and spoke softly. "In four or five days. To Loponusias. They're all going there, and that can only mean that they all have to pay."
  
  
  "All of them? Who are they?"
  
  
  "The Loponusias family. It's big. Rich."
  
  
  "Are there any politicians and generals in nen?"
  
  
  “no. They are all in the mail business appears. Big business. The generals get paid by them."
  
  
  "Where to?"
  
  
  "Of course, in the main domain of the Loponusians. Sumatra".
  
  
  "Do you think Judas should show up?"
  
  
  I do not know." She looked up and saw that he was frowning."Yes, yes, what else could it be? "
  
  
  "Judas keeps one around the kids?"
  
  
  "Yes." She swallowed some of her drink.
  
  
  "What's the ego's name?"
  
  
  "Amir. He went to school. He disappeared while he was in Bombay. They made a big mistake. He was traveling under a different name, and they made ego stop for some business, and then ... he disappeared before they ferret until..."
  
  
  "Before them, a ferret?"
  
  
  She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her. "Until they asked for money for it."
  
  
  Nick didn't say that she had to know what-what was around it all the time. He said: "Did you ask for something else?"
  
  
  "Yes." A quick corkscrew caught ee. She realized what she was admitting and looked at him with the eyes of a frightened fawn.
  
  
  "Like what?"
  
  
  "I'm thinking... they help the Chinese."
  
  
  "Not local Chinese..."
  
  
  "A little."
  
  
  "But so are the others. Maybe on ships? Do they have docks?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Of course, he thought, how logical! The Java Sea is big but shallow, and now it's a trap for submarines when the search devices are working accurately. But north Sumatra? Ideal for surface or underwater vessels going down the South China Sea.
  
  
  He hugged her. "Thank you, dear. When you know more, tell me. It's not for nothing. I'll have to pay for the information." He told half a lie. "You might as well collect, and that's really a patriotic thing to do."
  
  
  She burst into tears. Ah, women, he thought. Did she cry because he had involved her against her intentions, or because he had brought money? It was too late to retreat. "Three hundred US dollars every two Sundays," he said. " Oni let me pay that much to get the information." He wondered how practical she would have been if she'd known that he could allow thirty times that amount at the very least-and then talk to Hawk.
  
  
  The sobs subsided. He kissed her again, sighed, and stood up. "I need to take a little walk."
  
  
  She looked sad, tears glistening on her high, plump cheeks; more beautiful than ever in despair. He added quickly: "I'm just on business. I'll be back around ten." We'll have a late snack."
  
  
  Abu-took ego to Nordenboss. Hans, Tala, and Gun Bik were sitting on pillows around the Japanese cooking range, Hans having fun in a white apron and tilted chef's hat. He looked like Santa Claus in white. "Hey, Al. I can't stop cooking. Sit down and get ready for the real eda."
  
  
  The long low chair to Hans's left was stuffed with plates; ih the contents looked and smelled delicious. The brown girl brought emu a large, deep dish. "Not too much for me," Nick said. "I'm not really hungry."
  
  
  "Wait until you try it," Hans replied, filling the dish with brown rice. "I combine the best of Indonesian and Oriental cuisine."
  
  
  Dishes began to swirl around the table - crabs and fish in aromatic sauces, curries, vegetables, spiced vegetables as a gift. Nick took a small sample of each, but the mound of rice quickly disappeared under the treats.
  
  
  Tala said: "I've been waiting a long time to talk to you, Al."
  
  
  "About Loponusi?"
  
  
  She looked surprised. "Yes."
  
  
  "When is it?"
  
  
  "In four days."
  
  
  Hans hesitated with a large silver spoon in the air, then grinned as he poked it into the red-spiced shrimp. "I think Al already has a lead."
  
  
  "I had an idea," Nick said.
  
  
  Gun Bull looked serious and determined. "What can you do? The Loponusias won't meet you. I won't even go there uninvited. Adam was thoughtful because you brought Tala back, but Siau Loponusias is-well, you'd say in English - tough."
  
  
  "He just won't accept our help, will he?"
  
  
  “no. Like everyone else, he decided to go with them. Pay and wait."
  
  
  "And it helps.
  
  
  He's a Red Chinaman when he needed to be, huh? Maybe he really likes Beijing."
  
  
  Gun Bull was adamant. "He's incredibly rich. Emu has nothing to gain from this. He will lose everything."
  
  
  "Rich people have worked with China before."
  
  
  "Not Shi'au," Tala said softly. "I know ego well."
  
  
  Nick looked at Gun Bull. "Do you want to come with us? Maybe it will be hard."
  
  
  "If things got so rough, we would kill all the bandits, Ney would be happy. But I can't." Gun Bull frowned. "I did what my father sent me here to do-on business-and he ordered me to return in the morning."
  
  
  "Can't you apologize?"
  
  
  "You met my father."
  
  
  "Yes, I know what you mean."
  
  
  Tala said, " I'll go with you."
  
  
  Nick shook his head. "Not a girl's night this time."
  
  
  "You'll need me. With me, you can get into the property. Without me, you'll be stopped ten miles away."
  
  
  Nick looked at Hans, surprised and questioning. Hans waited for the maid to leave. "Tala is right. You will have to fight your way through a private army in unknown territory. And on rough terrain."
  
  
  "Rest the army?"
  
  
  Hans nodded. "Not in good shape. Regular players won't like it. But more effective than permanent."
  
  
  "It's a good idea. We fight our way through our friends to get to our enemies."
  
  
  "Changed your mind about taking Tala?"
  
  
  Nick nodded, and Tala's beautiful features brightened. "Yes, we will need all the help we can get."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Three hundred miles to the north-northwest, the strange ship was sailing smoothly through the long purple waves of the Java Sea. She had two tall masts, with a large mizzen topmast and a rudder forward, and both were fitted with topsails. Even old sailors would have to take another look before saying, " It looks like a schooner, but it's a Portagee fight, you know?"
  
  
  You must forgive the old sailor for being half wrong. The Oporto could pass for a small Portagee, a handy trader easily maneuvered in close quarters; in an hour it could be transformed into a prau, a Surabaji bataka; and in another thirty minutes you would blink if you raised your binoculars again and saw a high headland, an overhanging stem, and strange square sails. Greet her and you will be told that she is the Wind po Keelung junk in Taiwan.
  
  
  You may be told anything around it, depending on how it was disguised, or you may be thrown across the waters by the thunder of the unexpected firepower of an ee 40mm cannon and two 20mm smoke bombs. Mounted amidships, they had a 140-degree field of fire in both directions; on her fore and aft recoilless guns, new Russian models with convenient homemade mounts filled in the gaps.
  
  
  She was good at steering anything around her sails - or could have made eleven knots on her unsuspecting Swedish diesels. It was a surprisingly fine Q-ship, built in Port Arthur with Chinese funds for a man named Judas. Its construction was supervised by Heinrich Muller and naval architect Berthold Geitsch, but it was Judas who received funding through Peking.
  
  
  A beautiful ship in a peaceful sea-with a disciple of the devil as the host.
  
  
  Under a tan awning in the stern, a man named Judah was sprawled out enjoying a light cotton breeze with Heinrich Muller, Bert Geitsch, and a strange young man with a bitter Mindanao face named Neef. If you saw this group and learned anything about their individual history, you would run away, break out, or grab a gun and attack them, depending on the circumstances and your own background.
  
  
  Sprawled out on a chaise longue, Judas looked healthy and tanned; nen was wearing a hook around the hide and nickel instead of a missing arm, his limbs were scarred, and one side of his face was twisted from a terrible wound.
  
  
  As he fed banana slices to a pet chimpanzee chained to an ego chair, he looked like a good-natured veteran of the half-forgotten warriors, a scarred bulldog still fit for a pit of last resort. They, who knew more about nen, could correct this opinion. Judas was endowed with a brilliant mind and the psyche of a rabid weasel. The monumental ego was so pure egoism that for Judas there was only one person in the world - himself. The ego's fondness for the chimpanzee will only last as long as the ferret feels satisfied. When the emu didn't like the animal, it threw the ego overboard or cut it in half - and explained its actions with distorted logic. The ego attitude towards people was the same. Even Mueller, Geitch, and Knife didn't know the true depth of ego dislike. They survived because they served.
  
  
  Muller and Geitsch were men of knowledge and no intelligence. They had no imagination other than
  
  
  in ih technical majors - which were huge - and therefore didn't pay attention to others. They couldn't imagine anything other than their own.
  
  
  Naif was a child in a man's body. He killed on command with an empty mind of a child who was attracted to a convenient toy to get candy. He was sitting on the deck a few yards ahead of the others, throwing balanced throwing knives at a meter-square piece of soft wood hanging from a safety pin twenty feet away. He was throwing a Spanish knife from above. The blades cut into the wood with force and precision, and Naif's white teeth flashed each time with a delighted childish giggle.
  
  
  Such a pirate ship with a demon commander and ego demonic companions could be manned by savages, but Judas was too astute for that.
  
  
  As a recruiter and exploiter of people, he is hardly the mistletoe in the sun in the world. Ego fourteen sailors, a mix of Europeans and Asians, and almost all of them were young, were recruited from the top of the itinerant mercenaries around the outdoor pool. A psychiatrist would call ih insane criminals so that ih could be sent to prison for scientific study. A mafia capo would appreciate ih and bless the day he found ih. Judas organized a naval gang around them and they acted like Caribbean pirates, Of course Judas would honor the agreement with them as long as it served ego purposes. On the day that it doesn't, it will kill ih everyone, as efficiently as possible.
  
  
  Judas tossed the last piece of banana to the monkey, limped to the rail, and pressed the red button. Horns began to ring throughout the ship - not thunder, like the ship's usual battle gongs, but the alarming vibrato of rattlesnakes. The ship came alive.
  
  
  Geitch jumped up the ladder to the stern, and Muller disappeared through the engine room hatch. Sailors, bold, awnings, deck chairs, tables and glasses. The wooden rail timbers tilted outward and toppled on their rattling hinges, and the fake house in the bow with its plastic windows became a neat square.
  
  
  20mm. The guns made a metallic clang as they were cocked by the powerful blows of their handles. 40 mm. they clanked fabric screens for the ego, which could be reset in seconds on command.
  
  
  The pirates lay hidden behind ladles above him, showing Rivnenskaya four inches of their recoilless rifles. The diesels growled as they started and idled.
  
  
  Judah glanced at his watch and waved to Geitch. "Very good, Bert. I've got one minute and forty-seven seconds."
  
  
  Geitch figured it out in fifty-two minutes, but with Judas, don't argue over nothing.
  
  
  "Pass the word. Three bottles of beer for everyone at lunch.". He reached for the red button and made the rattlesnakes buzz four times.
  
  
  Judas went down the hatch, moving up the ladder with more agility than on deck, using one arm like a monkey. The diesels stopped purring. He met Muller on the stairs to the engine room. "Very nice on deck, Hine. Here?"
  
  
  Good. Raeder would approve."
  
  
  Judas suppressed a grin. Muller took off the shiny coat and ceremonial hat of a 19th-century British line officer. He took off the ih and carefully hung it in a locker inside his cabin door. Judas said ," They inspired you, huh?"
  
  
  "Ja. If we had Nelson or von Moltke or von Buddenbroke, the world would be ours today."
  
  
  Judas tapped Ego on the shoulder. "There is still hope. Save this form. Let's go..." They went forward and down one deck. A crewman with a pistol rose from a chair on the forepeak ramp. Judas pointed to the door. The sailor unlocked the key around the bundle that was already hanging on the ring. Judas and Muller looked in; Judas flipped on the light switch by the window.
  
  
  On the cot was a drawing of a girl; her target, covered in a colored scarf, was turned toward moan. Judas said: "Is everything all right, Tala?"
  
  
  Rheumatism was short-lived. "Yes."
  
  
  "Would you like to join us on deck?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  Judas grinned, turned off the holy light, and motioned for the sailor to lock the door. "She exercises once a day, but that's all. She never wanted our company."
  
  
  Muller said softly . "Maybe we should pull her out by her hair."
  
  
  "Good day," Judas purred. "And the voice and the boys. I know you'd better watch them every year." He stopped in front of a cabin that had no doors, just a blue steel grating around it. The nen had eight bunks stacked against the bulkhead, like old submarines, and five passengers. Four were Indonesian, one was Chinese.
  
  
  They looked sullenly at Judas and Muller. A slender teenager with wary, unruly eyes who was playing chess got up and took two steps to reach the bars.
  
  
  "When are we going to get around this hotbox?"
  
  
  "The ventilation system is working," Judas replied in a dispassionate tone, his words delivered with the slow clarity of one who likes to demonstrate logic to the less wise. "You don't need any warmer legs than on deck."
  
  
  "Damn hot."
  
  
  "You feel it because of boredom. Disappointment. Be patient, Amir. We'll be visiting your family in a few days. Then we will return to the island again, where you can enjoy your freedom. This will happen if you are a good boy. Otherwise... He shook his head sadly, with the expression of a kind but stern uncle. "I'll have to hand you over to Heinrich."
  
  
  "Please don't do this," said a young man named Amir. The other prisoners suddenly became attentive, like schoolboys waiting for a teacher's assignment. "You know we worked together."
  
  
  Judas was not deceived, but Mueller enjoyed what he called respect for authority. Judas asked softly: "You are willing to cooperate only because we have weapons. But of course, we won't hurt you if it's not necessary. You are valuable little hostages. And maybe soon your families will pay enough for you all to go home."
  
  
  "I hope so," Amir said politely. "But remember-not Mueller. He'll put on his sailor suit and whip one around us, and then he'll go into his cabin and-"
  
  
  "Pig!" Muller roared. He swore and tried to take the keys away from the guard. The ego oaths were drowned out by the prisoners ' laughter. Amir fell back on his bunk and rolled briskly. Judas grabbed Muller's arm. "Income-they annoy you."
  
  
  They reached the deck, and Muller muttered, " I don't know.: "Brown monkeys. She should be asked to skin all the ihas."
  
  
  "Someday... someday, " Judas reassured her. "You'll probably get ih to recycle everything. After we've squeezed everything we can out of the game. And I'm going to have some nice farewell parties with Tala." He licked his lips. They had been at sea for five days, and these tropics seemed to support the male libido. He could almost understand how Mueller felt.
  
  
  "We can start openly now," Mueller suggested. "We won't miss even one boy in Tal..."
  
  
  "No, no, not yet. Patience. The rumors might somehow get out. Families pay up and do what we say for Beijing, just because they trust us." He started laughing, a mocking laugh. Muller chuckled, laughed, and then began to slap his thigh in time to the ironic cackle that came from Ego's thin lips.
  
  
  "They trust us. Oh yes, they trust us!" When they reached the belt where the canopy was secured again, they had to wipe their eyes.
  
  
  Judas stretched out on the chaise longue with a sigh. "Tomorrow we will stop in Moscow. Then to the place of Loponusias. The journey is lucrative."
  
  
  "Two hundred and forty thousand US dollars," Mueller clicked his tongue as if she had a delicious taste in her mouth. "On the sixteenth, we will meet with a corvette and a submarine. How much should we give them this time?"
  
  
  "Let's be generous. One full payment. Eighty thousand. If they hear rumors, they will match the amount."
  
  
  "Two for us and one for them." Muller chuckled. "Excellent odds."
  
  
  "For now. When the game comes to an end, we will take everything."
  
  
  "What about the new CIA agent, Bard?"
  
  
  "He's still interested in us. We have to be the ego goal. He left Makhmurov for Nordenboss and Matsuut. I am sure that we will meet him in person, in the village of Loponusias."
  
  
  "How nice."
  
  
  “yeah. And if we can-forever make it look random. It makes sense, you know."
  
  
  "Of course, the old one is still there. Accidentally."
  
  
  They looked at each other fondly and smiled like experienced cannibals savoring memories in their mouths.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hans Nordenboss was an excellent chef. Nick ate too much, hoping that his ego's appetite would return by the time he joined the Mat. When he was alone with Hans for a few minutes in his office, he said: "Let's say we go to Loponusi the day after tomorrow-this will give us time to enter, make plans, organize actions, if we do not get cooperation. ? "
  
  
  "We need to drive for ten hours. An airstrip in a hall fifty miles from the estate. The roads are fair. And don't plan any cooperation. Siauw is not just that."
  
  
  "How about meeting your connections there?"
  
  
  "One person is dead. The other one is missing. Maybe they spent the money I paid them too openly, I do not know."
  
  
  "Let's not tell Gan Bik any more than we need to."
  
  
  "Of course not, although I think the boy is on the same level."
  
  
  "Are you smart enough, Colonel Sudirmat, to build up your ego?"
  
  
  "You mean the kid will sell us out? No, I'd bet her against it."
  
  
  "Will we get help if we need it? Judas or the blackmailers may have his own army."
  
  
  Nordenboss shook his head grimly. "You can buy a regular army on a penny. By being alone, we can't use people's egos."
  
  
  "The police? The police?"
  
  
  "Forget it. Bribes, deception. And tongues that chatter for money paid by someone."
  
  
  "Long odds, Hans."
  
  
  The stocky agent smiled like a genius religious figure giving a blessing. He held the ornate shell in his soft, deceptively strong fingers. "But the work is so interesting. Look-complex-Nature conducts trillions of experiments and makes fun of our computers. We, the little people. Primitive intruders. Aliens on our own mudball."
  
  
  Nick had been through similar conversations with Nordenboss before. He agreed with patient phrases. "The work is interesting. And funerals are free of charge if any gadgets are found. Man is a cancer on the planet. We have responsibilities ahead of us. What about weapons?"
  
  
  "Debt? A valuable word for us, because we are conditioned." With a sigh, Hans picked up the sink and held up the other one. "Commitment is a responsibility. I know your classification, Nicholas. Have you ever read the story of Nero's executioner, Horus? He's finally..."
  
  
  "Can we pack some lube injections in a suitcase?"
  
  
  "Not recommended. You can hide a couple of pistols or a few grenades under your clothes. Put a few large rupees on top, and if our luggage is examined, you will indicate the rupees when the suitcase is opened, and most likely the guy will not look further."
  
  
  "So why not spray the same thing?"
  
  
  "Too big and too valuable. This is a corkscrew of steps. A bribe costs more than grabbing a man with a gun, but a man with a submachine gun can be expensive - or you'll kill him, rob him, and sell the gun. also."
  
  
  "Charming." Nick sighed. "We will work with what we can.
  
  
  Nordenboss gave Em a Dutch cigar. "Remember the latest tactics - you get weapons from the enemy. It is the cheapest and closest source of supply."
  
  
  "I read the book."
  
  
  "Sometimes in these Asian countries, and especially here, you feel like you're lost in a crowd of people. There are no landmarks here. You make your way through them in one direction or another, but it's like being lost in a forest. Suddenly you see the same faces and realize that you are wandering aimlessly. You want to have a compass. You think you're just another face in the crowd, but then you see an expression and a face of terrible hostility. Hate! As you wander, another glance catches your eye. Murderous hostility! Nordenboss carefully replaced the sink, closed the suitcase, and headed for the living room door. "This is a new experience for you. You realize how wrong you were..."
  
  
  "I'm starting to notice," Nick said. He followed Hans back to the others and said good night.
  
  
  Before leaving the house, he slipped into his room and opened the package that was packed in ego luggage. Nen had six bars of green soap, which gave off a wonderful smell, and three cans of spray shaving cream.
  
  
  The green tortillas on the dell itself were plastic explosives. Nick carried the lighter caps as standard parts of pens in his writing case. Explosions were formed by twisting the egos of special pipe cleaners.
  
  
  But most of all, Emu liked the "shaving cream" products. They were another of Stewart's inventions, the genius of AX weapons. They shot a pink stream for about thirty feet before it turned into a spray that gagged and took out the opponent's assembly for five seconds and knocked out the ego in ten. If you could hold emu spray to your eyes, it would instantly go blind. Tests showed that all the effects were temporary. Stewart said: "The police have a similar device called a Club. I call it AX."
  
  
  Nick packed their few items of clothing in a shipping box. Not much against private armies, but when you're about to face a large crowd, you take whatever weapons you have.
  
  
  When he told her that ego would be out of town for a few days, she knew very well where he was going. "Don't go," she said. "You're not coming back."
  
  
  "Of course I'll be back," he whispered. Ih was hugged in the living room in the soft semi-darkness of the patio.
  
  
  She unbuttoned her ego sports shirt, and her tongue found a place near the ego's heart. He stahl tickled her left ear. Since the ego first met the "Love Helper", they have used up two bottles, perfecting their abilities in reaching for the other one for even more and more exciting fun.
  
  
  Her voice relaxed as her trembling fingers moved in familiar and always more beautiful rhythms. He said: "You will detain me - but only for an hour and a half..."
  
  
  "All I have, my dear," she murmured into emu's chest.
  
  
  He decided that this was the ultimate achievement - the pulsing rhythm, so artfully synchronized, the twists and spirals, the sparklers on his temples, the elevator falling in and out.
  
  
  And he knew it was just as strong a gentle influence for Nah, because when she lay soft and full and panting, she didn't hide anything, and her dark eyes shone wide and misty as she breathed out words he barely caught: "Oh, my man-come back, oh, my a man..."
  
  
  As they showered together, she spoke more calmly: "You think that nothing can happen to you because you have money and power behind you."
  
  
  "Not at all. But who would want to harm me in all the houses around?"
  
  
  She made a disgusted sound. "The CIA's great secret. Everyone is watching you stumble."
  
  
  "I didn't think it was so obvious." He hid a grin. "I guess I'm an amateur in a job where they should have a professional."
  
  
  "Not so much you, dear, but what I've seen and heard..."
  
  
  Nick rubbed his face with a giant towel. Let the big company take out loans while they collect the lion's share of the bricks. Or is it proof of David Hawke's astute effectiveness with an ego-infuriating insistence on security details? Nick didn't think Hawke was posing as an agent of one of the 27 other secret services in the United States! Nick once received a medal from the Turkish government engraved on the name he used in this case-Mr. Horace M. Northcote by the U.S. FBI.
  
  
  Mata snuggled up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Stay here. I'll be so lonely."
  
  
  The nah smelled delicious, purified, scented, and powdered. He hugged her. "I'm leaving at eight in the morning. You can finish these online for me at Josef Dahlam's. Send ih in New York. In the meantime, my dear..."
  
  
  He picked her up and carried her lightly back to the courtyard, where he was so deliciously entertaining her that Nah didn't have time to worry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Nick was pleased with the efficiency with which Nordenboss organized the ih trip. He discovered the chaos and fantastic delays that were part of the Indonesian del and was expecting ih. There was no Ih. They hit the runway in Sumatra in old De Havilland, a British Ford game, and drove north through the coastal foothills.
  
  
  Abu and Tala spoke different languages. Nick studied the villages they passed through and understood why the State Department newspaper had said: fortunately, people can exist without money. There were crops everywhere, and fruit trees grew around the houses.
  
  
  "Some of the little houses around here look comfortable," Nick said.
  
  
  "You wouldn't think so if Gilles was in one," emu Nordenboss said. "It's a different way of life. Catch the insects you meet with foot-long lizards. Ih are called geckos because they croak gecko-gecko-gecko. There are bird-eating spiders bigger than your fist. They look like crabs. Big black beetles can eat candid toothpaste through a tube and chew book bindings for dessert."
  
  
  Nick sighed, disappointed. Rice paddies with terraces that looked like giant staircases and neat villages looked so attractive. The natives looked clean, except for some with black teeth that spat red betel juice.
  
  
  Stahl's day was hot. When they rode under tall trees, they felt as if they were passing through cool tunnels shaded with greenery, then the open road seemed like hell. They stopped at a checkpoint where a dozen soldiers were sprawled on poles under thatched roofs. Abu-spoke quickly in a dialect Nick didn't understand. Nordenboss got out around the car and went into the cabin with the short lieutenant, came right back, and they drove on. "A few rupees," he said. "This was the last regular army post. We'll see the Siau people next."
  
  
  "Why the roadblock?"
  
  
  "To stop the bandits. The rebels. Suspicious travelers. This is really nonsense. Anyone who can pay can pass."
  
  
  They came to a city made up of larger and stronger buildings. Another checkpoint at the nearest entrance to the city is marked with a colored pole lowered across the road. "South Korea's most southerly village is Shyauwa," Nordenboss said. "We're about fifteen miles from his house."
  
  
  Abu-rode into the crowd. Three men in drab green uniforms came out around the small building. Whoever was wearing the sergeant's stripes became known to Nordenboss. "Hello," he said in Dutch with a big smile. "You will stop here."
  
  
  "Of course." Hans got out around the car. "Come on, Nick, Tala. Stretch out your legs. Hey, Chris. We need to meet with Siau on important business."
  
  
  The petty officer's teeth shone white, untainted by betel. "You will stop here. Orders. You should go back."
  
  
  Nick followed his stocky companion into the building. It was cool and dark. The boom bars of the barrier rotated slowly, driven by ropes that ran into the walls. Nordenboss handed the sergeant a small envelope. The man peered into it, then slowly and regretfully laid it down on a chair. "I can't," he said sadly. "Mr. Loponusias was so determined. Especially with regard to you, and any po will be welcomed by your friends, Mr. Nordenboss."
  
  
  Nick heard Nordenboss mutter: "I can do a little."
  
  
  "No, it's so sad."
  
  
  Hans turned to Nick and spoke quickly in English. "He means it."
  
  
  "Can we go back and get the chopper out?"
  
  
  "If you think you can get through dozens of line patrons. I won't bet on winning in yards."
  
  
  Nick frowned. Lost in the crowd without a compass. Tala said, " Let me talk to Siau. Maybe I can help you." Nordenboss nodded. "It's just as good a try. All right, Mr. Bard?"
  
  
  "Try it."
  
  
  The sergeant protested that he had not dared to call Siau until Hans had motioned for Ego to take the envelope. After a minute, he handed Tala the phone. Nordenboss interpreted her as chatting with the invisible lord Loponusias.
  
  
  "...She says yes, it's really Tala Machmur. Didn't he recognize her voice? She says no, she can't tell em that over the phone. She must see the ego. It's just-whatever it is for us. She wants to see the ego. "with friends - in just a few minutes... "
  
  
  Tala continued to speak, smiled, then handed the sergeant the instrument. He received a few instructions and responded with great respect.
  
  
  Chris, the sergeant, gave the order to one of his men, who got into the car with them. Hans said, " Well done, Tala. I didn't know you had such a compelling secret."
  
  
  She gave ego her beautiful smile. "We're old friends."
  
  
  She didn't say anything else. Nick knew exactly what the secret was.
  
  
  They rode along the edge of a long oval valley with the sea on the other side. A cluster of buildings appeared below, and on the shore were docks, warehouses, and the activity of ships, trucks, and ships. "The Loponus sides," Hans said. "The egos of the earth go forthright into the mountains. They have many other names. Ih agricultural sales are huge and they have a thumbs up in oil and a lot of new plants."
  
  
  "And they could have kept ih. Perhaps this will give us leverage."
  
  
  "Don't count on it. They've seen invaders and politicians come and go."
  
  
  Siauv Loponusias met ih in the company of assistants and servants on a covered veranda the size of a basketball court. He was a plump man with a slight smile that, as you might guess, meant nothing at all. Ego's plump, dark face was oddly firm, his chins didn't droop, and his high sticks looked like six-ounce boxing gloves. He bumped into the polished floor and gave Tala a quick hug, then examined her from different angles. "It's you. I couldn't believe it. We heard it differently." He looked at Nick and Hans, and nodded when Tala introduced Nick. "Welcome. I'm sorry you can't stay long. Let's have something cool to drink."
  
  
  Nick sat down in a large bamboo chair and drank some lemonade. The lawns and magnificent landscape stretched for 500 yards. In the parking lot were two Chevy trucks, a shiny Cadillac, a couple of brand-new Volks, several British cars of various brands, and a Soviet-made Jeep. A dozen people were either standing guard or patrolling. They were dressed similar enough to be soldiers, and all were armed with rifles or belt holsters. Some had both.
  
  
  "...Send your best wishes to your father, " he heard Siau say. "I plan to see ego next month. I'm flying her candid in Phong."
  
  
  "But we would like to see your beautiful lands," Tala purred. "Mr. Bard is a plug-in. He placed large orders in Jakarta."
  
  
  "Mr. Barda and Mr. Nordenboss are also agents of the United States." Siau chuckled. "I know something, too, Tala."
  
  
  She looked helplessly at Hans and Nick. Nick moved his chair a few inches closer to them. "Mr. Loponusias. We know that the people who are holding your son will soon arrive here on their own ship. Let us help you. Get your ego back. Now."
  
  
  Nothing could be read from the brown bumps with their piercing eyes and smile, but it took em a long time to respond. That was a good sign. He was thinking.
  
  
  Finally, Siauw shook his head slightly in denial. "You mean a lot too, Mr. Bard. I won't tell you if you're right or wrong. But we can't take advantage of your generous help."
  
  
  "You throw the meat to the tiger, and hope that it will give up its prey and leave. You know tigers better than I do. Do you think that will really happen?"
  
  
  "In the meantime, let's study the animal."
  
  
  "You listen to ego lies. You were promised that after several payments, and under certain conditions, your son will be returned. What guarantees do you have?"
  
  
  "If the tiger isn't crazy, it was beneficial for him to keep his word."
  
  
  "Believe me, this tiger is deceiving. A fool like a man."
  
  
  Siau blinked. "Do you know amok?"
  
  
  "Not as good as you. Perhaps you can tell me about it. Like a man going mad to a bloody frenzy. All he knows is murder. You can't reason with it, much less trust an emu."
  
  
  Siau became uneasy. He had a lot of experience with Malay madness, amok. The wild madness of killing, stabbing, slashing - so brutal that it helped the US Army decide to adopt Colt .45 based on the theory that more gawking has more stopping power. Nick knew that the men, who were in a frenzy of agony, still needed a few rounds of automatic weapons to stop ih. Regardless of the size of your weapon, you still had to put the bullets in the right place.
  
  
  "This is different," Siau said at last. "These are businessmen. They don't go out on their own."
  
  
  "These people are worse. Now they're getting out of hand. In the face of five-inch shells and nuclear full name. How can you go crazy?"
  
  
  "I... don't quite understand..."
  
  
  "Can I speak it freely?" Nick pointed to the other men gathered around the patriarch.
  
  
  "Go ahead... go ahead. They are all my relatives and friends. In any case, most of the people around them don't understand English."
  
  
  "You were asked to help Beijing. They don't say much. Probably political. You may even be asked to help Indonesian Chinese people escape if the ih policy is correct. You think it gives you leverage, and protection from the person we call Judas. It won't. He steals from China just like you do. When the reckoning comes, you will face not only Judas, but also the wrath of Big Red Daddy."
  
  
  Nick thought he saw the muscles in Siau's throat twitch as he swallowed. He carried the man's thoughts. If there was one thing he knew, it was a bribe, and double or triple crosses. He said, " They've put too much on the line...", but the ego tone was weaker, and the words trailed off.
  
  
  "You think Big Daddy is controlling these people. That's not so. Judas has pulled ih around his pirate ship, and he has his own men as crew. He is an independent bandit who robs both sides. The moment your son and ego are in trouble, other captives cross the border in chains ."
  
  
  Siau no longer slouched in his chair. "How do you know all this?"
  
  
  "You said yourself that we are US agents. Maybe we're agents, maybe we're not. But if we - we have certain connections. You need help and we are the best to see you. You don't dare call out your own armed forces. The Oni would send a ship-maybe - and you'd think about it, half bribing, half sympathizing with the Communists. You're on your own. Or they were. Now - you can use us ."
  
  
  Constellations today were correctly spelled out. This gave a man like Siau the idea that he could still walk on a tightrope. "You know this Judas, don't you?" said Siau.
  
  
  “yeah. Everything I've told you about nen is a fact." With some scraps that I didn't know about, Nick thought. "You were surprised to see Tala. Ask her who brought her home. How she arrived."
  
  
  Siau turned to Tala. She said, " Mr. Bard brought me home. On a US Navy boat. You can call Adam and you'll see."
  
  
  Nick admired her quick wit - she wouldn't have discovered the submarine if he hadn't. "But from where?" Siau asked.
  
  
  "You can't expect us to tell you everything while you're cooperating with the enemy," Nick replied calmly. "The facts are that she's here. We got ee back."
  
  
  "But my son-Amir-is he all right?" Xiau wondered if they had sunk Judas ' boat.
  
  
  "As far as we know, no. In any case, you'll know for sure in a few hours. And if not, don't you want us to be around? Why don't we all go after Judas?"
  
  
  Siau got up and walked across the wide porch. As he approached, the white-jacketed servants stood at their posts by the door. It wasn't often that the big man was seen moving around the tac - anxious, thinking hard, like a normal person. Suddenly he turned and gave a few orders to an elderly man with a red badge on his immaculate coat.
  
  
  Tala whispered, " He's booking a room and dinner. We're staying."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  When they left at ten o'clock, Nick tried several tricks to get Tala into his room. She was in the other wing of the big house. The path was blocked by several men in white jackets who never seemed to leave their jobs at the intersection of corridors. He entered Nordenboss's room. "How can we get Tala here?"
  
  
  Nordenboss had taken off his shirt and trousers and was lying on the big bed, a mass of muscle and blood. "What a man," he said wearily.
  
  
  "I can't do without it for one night."
  
  
  "Tailor, take her, I want her to cover us when we slip out."
  
  
  "Ah. Are we slipping away?"
  
  
  "Let's go to the port bar. Spying on Judah and Amir."
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. Its got the floor. They should be out of the port of bar in the morning. We might as well get some sleep."
  
  
  "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
  
  
  "I just found out. From my missing man's son."
  
  
  "Does the son know who did this?"
  
  
  “no. My theory is the army. The money of Judas delivered him nah."
  
  
  "We need to use microphones and speakers a lot, but with this madman."
  
  
  "So there are a lot of other people."
  
  
  "We'll do it for them, too, if we can. Good. Let's get up at dawn and take a walk. If we decide to go to the beach, will someone stop us?"
  
  
  "I don't think so. I think Xiau will allow us to watch the entire episode. We're a different angle to the ego I've played - and, damn it, he's probably using complicated rules."
  
  
  For a day, Nick turned around. "Hans, will Colonel Sudirmat's influence also reach this point?"
  
  
  "Interesting corkscrew. I thought about it myself. Not the ego's own influence. These local despots are jealous and keep to themselves. But with money? Yes. As intermediaries with some for yourself? This may be how it happened. "
  
  
  "I see. Good night, Hans."
  
  
  "Good night. And you did a great job convincing Siau, Mr. Bard."
  
  
  An hour before dawn, the Portagee ketch Oporto picked up a light marking a headland south of Loponusias Island, turned around and moved slowly out to sea under one stabilizing sail. Bert Geitch gave clear orders. The sailors opened the hidden davits, which threw forward a large, seemingly fast-looking boat.
  
  
  In Judah's cabin, Muller and Nif shared a teapot and glasses of schnapps with their leader. Naif was excited. He fumbled for his half-covered knives. The others hid their amusement from him, showing tolerance for the retarded child. Unfortunately, he was a member of the family, you might say. And Naif came in handy in particularly unpleasant jobs.
  
  
  Judas said: "The procedure is the same. You lie two hundred yards from the shore, and they bring in money. Siau and two men, no more, in an ih boat. You show emu boy. Give them a minute to talk. They transfer money. You're leaving. Now there may be problems. This new agent Al Bard might try something stupid. If something is wrong, leave."
  
  
  "They might catch us," said Mueller, always a practical tactician. "We have a machine gun and a bazooka. They can equip one of their katerovs with heavy firepower and fly out across the panel. For that matter, they can put an artillery piece anywhere around their buildings and-damn it!"
  
  
  "But they won't," Judas purred. "Have you also forgotten your story so quickly, my dear friend? For ten years, we imposed our will, and the victims loved us for it. They even brought the rebels to us themselves. People will survive any disturbance if it is logically implemented. But bearable, they come out and tell you, " Look! We have an 88mm cannon aimed at you from this warehouse. Give up! You lower your flag, old other, meek as a lamb. And within twenty-four hours, I will release you" you will get out again around ihk. You know you can trust me - and you can guess how I would do it ."
  
  
  "Yes." Muller nodded toward Judas's radio cabinet. Every other day, Judas would make short coded contact with a vessel of China's rapidly growing fleet, sometimes a submarine, usually a corvette or other surface ship. It was nice to think about that awesome firepower that had always supported him. Hidden reserves; or, as the old general staff used to say, be more than you think.
  
  
  Mueller knew there was danger in that, too. He and Judas were taking the dragon's share of the ransom from China, and sooner or later ih would be discovered and the talons would strike at them. He hoped that when this happened, Nu would be long gone, and they would have decent funds for themselves and the treasury of ODESSA, the international fund that former Nazis rely on. Muller prided himself on his loyalty.
  
  
  Judas smiled and poured them a second glass of schnapps. He guessed what Muller was thinking. His own devotion was not so passionate. What Mueller didn't know was that the Chinese had warned him that in case of trouble, he could only count on help from IHC. And some daily contacts were sent on the air. He didn't get a response, but he told Mueller they did. And one thing he discovered. When he set up a radio link, he could tell if it was a submarine or a surface ship with high antennas and a strong wide signal. It was a scrap of information that could somehow become valuable.
  
  
  The golden arc of the sun peeked over the horizon as Judah said goodbye to Muller, Naif, and Amir.
  
  
  Loponusis ' heir was numb with handcuffs, a burly Japanese man was at the helm.
  
  
  Judas went back to his cabin and poured himself a third shot of schnapps before finally putting the bottle back down. There were two rules, but he was in high spirits. Mein Gott, what money was rolling in! He finished his drink, went on deck, stretched, and took a deep breath. He's a cripple, isn't he?
  
  
  "Noble scars!" "What is it?" he exclaimed in English.
  
  
  He went below and opened the cabin, where three young Chinese women, no older than fifteen, greeted Ego with sharp smiles to hide their fear and hatred. He looked at them dispassionately. He had bought ih from farming families on Penghu as entertainment for himself and his crew, but now he knew every single one of them so well that they bored the emus. Oni - controlled by big promises that should never have been fulfilled. He closed the door and locked it.
  
  
  In front of the hut where Tala was imprisoned, he paused thoughtfully. Why the hell not? He deserved it, and he intended to get it sooner or later. He reached out for the key, took the ego from the guard, went in, and closed the door.
  
  
  The slender figure of the narrow cot aroused ego even more. A virgin? These families must have been strict, even though naughty girls rode around these immoral tropical islands, and you could never be sure.
  
  
  "Hello, Tala." He put his hand on the slender leg and slowly moved it up.
  
  
  "Hello there." The rheumatism was indistinct. She was facing the bulkhead.
  
  
  An ego hand would squeeze her thighs, caress and explore. What a hard, strong body she had! Small bunches of muscle that look like tackle. Two grams of fat on it. He slid his hand under the blue top of his pajamas, and his own flesh quivered deliciously as his fingers caressed the warm, smooth skin.
  
  
  She rolled her life to avoid him as he tried to reach for her chest. He was breathing faster, and saliva was running down his tongue in what he'd imagined - round and hard, like little rubber balls? Or, say, eggs as ripe as a gift for the vineyard?
  
  
  "Be nice to me, Tala," he said as she dodged his probing hand with another twist. "You can have whatever you want. And soon you will go home. Sooner, if you're polite."
  
  
  She was as wiry as an eel. He stretched, and she writhed. Trying to hold her down was like grabbing a skinny, frightened puppy. He threw himself on the edge of the bunk, and she used the lever against the bulkhead to push him away. He fell to the floor. He stood up, cursed, and tore off the top of Nah's pajamas. He only caught a glimpse of them struggling in the dim light - the breasts were almost gone! Oh, come on, I loved them.
  
  
  He pinned her to moan, and she hit the bulkhead again, pushing with her hands and feet, and he slid off the end.
  
  
  "Enough," he growled, standing up. He grabbed a handful of pajama bottoms and tore the ih. She broke down, turned into rags in the ego's hands. He grabbed his struggling leg with both hands and dragged half of it off the bunk, fighting off the other leg that had already hit the emu on the ground.
  
  
  "Boy!" he shouted. Ego's surprise loosened ego's grip for a moment, and a heavy foot caught the emu in the chest and sent it flying across the narrow cabin. He regained his balance and waited. The boy on the cot gathered himself like a writhing dragon, watching , waiting.
  
  
  "So," Judas growled. "You are Akim Machmur."
  
  
  "I'll kill you one day," the teenager growled.
  
  
  "How did you switch places with your sister?"
  
  
  "I'll cut you into several pieces."
  
  
  "It was payback! That fool Muller. But how ... how?"
  
  
  Judas looked at the boy carefully. Even with ego's face contorted with deadly rage, one could see that Akim was an exact image of Tala. Under the right conditions, it is not difficult to deceive someone ...
  
  
  "Tell me," Judas roared. "That was when you went by boat to Fong Island for money, wasn't it? Is Muller docked?"
  
  
  A giant bribe? He will kill Mueller personally. No. Muller was treacherous, but not a fool. Word had reached him that Tala was at home, but he thought it was a ploy by Machmoor to hide the fact that she was a prisoner.
  
  
  Judas swore and feinted with his good arm, which had suddenly become so powerful that it was mistletoe-like for two normal limbs. Akim ducked, and the real impact hit the ego and sent it crashing into the corner of the bunk. Judas grabbed ego and hit him again with only one hand. It made ego feel strong when he held his other hand behind him, with its hook, elastic claw, and small built-in pistol barrel. He could handle any man with just one hand on him! The satisfying thought cooled the ego, the anger, a little. Akim lay in a crumpled heap. Judas went out and slammed the door.
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sea was smooth and bright as Muller lounged in the boat, watching the Loponusias docks grow larger. Several ships were moored on long piers, including Adam Makhmur's pretty yacht and a large diesel work boat. Muller chuckled. You can hide large weapons anywhere around buildings and blow up egos around water or make them land. But they wouldn't dare. He enjoyed the feeling of power.
  
  
  He saw a group of people standing on the edge of the largest pier. Someone came down the gangplank to the floating dock where a small cruiser with cabins was tied up. They will probably manifest in it. He will follow orders. Once he disobeyed ih, but everything turned out fine. On Phong Island, the emu was ordered to enter using a megaphone. Remember the artillery he obeyed, ready to threaten them with reprisal, but they explained that the ih motor boat wouldn't start.
  
  
  In fact, he enjoyed the feeling of power when Adam Makhmur handed em the money. When Odin around Makhmur's sons tearfully embraced ego's sister, he generously allowed them to chat for a few minutes, assuring Adam that ego's daughter would return as soon as the third payment was made and some political matters were settled.
  
  
  "I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman," he promised Makhmur. Dark-skinned fool. Makhmur gave Em three bottles of fine brandy, and they sealed the bet with a quick glass.
  
  
  But he won't do it again. Japanese A. B. took out a bottle and a pack of yen for his "friendly" silence. But Niamh wasn't with him. You can never trust an emu with ego-worshipping Judas. Muller glanced with distaste to where Naif was sitting, cleaning his nails with a shining blade, occasionally glancing at Amir to see if the boy was watching. The teenager ignored him. Even in handcuffs, Muller thought, this guy sure swam like a fish.
  
  
  "Naif, "he ordered, handing over the key,"hit these handcuffs across."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  From the boat's window, Nick and Nordenboss watched the boat pass along the shore, then release its throttle and begin a slow circle.
  
  
  "There's a Boy in there, "Hans said. I've never seen her before, a Japanese sailor, but he was probably the one who came with them to Makhmur."
  
  
  Nick was wearing only a pair of swimming trunks. Ego, Shvedov, the converted Luger he called Wilhelmina, and the Hugo blade he usually wore strapped to his forearm were hidden in a nearby seat locker. With them, in their ego shorts, was another ego-standard weapon - Pierre's deadly gas pellet.
  
  
  "You're a real light horse now," Hans said. "Are you sure you want to go out without a weapon?"
  
  
  "Siau will have a seizure as it is. If we reflect any damage, it will never accept the deal we want to make."
  
  
  "I'll cover for you. I can score it at this distance."
  
  
  "Not forever. If I don't die."
  
  
  Hans started. In this email business, you didn't have many friends - it was painful to even think about losing ih.
  
  
  Hans looked around the front window. "The cruiser is coming out. Give em two minutes and they'll be busy with another friend."
  
  
  "Actually. Remember the arguments in favor of Xu if we are adapting ego into execution."
  
  
  Nick climbed the ladder, crouched low, crossed the small deck, and slid noiselessly into the water between the work boat and the dock. He was floating in the bow. The boat and the cruiser with their cabins were getting closer to each other. The speedboat slowed, and the cruiser slowed. He heard the clutch release. He filled and emptied his lungs several times.
  
  
  They were about two hundred yards away. The canal that had been dug looked to be about ten feet deep, but the water was clear and clear. You could see fish. He hoped they wouldn't notice ego coming, because ego couldn't be mistaken for a shark.
  
  
  The men on the two boats were looking at each other and talking. The cruiser held Siau, a small sailor at the wheel on a small suspension bridge, and a stern-looking Siau mate named Abdul.
  
  
  Nick lowered his head, swam until he was just above the bottom, and measured his powerful strokes, watching the small patches of seashells and seaweed that kept a straight course, looking ahead, one at the other. As part of his work, Nick remained in excellent physical shape, adhering to the regime worthy of an Olympic athlete. Even with frequent unscheduled hours, alcohol, and unexpected food, if you think about it, you can follow a reasonable program. You avoided the third option, chose mostly martens when you ate, and slept extra hours when you could. Nick didn't cheat - it was ego life insurance.
  
  
  He concentrated most of his training, of course, on martial arts and yoga.
  
  
  as well as many sports, including swimming, golf, and acrobatics.
  
  
  Now he swam calmly until he realized that he was in the hall closest to the boats. He rolled onto his side, saw the two oval shapes of the boats against the bright sky, and allowed himself to go to the bow of the boat, quite sure that the ego of the passengers was looking over the stern. Hidden by the wave on the circular side of the boat, he found himself invisible to anyone but people who might be far away from the pier. He could hear voices above him.
  
  
  "Are you sure you're all right?" It was Siau.
  
  
  "Yes." Maybe Amir?
  
  
  That would be Muller. "We shouldn't throw this beautiful bundle in the water. Walk alongside slowly-use a little strength - no, don't pull the rope - I don't want to rush."
  
  
  The cruiser's engine rumbled. The boat's propeller wasn't turning, and the engine was idling. Nick dived to the surface, looked up, took aim, and with a powerful swing of his big arms, he came to the lowest point of the small boat, one of his powerful arms catching on the wooden coaming.
  
  
  That was more than enough. He grabbed with his other hand, and in the blink of an eye, he flipped his leg over like an acrobat performing a jump. He landed on the deck, sweeping hair and water from his eyes, alert and alert Neptune leapt out of the depths to face his enemies.
  
  
  Muller, Knife, and the Japanese sailor were standing in the stern. Knife moved first, and Nick thought he was very slow - or perhaps he was comparing his perfect eyesight and reflexes to the shortcomings of the execution permit flag and morning schnapps. Nick was on his feet before the knife popped out of its case. Ego's hand flew up under Naif's chin, and when his feet caught on the side of the boat, Naif dived back into the water as if Ego had pulled a shoelace.
  
  
  Muller was quick with a gun, though he was an old man compared to the others. He's always secretly enjoyed Westerns, and he's had a 7.65-mm bump-up shot. The Mauser in the belt holster is partially cut off. But he was wearing a seat belt and the automatic was on. Mueller made the quickest attempt, but Nick yanked the weapon from around his arm while it was still pointed at the deck. He pushed Muller into the pile.
  
  
  The most interesting part of the trio was the Japanese sailor. He landed a left-handed blow to Nick's throat that would have blocked his ego for ten minutes if it had hit his adam's apple. Holding Mueller's gun in his right hand, he leaned forward with his left forearm, putting his fist to his forehead. The sailor's punch was aimed in the air, and Nick elbowed Ego in the throat.
  
  
  Through the tears that clouded her ego, the sailor's expression was one of surprise, followed by fear. He wasn't a black belt expert, but he knew professionalism when he saw it. But-perhaps an accident! What a reward if he dropped the big white man. He fell against the railing, his hands catching on it, and his ego legs flashed in front of Nick , one in the crotch, the other in the life, like a double kick.
  
  
  Nick stepped aside. He could block pointers, but he didn't see the bruises that those strong, muscular legs would cause an emu. He caught his lower ankle with the trowel, secured it, lifted it, turned it, and threw the sailor in a clumsy heap against the rail. Nick took a step back, still holding the Mauser in one hand, thumb sliding through the trigger guard.
  
  
  The sailor straightened up, leaned back, and hung on to one arm. Muller struggled to his feet. Nick hit his ego in the left ankle, and he went down again. He told the sailor, " Stop it, or I'll kill you."
  
  
  The man nodded. Nick bent down, took off his belt knife, and tossed Ego overboard.
  
  
  "Who has the key to the boy's handcuffs?"
  
  
  The sailor gasped, looked at Muller, and said nothing. Muller straightened up again, looking dazed. "Give me the key to the handcuffs," Nick said.
  
  
  Muller hesitated, then took out an ego from his pocket. "This won't help you, you fool.
  
  
  "Sit down and shut up, or I'll hit you again."
  
  
  Nick unlocked Amir from the fence and gave em the key so he could free his other wrist. "Thank you..."
  
  
  "Listen to your father," Nick said, stopping him.
  
  
  Siau was shouting orders, threats, and probably curses in three or four languages. The cruiser was about fifteen feet away from the launch. Nick reached over the side, pulled Naif aboard, and took the weapon off him like he was plucking a chicken. Naif grabbed the mauser, and Nick's other hand hit his ego more heads. A moderate blow, but it knocked Naif down at the feet of a Japanese sailor.
  
  
  "Hey, "Nick shouted to Siau." Hey... " Siau muttered, falling silent. "Don't you want your son back? Voting online".
  
  
  "You will die for this!" shouted Siau in English. "No one asked for it
  
  
  This is your damned interference! "He was shouting commands in Indonesian to two men in the dock with him.
  
  
  Nick said to Amir. "Do you want to go back to Judas?"
  
  
  "I will die first. Get away from me. He tells Abdul Nono to shoot you. They have rifles , and they are good shooters."
  
  
  The skinny teenager deliberately moved between Nick and the coastal buildings. He called out to his father. "I'm not going back. Don't shoot."
  
  
  Siau looked like it might explode, like a balloon filled with hydrogen held up to a flame. But he didn't say anything.
  
  
  "Who are you?" Amir asked.
  
  
  "They say I'm an American agent. In any case, I want to help you. We can take the ship and free the others. Your father and the other families disagree. What do you say?"
  
  
  "I say fight." Amir's face flushed, then dimmed as he added:: "But ih will be hard to convince."
  
  
  Naif and the sailor crept along openly. "Attach each other's handcuffs," Nick said. Let the boy feel the victory. Amir put the shackles on the men as if em liked it.
  
  
  "Release ih," Siau shouted.
  
  
  "We must fight," Amir replied. "I'm not going back. You don't understand these people. They'll kill us anyway. You can't buy ih." He switched to Indonesian and started arguing with his father. Nick decided it had to be an argument, with all the gestures and explosive sounds.
  
  
  After a while, Amir turned to Nick. "I think he's a little bit convinced. He's going to talk to his guru."
  
  
  "I what?"
  
  
  "Ego advisor. Ego... I do not know this word in English. You can say" religious adviser ", but it's more like..."
  
  
  "Ego psychiatrist?" Nick said the word, partly as a joke, with disgust.
  
  
  "Yes, in a way! A man who manages his life."
  
  
  Nick checked the mauser and tucked Ego into his belt. "All right, get these guys ahead, and I'll take this tub ashore."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Hans talked to Nick while he showered and dressed. There was no hurry - Siauw had made an appointment in three hours. Mueller, Knife, and the sailor were taken away by Shiau's men, and Nick thinks it wise not to protest.
  
  
  "I thought that Amir would be able to convince his father. Return of your favorite offspring. He really loves the boy, but still thinks he can do business with Judas. I think he called some of the other families, and they agree."
  
  
  Nick was attached to Hugo. Would Naif like to add this stiletto to his collection? It was made of the best steel. "It looks like everything is going up and down, Hans. Even the big players had bowed their necks for so long that they would rather indulge than face a clash. They will have to change quickly, or twentieth-century people like Judas will chew ih and spit it out. What does this guru look like? "
  
  
  "Ego's name is Buduk. Some of the people around these gurus are great people. Scientists. Theologians. Real psychologists and so on. There are still Buduki."
  
  
  "Is he a thief?"
  
  
  "He's a politician."
  
  
  "You answered my corkscrew."
  
  
  "He did it here. A rich man's philosopher with an extra intuition that he draws from the spiritual world. You know jazz. I've never trusted emu, but I know he's fake because little Abu kept his word to me. Our holy man is a secret swinger as he slips away to Jakarta ."
  
  
  "Can I see her ego?"
  
  
  "I think so. I'll ask her."
  
  
  "All right."
  
  
  Hans returned ten minutes later. "Of course. I'll take you to him. Siau is still angry. He practically spat at me."
  
  
  They followed an endless, winding path through the thick trees to the small, neat house that Buduk occupied. Most of the native houses were huddled together, but the sage obviously needed privacy. He met ih sitting cross-legged on pillows in a clean, barren room. Hans introduced Nick, and Buduk nodded impassively: "I've heard a lot about Mr. Bard and this problem."
  
  
  "Siau says the emu needs your advice," Nick said sincerely. "I assume that he is resisting. He thinks he can negotiate."
  
  
  "Violence is never a good solution."
  
  
  "Better than anything in the world," Nick agreed calmly. "But would you call a man a fool if he was still sitting in front of a tiger?"
  
  
  "Sit still? You mean patience. And then the scarecrows can order the tiger to leave."
  
  
  "What if we hear a loud hungry roar over the tiger's head?"
  
  
  Buduk frowned. Nick guessed that the ego-driven clientele of the rare curatives was arguing with him. The old man was slow. Buduk said: "I will meditate and give my suggestions."
  
  
  "If you suggest that we show some bravery, that we have to fight because we beat her up, I will be very grateful."
  
  
  "I hope you like my advice, as well as Siau and the forces of earth and sky."
  
  
  "Fight an adviser," Nick said softly, " and you'll get a three-thousand-dollar wait. In Jakarta or anywhere, anywhere. In gold or any other way." He heard Hans sigh. It wasn't the amount - it was a small matter for such an operation. Hans thought he was being too direct.
  
  
  Buduk didn't bat an eye. "Your generosity is amazing. With that kind of money, I could do a lot of good things."
  
  
  "Is this agreed?"
  
  
  "Only the scarecrow will say. I'll answer it at the meeting very soon."
  
  
  On the way back along the path Hans said: "Nice try. You surprised me. But I think it's better to do it openly."
  
  
  "He didn't go."
  
  
  "I think you're right. He wants to hang us."
  
  
  "Either he works directly for Judas, or he has such a racket here that he doesn't want to rock the boat. He's like a family-ego spine-a piece of wet pasta."
  
  
  "Have you ever wondered why we aren't guarded?"
  
  
  "I can guess."
  
  
  "Actually. Her, I heard Siauw giving orders."
  
  
  "Can you invite Tala to join us?"
  
  
  "I think so. I'll see you in your room in a few minutes."
  
  
  It took more than a few minutes, but Nordenboss returned with Tala. She walked straight up to Nick, took Ego's hand, and looked em in the eye. "I saw her. He hid in the barn. The way you saved Amir was wonderful."
  
  
  "Did you talk to him?"
  
  
  “no. The ego father kept the ego with him. They were arguing."
  
  
  "Does Amir want to resist?"
  
  
  "Well, he did. But if you've heard Xiau..."
  
  
  "A lot of pressure?"
  
  
  "Obedience is our habit."
  
  
  Nick pulled her over to the couch. "Tell me about Buduk. Her confident that he's against us. He will advise Siau to send Amir back with Mueller and the others."
  
  
  Tala lowered her dark eyes. "I hope it doesn't get any worse."
  
  
  "How could this happen?"
  
  
  "You embarrassed Siau. Buduk can let emu punish you. This meeting-it will be a big event. Did you know about this? Since everyone knows what you did and it went against Siau and Buduk's wishes, there is ... well, a corkscrew of faces."
  
  
  "Oh my God! Now it's a face."
  
  
  "More like Buduk's scarecrow. Ih persons and egos".
  
  
  Hans chuckled. "I'm glad we're not on an island to the north. They'll eat you up there, Al. Fried with onions and sauces."
  
  
  "Very funny."
  
  
  Hans sighed. "If you think about it, it wouldn't be so funny."
  
  
  Nick asked Tala, " Siau was willing to hold off on making a final judgment about the resistance for a few days until she was captured by Muller and the others, then he became very upset even though ego son was back. Why? He turns to the Booth. Why? mitigation according to what I can understand. Why? Buduk refused the bribe, although I heard that he was taking it. Why? "
  
  
  "People," Tala said sadly.
  
  
  The rheumatism surrounding one word puzzled Nick. People? "Of course-people. But what are the angles? This deal is turning into a regular web of reasons..."
  
  
  "Let me try to explain, Mr. Bard," Hans interjected gently. "Even with the useful idiocy of the masses, the rulers must be careful. They learn to use power, but they cater to emotions and, above all, to what we might laughingly call public opinion. Are you with me?"
  
  
  "Your irony is showing," Nick replied. "Go ahead."
  
  
  "If six determined men rise up against Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, or Franco-bang!"
  
  
  "Zilch?"
  
  
  "If they have real determination. Put a bullet or knife in a despot, regardless of your own death."
  
  
  Good. I'll buy it."
  
  
  "But these devious types not only prevent half a dozen from making a decision - they control hundreds of thousands - millions! You can't do this with a gun on your hip. But it's done! So inconspicuously that the poor fools are burned as an example, instead of being next to the dictator at a party and plunging the knife into the emu's life ."
  
  
  "Of course. Although it will take a few months or years to work your way up to the big shot."
  
  
  "What is it if you are really determined? But leaders must keep ih so confused that they never develop such a goal. How is this achieved? Controlling a lot of people. Never let them think. So, to your questions Thale. let's stay to smooth out the corners. Let's see if there's a way to use us against Judas - and go with the winner. You've entered the fray, in front of a few dozen people's egos, and the rumor is already halfway to little ego ego. By now, you have regained your son's ego. People wonder why he didn't do it. They can understand how he and the rich families played along. The rich call this a wise tactic. The poor may call it cowardice.
  
  
  They have simple principles. Is Amir relenting? I can imagine ego's father telling emu about his duty to the dynasty. Buduk? He would have taken anything that wasn't hot if he didn't have a potholder or gloves. He would have asked you for more than three thousand, and I think he would have got it, but he knows - intuitively, or practically, like Siaugh-that they have people to impress."
  
  
  Nick rubbed his head. "Maybe you'll understand that, Tala. Is he right?"
  
  
  Her soft lips pressed against ego's cheek, as if he was sorry for ego's stupidity. “yeah. When you see thousands of people gathered in the temple, you will understand."
  
  
  "What temple?"
  
  
  "Where the meeting with Buduk and others will take place, and he will make his suggestions."
  
  
  Hans added cheerfully: "This is a very old structure. It's gorgeous. A hundred years ago, there were human barbecues. And combat trials. People aren't so stupid about some things. They gathered their own armies, and let the two champions fight it out. Just like in the Mediterranean. David and Goliath. It was the most popular entertainment. Like the Roman games. A real fight with real blood... "
  
  
  "Problems with problems and all that?"
  
  
  “yeah. The big shots were all set to challenge ih only professional assassins. After a while, the citizens learned to keep their mouths shut. The great champion Saadi in the last century killed ninety-two people in individual combat."
  
  
  Tala beamed. "He was invincible."
  
  
  "How did he die?"
  
  
  "An elephant stepped on it. The emu was only forty."
  
  
  "I'd say the elephant is invincible," Nick said grimly. "Why didn't they disarm us, Hans?"
  
  
  "You'll see - in the temple."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Amir and three armed men arrived at Nick's room "to show them the way."
  
  
  Loponusis ' heir apologized. "Thank you for what you've done for me. I hope everything works out."
  
  
  Nick said sincerely: "It looks like you've lost some of the fight."
  
  
  Amir blushed and turned to Tala. "You shouldn't be left alone with these strangers."
  
  
  "I'll be alone with whomever I want."
  
  
  "You need an injection, boy," Nick said. "Half the guts and half the brain."
  
  
  It took Amir a moment to understand. Ego's hand went to the special Chris on his belt. Nick said, " Forget it. Your father wants to see us." He walked out the door, leaving Amir red and fierce.
  
  
  They walked almost straight through the twisting paths, passing through the vast grounds of the Buduk, into a meadow-like plain hidden by giant trees that highlighted the sunlit building in the center. It was a gigantic, stunning hybrid of architecture and sculpture. A mixture of centuries-old intertwined religions. The dominant structure was a two-story Buddha-shaped figure with a golden cap.
  
  
  "Is this real gold?" Nick asked.
  
  
  "Yes," Tala said. "There are many jewels inside. The saints guard ih day and night."
  
  
  "I wasn't going to steal ih," Nick said.
  
  
  In front of the statue was a wide permanent viewing platform, now occupied by many men, and on the plain in front of them was a solid mass of people. Nick tried to guess-eight thousand nine? And more is pouring down from the end of the field, like ribbons of ants around the woods. Armed men lined the sides of the observation deck, and some around them appeared to be grouped together, as if they were special clubs, orchestras, or dance groups. "They drew all this in three hours?" "What is it?" he asked Tala.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Wow. Tala, whatever happens to us, stay close to me to translate and speak for me. And don't be afraid to speak up."
  
  
  She squeezed ego's hand. "I'll help if I can."
  
  
  A voice boomed over the speakerphone. "Mr. Nordenboss-Mr. Bard, please join us on the sacred steps."
  
  
  Simple wooden seats were left for them. Muller, Knife, and the Japanese sailor were sitting a few yards away. There were a lot of guards, and they looked cool.
  
  
  Siauw and Buduk took turns at the microphone. Tala explained - her tone becoming more and more dejected: "Xiau says that you taught ego hospitality and broke ego plans. Amir was a kind of business hostage in a project that benefits everyone."
  
  
  "He'd make a great victim," Nick growled.
  
  
  "Buduk says Mueller and others should be released with apologies." She gasped as the Bug continued to rattle.
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "You and Nordenboss should be sent with them. As payment for our impoliteness."
  
  
  Siau replaced Buduk at the microphone. Nick stood up, took Tala's hand, and started toward Siau. Forced - because by the time he'd covered twenty feet, two guards were already hanging
  
  
  in the ego's hands. Nick walked into his small Indonesian language store and yelled, " Bung Loponusias-I want to talk about your son, Amir. About the handcuffs. About the ego of bravery."
  
  
  Siau waved angrily at the guards. They pulled. Nick turned his hands to ih's thumbs and easily broke ih's grip. They grabbed me again. He did it again. The roar of the crowd was amazing. It hit nu like the first wind, a hurricane.
  
  
  "I'm talking about bravery," Nick shouted. "Amir has guts!"
  
  
  The crowd cheered. More! Excitement! Anything! Let the American speak. Or kill the ego. But we won't go back to work. Tapping on rubber trees doesn't feel like hard work, but it is.
  
  
  Nick grabbed the microphone and shouted, " Amir the brave! I can tell you everything!"
  
  
  It was something like this! The crowd screamed and roared, as did the entire crowd when you tried to poke fun at ih emotions. Xiau waved the guards away. Nick raised both hands above his head, as if he knew he could speak. The cacophony subsided after a minute.
  
  
  Siauw said in English, " You said it. Now sit down, please." He would have wanted Nick dragged away, but the American had attracted the attention of the crowd. This can instantly turn into empathy. Xiau had spent his entire life dealing with crowds. Wait...
  
  
  "Please come here," Nick called, and waved at Amir.
  
  
  As a teenager, he joined Nick and Tala, looking confused. First this Al-Bard insulted him, now he was praising his ego in front of people. The thunder of approvals was pleasant.
  
  
  Nick said to Tala, " Now translate this loud and clear..."
  
  
  "Man Mueller insulted Amir. Let Amir regain his honor..."
  
  
  Tala shouted the words into the microphone.
  
  
  Nick continued, and the girl confirmed to emu, " Muller is old ... but with it, the ego is a champion ... the man with the knives ... Amir demands a test ..."
  
  
  Amir whispered: "I can't demand a test. Only champions fight for..."
  
  
  Nick said, " And since Amir can't fight... I offer myself as an ego protector! Let Amir regain his honor... let's all reclaim our honor."
  
  
  The crowd cared little for the frequent, but more for the spectacle and excitement. Ih the howl was louder than before.
  
  
  Xiau knew when he was being whipped, but he looked smug as he said to Nick, " You made it necessary. Good. Take off your clothes."
  
  
  Tala was tugging at Nick's arm. He turned, surprised to find her crying. “no... No, " she exclaimed. "The opponent fights without weapons. He'll kill you."
  
  
  Nick swallowed. "That's why the ruler's champion always won." Saadi's ego admiration dropped to zero. These ninety-two were victims, not rivals.
  
  
  Amir said: "I don't understand you, Mr. Bard, but I don't think I want to see you killed. Maybe I can give you a chance to run for it."
  
  
  Nick saw Mueller, Knife, and the Japanese sailor laughing. Naif swung his biggest knife meaningfully and danced in a leap. Shouts from the crowd shook the stands. Nick remembered a picture of a Roman slave he'd seen fighting a fully armed soldier with a club. He felt sorry for the loser. The poor slave had no choice but to take his paycheck and swear to do his duty.
  
  
  He pulled off his shirt, and the screams reached a crescendo that made his ears crack. "No, Amir. We'll try our luck."
  
  
  "You will probably die."
  
  
  "There's always a chance to win."
  
  
  "Watch this." Amir pointed to a forty-foot square that was being quickly cleared in front of the temple. "This is a battle square. It hasn't been used in twenty years. It will be cleaned up and cleaned up. You don't have a chance to use a trick like throwing dirt in the emu's eyes. If you jump out of the square to grab a weapon, the guards have the right to kill you."
  
  
  Nick sighed and took off his shoes. "Now tell me that."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Xiau made another attempt to enforce Buduk's decision without a contest, but his careful orders were drowned out in the din. The crowd cheered as Nick took down Wilhelmina, and Hugo, and gave ih to Hans. They roared again as Naif quickly stripped off his clothes and jumped down into the arena, carrying his large knife. He looked wiry, muscular, and alert.
  
  
  "Do you think you can handle him?" Hans asked.
  
  
  "I was doing this until the ferret heard about the rule that only the tested use weapons. What a scam that the old rulers were running..."
  
  
  "If he gets to you, I'll put a bullet in him or somehow hand over your Luger, but I don't think we'll live long. "Xiau has several hundred soldiers in this field."
  
  
  "If it gets to me, you won't have time to get the ego to do me much good."
  
  
  Nick took a deep breath. Tala of the strong held ego's hand in nervous tension.
  
  
  Nick knew more about the local customs than he was letting on - his reading and research were thorough. The customs were a mixture of remnants of Animism, Buddhism, and Islam. But this was a moment of truth that he couldn't think of other than hitting Naif, and that wouldn't be all. The system was adapted for home defense.
  
  
  The crowd became impatient. They grumbled, then roared cheerfully again as Nick carefully descended the wide steps, his muscles quivering with sunburn. He smiled and raised his hand like a favorite entering the ring.
  
  
  Xiau, Buduk, Amir, and half a dozen armed men who appeared to be officers of the Xiau forces climbed onto a low platform that overlooked the cleared oblong area where Naif was sitting. Nick stood outside cautiously for a moment. He didn't want to step over the low wooden rim - like a barrier on a polo field - and maybe give Naif a chance to strike. A burly man in green trousers and shirt, wearing a turban and carrying a gilded mace, walked out through the temple, bowed to Xiau, and entered the ring. Judge, Nick thought, and followed.
  
  
  The burly man waved Naif to one side, Nick to the other, then waved his arms and stepped back, far away. The ego's meaning was unmistakable. First round.
  
  
  Nick was balanced on the balls of his feet, his arms open and spread, fingers together, thumbs out. This was it. No more thoughts, other than what was in front of him. Concentrations. Law. Reaction.
  
  
  Naif was fifteen feet away. The tough, lithe Mindanao man looked suitable - maybe not like himself, but the ego knife was a great trump card. To Nick's surprise, Knife grinned - a white-toothed grimace of pure malice and brutality-then twisted the handle of Bowie's knife in her hand, and a moment later faced Nick with another smaller dagger in her left hand!
  
  
  Nick didn't look at the burly judge. He was not distracted from the opponent. They weren't going to commit any fouls here. Nifa sat down and quickly walked forward... and thus began one of the strangest, most exciting, and amazing competitions that ever took place in the ancient arena.
  
  
  For a long time, Nick concentrated only on dodging those deadly blades and the fast-moving man who wielded them. Niall lunged at him , and Nick lunged back to the left, mimmo of the shorter blade. Naif grinned his demonic face and charged again. Nick feinted to the left and jumped back to the right.
  
  
  Naif laughed, grinned, and turned smoothly to follow his quarry. Let the big man play for a while - it will add to the fun. He extended his blades and advanced more slowly. Nick dodged the small blade with an inch to spare. He knew that next time Naif would allow those inches with an extra lunge.
  
  
  Nick walked twice as much ground as his opponent had used, taking advantage of the full forty feet, but making sure he had at least fifteen or so feet to maneuver. Naif charged. Nick stepped back, moved to the right, and this time with a lightning-fast swing at the end of the lunge, like a swordsman without a blade, he swung Naif's arm aside and leaped into the clearing.
  
  
  At first, the crowd loved it, cheering, cheering, and cheering for each attack and defensive move. Then, as Nick kept retreating and dodging, they became bloodthirsty from their own excitement, ih the applause was for Naif. Nick couldn't understand ih, but the tone was obvious-cut out the emu's guts!
  
  
  Nick used another riposte to deflect Naif's right hand, and when he got to the other end of the ring, he turned, smiled at Naif, and waved to the crowd. They liked that. The roar sounded like applause again, but not for long.
  
  
  The sun was hot. He was sweating profusely, but he was pleased to find that he wasn't breathing heavily. Naif was dripping with sweat, and he began to chug. Nen was affected by the drunk schnapps. He paused and turned over the small knife that was his throwing grip. The crowd cheered. They didn't stop when Naif threw the blade back into his battle grip, stood up, and made a stabbing motion as if to say, " You think her crazy? I'll stab you."
  
  
  He charged. Nick fell, parried, and slipped under a large blade that sliced Ego's bicep and spilled blood. The woman gave a cry of joy.
  
  
  Niamh followed slowly, like a boxer cornering his opponent. It matched Nick's feints. Left, right, left. Nick flashed forward, briefly grabbed his right wrist, dodged the big blade by a fraction of an inch, spun Naif around, and jumped mimmo before he could turn the smaller knife. He knew that he had passed mimmo ego kidneys for less than a ballpoint pen. Naif almost fell, caught himself, and ran after his victim in anger. Nick jumped out of the way and slashed under the small blade.
  
  
  It caught Naif above the knee, but didn't hurt as Nick flipped in a side flip and bounced off.
  
  
  The Mindanaoan was busy now. The power of this "nest around the box" was much greater than he could have imagined. He chased Nick cautiously, and in the next lunge, he dodged and cut a deep furrow in Nick's thigh. Nick didn't feel anything - that would be later.
  
  
  He thought Naif was slowing down a bit. Of course, he was breathing a little harder. The time has come. Naif entered smoothly, with fairly wide blades, intending to corner the opponent. Nick let the emu lean on the ground, backing up to the corner in small leaps. Naif knew a moment of elation when he thought Nick couldn't get away from him this time - and then Nick jumped outright at it, parrying both of Naif's hands with quick punches that turned into hard-fingered judo spears.
  
  
  Naif opened his arms and returned with thrusts that would land ego prey on both blades. Nick went under the right arm and slid his left hand over it, this time without leaving, and came up behind Naif, pushing his left arm up and around Naif's neck, following it with his right hand, on the other side to apply an old-fashioned half-nelson!
  
  
  The two fighters crashed to the ground, Knife falling face-to-face on the hard ground, Nick on his back. Naif's hands were up, but he held the blade steady. Nick has trained in personal combat all his life, and he has been through this throw and hold many times. After four or five seconds, the Knight will discover that the emu should strike at the opponent by twisting its arms down.
  
  
  Nick used the chokehold with all his might. If you're lucky, you'll be able to withdraw through the gate or finish off your man that way. Ego slid away in a death grip, her clasped hands sliding up Naif's oily bull neck. Oil pan! Nick felt it and sniffed it. Vote what Buduk did when he gave Nifu his brief blessing!
  
  
  Naif was thrashing under him, twisting, and the knife hand was crawling backward on the ground. Nick pulled his hands free and slammed his fist into Naif's neck as he bounced back, narrowly avoiding the shining steel that flashed in nen like a snake's fang.
  
  
  Nick jumped up and crouched down, looking at his opponent carefully. The blow to the neck did some damage. Naif lost most of his breath. He swayed a little, puffing.
  
  
  Nick took a deep breath and tightened his muscles, adjusted his reflexes. He recalled McPherson's" orthodox "defense of the trained knife man -" lightning strike to the testicles or in life." MacPherson's manual didn't even mention what to do with two knives!
  
  
  Naif stepped forward, now following Nick cautiously, keeping his blades wide and low. Nick stepped back, sidestepped to the left, dodged to the right, and then leaped forward, using a hand parry to deflect the shorter blade to the side as it soared up into Ego's groin. Naif tried to hold back the ego kick, but before the ego hand could stop, Nick took one step forward, spun around next to the other, and crossed the outstretched arm with the V of his arm under Naif's elbow and the palm of his hand on top of Naif's head. wrist. The hand snapped with a crunch.
  
  
  Even as Naif screamed, Nick's sharp eyes saw the large blade turn towards him, closing in on Naif. He could see it all as clearly as if it were a slow-motion movie. The steel was low, bladed, and penetrated blatantly under the ego's navel. It was impossible to block the ego, the ego of the hand only completed the click of Naif's elbow. There was only...
  
  
  It all took a split second. A man without lightning reflexes, a man who didn't take his training seriously and applied honest efforts to stay in shape, would have died openly here, with an incision in his own intestines, and life.
  
  
  Nick turned to the left, taking Naif's arm out as if you'd done a traditional fall and lock. He crossed his right leg forward in a leap, twist, twist, fall-Naif's blade snagged the tip of the ego femur, savagely ripping through the flesh, and treated a long, shallow cut to Nick's buttock as he dove to the ground, carrying Naif with him.
  
  
  Nick didn't feel any pain. You don't feel it immediately; Nature gives you time to fight. He kicked him in the back of Naif and pinned Mindanaoz's good arm with the padlock of his leg. They were lying on the ground, Naif at the bottom, Nick on his back, his hands locked in the dragon's bow lock. Nif still held his blade in his good hand, but it was temporarily useless. Nick had one free hand, but he wasn't in a position to strangle his man, gouge out an emu's eyes, or grab an ego's testicles. It was a confrontation - as soon as Nick loosened his grip, he could expect a blow.
  
  
  It's time for Pierre. With his free hand, Nick felt his bleeding rump, feigned pain, and groaned. Around the crowd, there was a gasp of blood recognition, moans of sympathy, and a few mocking shouts. Nick quickly picked up a
  
  
  Little ball, through a hidden pocket in his shorts, found the tiny lever with his thumb. He grimaced and writhed like a TV wrestler, contorting his features to express terrible pain.
  
  
  Naif was a great help to Della. Trying to free himself, he tore ih across the ground like some grotesque writhing eight-pointed crabbe. Nick pinned Naif down as best he could, put his hand up to the knife lover's nose, and released the deadly contents of Pierre, pretending to grope for the man's throat.
  
  
  In the open air, Pierre's rapidly expanding steam was rapidly dissipating. It was primarily a domestic weapon. But the couple's egos were deadly, and for Naif, panting heavily - his face inches from the small oval source of the swing hidden in Nick's palm-there was no way out.
  
  
  Nick never held one of Pierre's victims in his hands when the gas hit, and he never saw it again. There was a moment of frozen inactivity, and you thought that death had come. Then Nature protested against the killing of an organism it had spent billions of years developing, muscles tensed, and the final struggle for survival began. Naif - or Naif's body-was trying to break free with more force than the man used when he was controlling his senses. He almost threw Nick off. A terrible gagging cry erupted around ego's throat, and the crowd howled with it. They thought it was a battle cry.
  
  
  Many moments later, as Nick slowly and carefully stood up, Naif's legs jerked convulsively, even though Ego's eyes were wide and staring. Nick's body was covered in blood and mud. Nick gravely raised both hands to the sky, bent down and touched the ground, carefully and respectfully turned Naif over and closed his eyes. He took the blood clot around his buttock and touched the fallen opponent's forehead, heart, and stomach. He scraped the dirt off, smeared more blood, and shoved the dirt into Naif's sagging mouth, pushing the spent pellet down the emu's throat with his finger.
  
  
  The crowd loved it. Ih primitive emotions were expressed in a shout of agreement that shook the tall trees. Honor your opponent!
  
  
  Nick stood up, arms spread wide again as he looked up at the sky and said " Dominus vobiscum." He looked down and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, then raised his thumb up. He muttered: "Rot with the rest of the trash, you crazy guy."
  
  
  The crowd surged into the arena and hoisted ego onto their shoulders, ignoring the blood. Some of them reached out and touched their foreheads with it, like newbies smeared with the sweat of a fox hunt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  The Xiau Dispensary was modern. An experienced local doctor inserted three neat stitches into Nick's buttock and applied antiseptic and a patch to the other two cuts.
  
  
  He found Xiau and Hans on the veranda with a dozen others, including Tala and Amir. Hans said curtly: "A real duel."
  
  
  Nick looked at Siau. "You saw that ih ble win. Will you fight?"
  
  
  "You leave me no choice. Mueller told me what Judas would do to us."
  
  
  "Where's Muller-and the Jap?"
  
  
  "In our brig. They're not going anywhere."
  
  
  "Can we use your boats to catch up with the ship? What weapons do you have?"
  
  
  Amir said: "The junk is disguised as a merchant ship. They have a lot of big problems. I'll try it, but I don't think we can take it or sink it."
  
  
  "Do you have planes? Bombs?"
  
  
  "We have two ihs," Xiau said grimly. "An eight-seat flying boat and a biplane for field work. But I only have hand grenades, and some dynamite. You'd only scratch ih."
  
  
  Nick nodded thoughtfully. "I will destroy Judas and egoism."
  
  
  "And the prisoners? The sons of my friends..."
  
  
  "I'll certainly release ih first." Nick thought, I hope so. "And I'll do it far away from here, which I think will make you happy."
  
  
  Xiau nodded. This big American probably owned a US Navy battleship. Seeing him whip a man with two knives, one could imagine anything. Nick considered asking Hawke for help from the Navy, but rejected the idea. By the time the state and defense said no, Judas would have gone into hiding.
  
  
  "Hans," Nick said, " let's get ready to leave in an hour. Its sure that Xiau will lend us his flying boat."
  
  
  They took off into the bright afternoon sun. Nick, Hans, Tala, Amir, and a local pilot who seemed to know his stuff well. Shortly after the speed tore the hull away from the clinging dress, Nick told the pilot, " Please make signposts out to sea. Pick up a Portagee merchant who can't be further from shore. I just want to take a look at it."
  
  
  They found the Porto twenty minutes later, sailing on the north-west tack. Nick pulled Amir to the window.
  
  
  "It's her voice," he said. "Now tell me all about her. Cabins. Armament. Where you were blocked. The number of men..."
  
  
  Tala spoke softly from the next seat. "And maybe I can help."
  
  
  Nick turned his gray eyes on Nah for a moment. They were hard and cold. "I thought you could do it. And then her, I want you both to draw me plans for her cabins. As you can table border".
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  At the sound of the plane's engines, Judas disappeared under the awning, watching through the hatch. The flying boat flew over him, circled. He frowned. It was Loponosius ' ship. Ego's thumb went to the battle station button. He took it off. Patience. They may have a message. The boat might have broken through.
  
  
  The slow craft circled above the sailboat. Amir and Tala talked quickly, vying with each other to explain the details of the junk that Nick had absorbed and preserved like buckets collecting drops around two taps. Sometimes he would give them a spin to spur on ih.
  
  
  He didn't see any air defense equipment, although the young men ego described. If the protective nets and panels had fallen, he would have forced the pilot to leave - as quickly and evasively as possible. They passed the ship's mimmo on both sides, crossed the ego openly above her, circled tightly.
  
  
  "The voice of Judas," Amir exclaimed. "See. Back... Now it is again hidden by the canopy. Watch the port side hatch."
  
  
  "We saw what her hotel did," Nick said. He leaned forward and spoke into the pilot's ear. "Take another slow pass. Lean your stern straight over her." The pilot nodded.
  
  
  Nick rolled down the old-fashioned window. Around his suitcase, he took five Knife blades - a large double Bowie and three throwing knives. When they were four hundred yards from the bow, he threw the ih overboard and shouted to the pilot, " Let's go to Jakarta. Now!"
  
  
  From his seat in the stern, Hans shouted, " Not bad, and without the full name. It seemed like all those knives had fallen on nah somewhere."
  
  
  Nick sat down again. His ego wound hurt, and the bandage tightened when he moved. "They'll collect ih and get the idea."
  
  
  As they approached Jakarta, Nick said, " We'll stay here overnight and go to Phong Island tomorrow. Meet me at the Rivne airport at eight in the morning. Hans, will you take the pilot home with you so we don't lose our ego?""
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  Nick knew Tala was pouting because she was wondering where he was staying. With Mata Nasut And she was right, but not quite for the reasons she mistletoe had in mind. Hans's pleasant face was expressionless. Nick was in charge of this project. He would never tell Em how much he had suffered during the battle with Naif. He was sweating and breathing as hard as the fighters, ready at any moment to pull out his gun and shoot Niamh, I know he'll never be fast enough to block the blade, and wondering how far they'll get through the angry crowd. He sighed.
  
  
  At Mata's, Nick took a hot bath with a sponge - the large wound wasn't hard enough to take a shower - and took a nap on the terrace. She came after eight, greeting ego with kisses that turned to tears as she examined the ego bandages. He sighed. It was nice. She was more beautiful than he remembered.
  
  
  "You could get killed," she sobbed. "I told you ... I told you ..."
  
  
  "You told me," he said, hugging her tightly. "I think they were waiting for me."
  
  
  There was a long silence. "What happened?" she asked.
  
  
  He told hey about the events. Keep combat operations to a minimum and only exclude the ih reconnaissance flight over the ship - which she might find out very soon. When he finished, she shivered and snuggled very close, her perfume a kiss in itself. "Thank God, it wasn't worse. Now you can turn Mueller and the sailor over to the police, and it's all over."
  
  
  "Not really. I'll send it to ih k Makhmuram. Now it's Judas's turn to pay the ransom. Ego is a hostage for them if he wants ih back."
  
  
  "Oh no! You'll be in more danger..."
  
  
  "That's the name of the game, honey."
  
  
  "Don't be a fool." Her lips were soft and inventive. Her hands are amazing. "Stay here. Have a rest. Maybe he'll leave now."
  
  
  "Perhaps ..."
  
  
  He returned her caresses. There was something about actions that were even close to disaster, even fights that left wounds, that stimulated the ego. A return to the primeval, as if you had captured prey and women? He felt a little ashamed and uncivilized - but Mata's butterfly touch turned his thoughts upside down.
  
  
  She touched the bandage on his buttock. "Does it hurt?"
  
  
  "I don't think so."
  
  
  "We can be careful..."
  
  
  "Yes..."
  
  
  It wrapped the ego in a warm, soft blanket.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  They landed on Phong Island and found Adam Machmoor and Gun Bull waiting on the ramp. Nick said goodbye to the Siau pilot. "And after the ship is repaired, you will go home to pick up Muller and the Japanese sailor. You won't be able to make that reverse fishing trip today, will you?"
  
  
  "I could, if we could risk a night landing here. But it wouldn't have been Stahl." The pilot was a bright-faced young man who spoke English like a man who valued ego as the language of international air traffic control and didn't want to make mistakes. "If I could come back in the morning, I think it would be better. He shrugged and said that he would come back if necessary. He fulfilled orders. He denied the media reports of Niku Gan Bull - he agreed because he was not yet sure how much he would be able to resist the system.
  
  
  "Do it in a safe way, "Nick said," take off as early as possible in the morning."
  
  
  His teeth gleamed like little piano keys. Nick gave em a wad of rupees. "It's for a good trip here. If you take these people away and return ih to me, they will wait for you four times as long."
  
  
  "It will be done if it is possible, Mr. Bard."
  
  
  "Maybe things have changed there. I think they'll have to pay."
  
  
  Flyer frowned. "I'll do my best, but if Siau says no..."
  
  
  "If you get ih, remember all the time that they're cool people. Even in handcuffs, they can get you into trouble. Gan the Bull and the guard will go with you. It's a sensible thing to do."
  
  
  He watched as the man decided it would be a good idea to tell Siau that the Makhmurs were so sure of the captives ' head that they had provided an important escort - a Gan Bull. "Okay."
  
  
  Nick pulled Gun Bull aside. "Take a good man, take off on Loponusias' plane, and bring Muller and the Japanese sailor here. If you encounter any problems, come back quickly yourself."
  
  
  "Trouble?"
  
  
  "Buduk on the salary of Judas."
  
  
  Nick watched Gan Bull's illusions crumble, crumbling in ego's eyes like a thin vase clattering with a metal rod. "Not Buduk".
  
  
  "Yes, Buduk. You've heard the story about the capture of Neef and Mueller. And the fight."
  
  
  "Of course. My father was on the phone all day. Families are baffled, but some have agreed to act. Resistance".
  
  
  "And Adam?"
  
  
  "He will resist-I think."
  
  
  "And your father?"
  
  
  "He says fight. He urges Adam to abandon the idea that you can use bribes to solve all problems." Gan Bykov spoke with pride.
  
  
  Nick said softly: "Your father is a smart man. Does he trust Buduk?"
  
  
  "No, because when we were young, Buduk talked to us a lot. But if he was on Judas's payroll, that explains a lot. I mean, he was apologizing for some of his actions, but..."
  
  
  "How to make hell with women when he came to Jakarta?"
  
  
  "How did you know that?"
  
  
  "You know how news spreads in Indonesia."
  
  
  Adam and Ong Tiang drove Nick and Hans to the house. He was sprawled out on a chaise longue in the huge living room, Alenka's ego rising from a sore buttock when he heard the roar of a flying boat taking off. Nick looked at Ong. "Your son is a good person. I hope he can bring back the prisoners without any problems."
  
  
  "If it can be done, he will do it." Ong hid his pride.
  
  
  Tala entered the room as Nick's gaze shifted to Adam. Both she and her father started when he asked: "And where is your brave son, Akim?"
  
  
  Adam immediately regained his poker face. Tala looked down at her hands. "Yes, Achim," Nick said. "Tala's twin brother, who looks so much like nah that cheating was easy. She tricked us in Hawaii for a while. Even one of Akim's teachers thought she was her brother when he took a look and you studied the photos."
  
  
  Adam told his daughter: "Tell emu. In any case, the need for deception is almost exhausted. By the time Judas finds out, we'll be fighting him, or we'll be dead."
  
  
  Tala raised her beautiful eyes to Nick, pleading for understanding. "It was the Mayor's idea. She was terrified when I was captured. You can see - things - in Judas ' eyes. When Mueller brought me on the boat to be seen and to have my dad make the payment, these people pretended that the ih boat wouldn't have Mueller enter the dock."
  
  
  She hesitated. Nick said: "It sounds like a bold operation. And Muller is even more of a fool than he thought. Senile age. Go ahead."
  
  
  "Everyone was friendly. Dad gave him a few bottles and they drank. Akim rolled up her skirt and-a printed bra-and he talked to me and hugged me, and when we parted - he pushed me out into the crowd They thought it was her squirming from the hollyhock. Her hotel wants the families to rescue all the prisoners, but they have to wait and pay. So I went to Hawaii and talked to them about you..." ;
  
  
  "And you've learned to be a first - class underwater sailor," Nick said. "You kept it a secret because you hoped to deceive Judas, and if it was known in Jakarta, did you know that he would find out in a matter of hours?"
  
  
  "Yes," Adam said.
  
  
  "You could have told me the truth," Nick sighed. "That would speed things up a bit."
  
  
  "We didn't know you at first," Adam said.
  
  
  "I think right now all the prices of many people have sped up." Nick saw the mischievous twinkle return to her eyes.
  
  
  Ong Tiang coughed. "What's our next move, Mr. Bard?"
  
  
  "Wait."
  
  
  "Wait? How long. For what purpose?"
  
  
  "I do not know how long or on the actual dell until our opponent makes a move. It's like playing chess when you're in a better position, but your mat will depend on what move he chooses. It can't win, but it can cause damage or delay the outcome. You don't have to mind waiting. It used to be your policy."
  
  
  Adam and Ong exchanged glances. This American orangutan could be a great trader. Nick hid a grin. Em wanted to be sure that Judas didn't have a move to avoid checkmate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Nick found it easy to wait. He slept for hours, washed his wounds and started swimming when the cuts closed, strolled through the colorful, exotic countryside, and learned to love gado-gado , a delicious mix of vegetables and peanut sauce.
  
  
  Gun Bull returned with Muller and the sailor, and the prisoners were locked up in Makhmur's sturdy prison. After a brief visit to note that the bars were solid and that there were always two guards on duty, Nick ignored ih. He borrowed Adam's new twenty-eight-foot motorboat and took Tala on a picnic and island tour. She seemed to think that uncovering the trick she and her brother had played would strengthen her connection to Al-Bard. She'd actually raped Ego while they were rocking in the quiet lagoon, but he'd told himself he was too badly hurt to fight back - that might open up one of the cuts. When she asked him why he was laughing, he said: "Wouldn't it be funny if my blood was smeared all over your legs, and Adam saw it, jumped to a conclusion, and shot me?"
  
  
  She didn't think it was funny at all.
  
  
  He knew that Gan Bull was suspicious of the depth of the relationship between Tala and the big American, but it was obvious that the Chinese was deluding himself into thinking that Nick was just a "big brother". Gan Bykov told Nick about his problems, most of which were related to attempts to modernize economic, labor, and social practices on Phong Island. Nick referred to his lack of experience. "Find experts. I'm not an expert."
  
  
  But in one area, he gave advice. Gan Bykov, as a captain in Adam Makhmur's private army, tried to raise the morale of his men and inspire them with reasons for loyalty to Fong Island. He told Nick, " Our troops were always up for sale. You could take the fields of paint, tailor them, show them a wad of banknotes and buy iht right here."
  
  
  "Does that prove they're stupid or very smart?" Nick wondered.
  
  
  "You're joking," the Bull's Gun exclaimed. "The troops must be loyal. To the motherland. To the Commander."
  
  
  "But these are private troops. The militia. I saw her in the regular army. Guard the homes of big shots and rob merchants."
  
  
  “yeah. It is sad. We don't have the efficiency of the German troops, the Gung Ho of the Americans, or the dedication of the Japanese..."
  
  
  "Praise the Lord..."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Nothing special." Nick sighed. "Look - I think in the case of the militia, you have to give them two things that they can fight for. The first is personal interest. So promise them bonuses for fighting and top accuracy. Then develop team spirit. the best soldiers ."
  
  
  "Yes," Gan Bykov said thoughtfully, " you have some good suggestions. Men will be more enthusiastic about what they can see and feel in person. For example, to fight for your land. Then you won't have any problems with morale."
  
  
  The next morning, Nick noticed that the soldiers were walking with particular enthusiasm, waving their arms in a very wide Australian style. Gan Bull had promised them something. Later that day, Hans brought em a long telegram as he lounged on the veranda with a jug of fruit punch next to him, enjoying a book he found in Adam's bookcase.
  
  
  Hans said: "Emu got a call from the cable guy in the office to let him know what was going on. Bill Rohde is sweating profusely. What did you send the emu? What are the tops?"
  
  
  Hans copied in block letters a telegram from Bill Rohde, an AX agent who worked as the manager of the Bard Gallery, near the supermarket. On the sheet was written: MOBB FOR THE TOP-TIME STOP JUMP EACH WAS A HIPPIE STOP SHIP TWELVE GROSS.
  
  
  Nick threw back his head and roared. Hans said: "Let me find out."
  
  
  "I sent Bill a lot of yo-yo tops with religious carvings.
  
  
  and beautiful scenes on them. I had to give Josef Dahlam something to do. Bill must be advertising in the Times, and he sold all the damn stuff. Twelve gross! If he sells ih at the price he offered her, we'll make about four thousand dollars! And if this nonsense continues to sell ... "
  
  
  "If you get home soon enough, you can showcase ih on TV," Hans said. "In a man's bikini. All the girls..."
  
  
  "Try a little." Nick shook the ice in the jug. "Please ask this girl to bring an extra phone. I want to call Josef Dahlam."
  
  
  Hans spoke a little Indonesian. "You're getting lazy and lazy, just like the rest of us."
  
  
  "It's a good lifestyle."
  
  
  "So you admit it?"
  
  
  The pretty, well-built maid handed Em the phone with a big smile and slowly raised her hand as Nick ran his thumbs over her tiny ones. He watched as she turned away, as if he could see through her sarong. "It's a wonderful country."
  
  
  But without a good phone connection. It took Emu half an hour to get to Dalam and tell emu to go yo-yo.
  
  
  That evening, Adam Makhmur gave the promised feast and dance. The guests saw colorful shows in which groups performed, played and sang. Hans whispered to Nick ," This side is vaudeville." When it stops here, it still continues in government offices."
  
  
  "But they are happy. Having fun. See how Tala dances with all these girls. Rackets with curves..."
  
  
  "Of course. But as long as they reproduce the way they do, the level of genetic intelligence will drop. After all, India's slums are like the worst ones around them that you've seen along the river in Jakarta."
  
  
  "Hans, you are a grim bearer of truth."
  
  
  "And we Dutch treated diseases right and left, discovered vitamins and improved sanitation."
  
  
  Nick shoved a freshly opened beer bottle into his friend's hand.
  
  
  The next morning they played tennis. Although Nick won, he found Hans a good opponent. As they walked back to the house, Nick said:: "I've mastered what you said last night about over-breeding. Is there a way out?"
  
  
  "I don't think so. They're doomed, Nick. They will multiply like fruit flies on an apple until they stand on each other's shoulders."
  
  
  "I hope you're wrong. Hopefully something will be discovered before it's too late."
  
  
  "Like what? Answers are available in math, but generals, politicians, and healers often block ih. You know, they always look back. We will see the day when..."
  
  
  Nick never knew what they were going to see. Gan Bull ran out from behind a thick thorn hedge. He breathed out, "Colonel Sudirmat is in the hall at the house and wants Muller and a sailor."
  
  
  "It's interesting," Nick said. "Relax. Breathe."
  
  
  "But come on. Adam can let emu ih pick it up."
  
  
  Nick said, " Hans, please come inside. Take Adam or Ong aside and ask ih to just hold Sudirmat for two hours. Make the ego swim - have lunch - whatever."
  
  
  "That's right."Hans quickly left.
  
  
  Gun Bik shifted Alenka from one foot to the other, impatient and excited.
  
  
  "Gan Bykov, how many men did Sudirmat bring with him?"
  
  
  "Three."
  
  
  "Where are the other ego forces?"
  
  
  "How did you know that he had powers nearby?"
  
  
  "Guesses".
  
  
  "That's a good guess. They're in Gimbo, about fifteen miles down the middle of the second valley. Sixteen trucks, about a hundred men, two heavy machine guns, and an old one-pound machine gun."
  
  
  "Excellent. Are your scouts watching them?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "What about attacks from other sides? Sudirmat is not a drug addict."
  
  
  "He has two companies on standby at Binto Barracks. They can hit us from anywhere around a few directions, but we know when they'll leave Binto, and probably know which way they're going."
  
  
  "What do you have for heavy firepower?"
  
  
  "A forty-millimeter rifle and three Swedish machine guns. Full of ammunition and explosives for making mines."
  
  
  "Did your boys learn how to make mines?"
  
  
  Gun Bull slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "They like it. Pow!"
  
  
  "Let them mine the Gimbo road at a checkpoint that is not easy to pass through. Keep the rest of your guys on standby until we know which way Binto's squad can enter."
  
  
  "Are you sure they will attack?"
  
  
  "They'll have to sooner or later if they want their little printed shirt back."
  
  
  Gun Bull grunted and ran away. Nick found Hans with Adam and Ong Tiang and Colonel Sudirmat on the wide veranda. Hans said pointedly, " Nick, you remember the colonel. You'd better wash your face, old man, we'll go to lunch."
  
  
  There was a sense of expectation at the large table, which was used by high-ranking guests and Adam's own groups. It was broken when Sudirmat said: "Mr. Bard, I came to ask Adam about the two men you brought here from Sumatra."
  
  
  "And you?"
  
  
  Sudirmat looked puzzled, as if a rock had been thrown at him instead of a ball.
  
  
  "You really are? And what did Mr. Makhmoor say?"
  
  
  "He said he needed to talk to you over breakfast," and we said."
  
  
  "These people are international criminals. I really need to take the ih exam in Jakarta."
  
  
  "Oh no, she's not here. You shouldn't have moved ih from Sumatra, much less to my area. You're in serious trouble, Mr. Bard. You ... "
  
  
  "Colonel, you've said enough. I don't release my prisoners."
  
  
  "Mr. Bard, you still carry that gun." Sudirmat shook his head sadly from side to side. He was changing the subject, looking for a way to get the person to defend themselves. He wanted to dominate the situation - he had heard all about how this Bard Al had fought and killed a man with two knives. And this is still one of the people of Judas!
  
  
  Nick gave Em a big smile. "It gives you a sense of security and confidence when facing unreliable, conniving, selfish, greedy, treacherous and dishonest colonels." He would draw out the words, leaving plenty of time in case ih English didn't match the exact meaning.
  
  
  Sudirmat blushed and sat up straight in his seat. He wasn't a total coward, though most of the ego of personal A's had been whittled down by a shotgun - wielding assassin or a "Texas court" ambush. "Your words are offensive."
  
  
  "Not as much as they are true. You work for Judas and deceive your countrymen with them ferret as Judas started his operation."
  
  
  Gan Bykov entered the room, noticed Nick, and approached him with an open note in his hand. "This just arrived."
  
  
  Nick nodded to Sudirmat as politely as if they were interrupting a cricket match. He read it: "All Gimbo departure 12.50 hours." They are preparing to leave Binto.
  
  
  Nick smiled at the boy. "Excellent. Go on." He let Gun Bik walk to the doorway, then shouted, "Ah, Gunna..." Nick got up and hurried after the youth, who stopped and turned around. Nick muttered: "Capture the three ego soldiers who are here."
  
  
  "The men are watching them now. Just waiting for my order."
  
  
  "You don't need to inform me about the blocking of Binto's forces. When you know the ih of the route, block ih."
  
  
  Gan Bykov showed the first signs of concern. "They can bring up many more troops at a time. Artillery. How long should we hold ih?"
  
  
  "Just a few hours - maybe until tomorrow morning." Nick laughed and patted Ego on the shoulder. "You trust me, don't you?"
  
  
  "Of course. Gun Bull sped off, and Nick shook his head. First too suspicious, now too trusting. He returned to the table.
  
  
  Colonel Sudirmat told Adam and Ong, " My troops will be here soon. Then we'll see who calls the names..."
  
  
  Nick said, " Your troops have moved out as ordered. Ih was stopped. Now let's talk about the pistols-pass this one on your belt. Keep your fingers on the handle of the ego."
  
  
  Sudirmat's favorite pastime, in addition to rape, was watching American movies. Westerns were shown every night when he was at his command post. The old ones with Tom Mix and Hoot Gibson - the new ones with John Wayne and modern stars who needed help getting on their horses. But the Indonesians didn't know that. Many around them thought that all Americans were cowboys. Sudirmat practiced his skill conscientiously - but these Americans were born with guns! He carefully held the Czechoslovak automatic across the chair, holding it lightly between his fingers.
  
  
  Adam said worriedly: "Mr. Bard, are you sure..."
  
  
  "Mr. Makhmur, you will also be here in a few minutes. Let's close this poop and I'll show you."
  
  
  Ong Tiang said, " Poop? I don't know. In French... please speak German... does that mean...?"
  
  
  Nick said, " Horse apples." Sudirmat frowned as Nick pointed the way to the gatehouse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Gun Bull and Tala stopped Nick as he was leaving through the prisons. Gun Bik was carrying a battle radio. He looked worried. "Eight more trucks are arriving to support the Binto trucks."
  
  
  "Do you have a strong obstacle?"
  
  
  “yeah. Or if we blow up the Tapachi Bridge..."
  
  
  "Blow. Does your amphibious pilot know where it is?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "How much dynamite can you save me here and now?"
  
  
  "Very much. Forty or fifty packs."
  
  
  "Bring ego to me on the plane, then go back to your people. Stay on this road.
  
  
  When Gan Bull nodded, Tala asked, " What is it?": "What can I do?"
  
  
  Nick looked carefully at the two teenagers. "Stay with Gan. Collect a first aid kit, and if you have brave girls like you, take ih with you. There may be victims."
  
  
  The amphibian pilot knew the Tapachi Bridge. He pointed this out with the same enthusiasm that he had watched Nick glue together soft sticks of explosives, tie ih together with wire for added security, and insert a cap-two inches of metal, like a miniature ballpoint pen-deep into each group of c's, with a yard-long fuse running along it. I attached the safety catch to the bag so that it wouldn't come off. "Boom!" the pilot said happily. "Boom. There."
  
  
  The narrow Tapachi Bridge was a smoking ruin. Gan Bykov contacted his demolition team, and they knew their stuff. Nick shouted in the flyer's ear. "Make a nice easy pass openly on the way. Let's spread out ih and blow up a truck or two if we can."
  
  
  They dropped splattering homemade bombs in two passes. If Sudirmat's men knew the anti-aircraft drills, they forgot about it, or never thought about it. When ih was last seen, they were running in all directions from a convoy of trucks, three of which were on fire around them.
  
  
  "Home," Nick said to the pilot.
  
  
  They were never able to do it. Ten minutes later, the engine died and they landed in a quiet lagoon. The pilot chuckled cheerfully. "I know. Clogged up. Lousy gas. I'll fix it."
  
  
  Nick was sweating with him. Using a tool kit that looked like a Woolworth's home repair kit, oni cleaned the carburetor.
  
  
  Nick was sweating and worried because they'd lost three hours. Finally, when clean gasoline was loaded into the carburetor, the engine started spinning in the foreground, and they took off again. "Look at the shore, near Phong," Nick shouted, " there should be a sailing ship there."
  
  
  It was. The Porto lay not far from Machmoor's ship. Nick said: "Go through zoo Island. You can know the ego as Adata is next to Phong."
  
  
  The engine stopped again on the green carpet of the Zoo. Nick started. What a path punctured by trees in a crack in the jungle. The young pilot stretched the plank down the creek valley that Nick had climbed with the Meltwater, and lowered the old amphibian out of the surf like a leaf dropped into a pond. Nick took a deep breath. He got a big smile from the pilot. "We're cleaning the carburetor again."
  
  
  "Do it. I'll be back in a couple of hours."
  
  
  "Okay."
  
  
  Nick ran down the beach. The wind and water had already changed the landmarks, but it had to be a place. It was at the right distance from the mouth of the stream. He explored the cape and rode on. All the banyans at the edge of the jungle looked the same. Where were the cables?
  
  
  A threatening blow in the jungle made ego crouch down and draw Wilhelmina in. Mabel burst through the undergrowth, sweeping her two-inch limbs like toothpicks! The monkey jumped across the sand, but put its head on Nick's shoulder, hugged ego, and signed happily. He lowered the gun. "Hey, baby. They will never trust this house."
  
  
  She let out a happy cooing sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick went on, digging sand from the side of one of the banyan trees. Nothing. The monkey followed the ego with its shoulder, like a champion dog, or a loyal woman. She looked at him, then ran down the beach; stopped and looked back, as if to say, " Come on."
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "It's all impossible. But if this is your piece of sea..."
  
  
  It was. Mabel stopped at the seventh tree and pulled two ropes out from under the sand that the tide had brought in. Nick patted her on the shoulder.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, he pumped out the small boat's floating tanks and warmed up the engine. The last time he saw the little cove, Mabel was sitting on the beach, holding up her big hand in question. Em thought her face was bored with grief, but he told himself it was just his imagination.
  
  
  Soon he surfaced and heard the amphibian move and told the bug-eyed pilot that he would meet ego at Makhmurov. "I won't get there before dark. If you want to fly over roadblocks to see if the army is planning any tricks, go ahead. Will you be able to contact Gang Bik by radio?"
  
  
  “no. I'm throwing emu a note."
  
  
  The young pilot didn't leave any notes that day. Leading the slow amphibian to the gangplank, sinking down to the sea like a fat beetle, he passed very close to the"Port." She was preparing to take action and change her identity to junk. Judas could hear the whine of the intercom on the Tapachi Bridge. Judas's rapid-fire anti-aircraft guns cut the plane to ribbons, and it fell into the water like a tired beetle. The pilot was not injured. He shrugged and swam ashore.
  
  
  It was dark when Nick slipped on the submarine.
  
  
  before the fuel panel Machmura and Stahl top up its tanks. The four guys on the docks didn't speak much English, but they kept saying, "Go home. See Adam. Hurry up."
  
  
  He found Hans, Adam, Ong, and Tala on the porch. The position was guarded by a dozen people - it looked like a command post. Hans said, " Welcome back. You'll have to pay."
  
  
  "What happened?"
  
  
  "Judas slipped ashore and raided the brig. He released Muller, the Japanese man, and Sudirmat. There was a mad struggle for the guards ' weapons - there were only two guards left, and Gan Bykov took the entire army with him. Then Sudirmat was shot by one of his men, and the others left with Judas."
  
  
  "The dangers of despotism. I wonder how long this soldier has been waiting for his chance. Does Gan Bull hold the roads?"
  
  
  "Like a rock. We're worried about Judas. He can shoot at us, or make another raid. He sent a message to Adam. He wants $ 150,000. In one week."
  
  
  "Or is he killing Akim?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Tala began to cry. Nick said: "Not forever, Tala. Don't worry, Adam, I'll get the prisoners back." He thought that if he was too confident, it was for a good reason.
  
  
  He took Hans aside and wrote a message on a pad. "Are the phones still working?"
  
  
  "Of course, Adjutant Sudirmata calls every ten minutes with threats."
  
  
  "Try calling the cable service."
  
  
  The telegram, which Hans carefully repeated into his phone, read: ADVISE CHINA BANK JUDAH COLLECTED SIX MILLION GOLD AND IS NOW AFFILIATED WITH THE NAHDATUL ULAM PARTY. It was sent to David Hawke.
  
  
  Nick wrote to Adam: "Send a man to Judas. Tell emu that you are emu's salary of $ 150,000 tomorrow at ten in the morning, if you can get Akim back right away."
  
  
  "I don't have much hard currency here. Akim won't take it if other prisoners have to die. Makhmur alone will never be able to show his face again..."
  
  
  "We do not pay them anything and release all prisoners. It's a trick."
  
  
  He quickly gave out orders.
  
  
  At dawn, Nick was in a small submarine, bobbing in the shallow water at periscope depth, half a mile down the beach from the neat Chinese junk Butterfly Wind, flying the Chiang Kai-shek flag, a red cape with a white sun on a blue background. Nick raised the sub's antenna. He scanned the frequencies endlessly. He could hear the chatter around the army radios at the roadblocks, he could hear the solid tones of Gun Bull and knew that everything was probably fine there. Then he got a strong signal-nearby-and the Butterfly Wind radio answered.
  
  
  Nick set the transmitter to the same frequency, and they kept saying, " Hello, Butterfly Wind." Hello, Judas. We have Communist prisoners for you and money. Hello, butterfly, wind..."
  
  
  He kept talking as the small submarine swam toward the junk, not sure if the sea would drown out the ego's signal, but theoretically it could transmit at this depth with a periscope antenna.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Judas swore, stamped his foot on the floor of his cabin, and switched to his high-powered transmitter. He had no intercom crystals, and he could not raise the invisible vessel, which the exclusive distributor in Russia watches with the CW code on high-power bands. "Muller," he growled, " what is this devil trying to do? Listen up."
  
  
  Mueller said: "It's close. If Corvettes thinks we have a problem, try DF..."
  
  
  "Bah. I don't need a direction finder. It's that crazy Bard from the shore. Can you tune the transmitter to enough power to drown out the ego?
  
  
  "It will take a little time."
  
  
  Nick watched as the Butterfly Wind zoomed in on the sight glass. He scanned the sea and saw a ship on the horizon. He lowered the small submarine six feet, occasionally peeking with a metal eye as he approached the junk from the shore. The eyes of ee observers should be directed at the ship coming in from the north. He reached the right corner without being noticed. When he opened the hatch, he heard a megaphone shouting, other people shouting too, and the thunder of a heavy cannon. Fifty yards from the junk, a jet of water gushed out.
  
  
  "It'll keep you busy," Nick muttered, tossing the nylon-covered gripper iron to catch on the metal rim of the rapier. "Wait, they're eliminating the range." He quickly climbed up the cable and peered over the edge of the deck.
  
  
  Boom! The projectile whirred past mimmo's mainmast, the ego ugly rumble so strong that you might have thought you were feeling a rush than an ego pass. Everyone on board gathered at the shore of the ship, shouting and honking into megaphones. Mueller made two men signaling semaphores and international Morse code flags. Nick chuckled, " nothing you say to them right now is going to make them happy!" He climbed aboard and disappeared through the forward hatch. He went down the ladder, down another set of stairs
  
  
  e... Judging from Gan Bull and Tala's description and drawings, he felt as if he had been here before.
  
  
  The guard grabbed a pistol, and Wilhelmina's luger fired. Through the throat straight to the center. Nick opened the camera. "Come on, guys."
  
  
  "There's another one," said a young guy with a tough appearance. "Give me the keys."
  
  
  The youth released Akim. Nick handed the guard's gun to the guy who demanded the keys and watched as he checked security. He'll do.
  
  
  On deck, Muller froze as Nick and seven young Indonesians leaped through the hatch and jumped overboard. The old Nazi ran aft for his Tommy gun and sprayed the sea with bullets. He might as well have shot a pack of porpoises hiding under the water.
  
  
  A three-inch shell hit the junk amidships, exploded inside, and knocked Muller to his knees. He limped painfully aft to confer with Judas.
  
  
  Nick floated up on the submarine, opened the hatch, jumped into the tiny cabin, and without further ado set the tiny craft on its way. The boys clung to Nah like water bugs to a turtle's back. Nick shouted, " Watch for shots! Go on board if you see any weapons!"
  
  
  "Jah."
  
  
  The enemies were busy. Muller shouted to Judas: "The prisoners have escaped! How can we stop these fools from shooting? They're crazy!"
  
  
  Judas was as cool as a merchant captain watching a ship drill. He knew that the day of reckoning with the dragon would come - but so soon! At such a bad time! He said, " Now put on the Nelson suit, Muller. You'll understand how he felt."
  
  
  He turned the binoculars on the corvettes, and ego's lips twisted grimly when he saw the color of the People's Republic of China medicine. He lowered his head and chuckled, a strange guttural sound like a demon's curse. "Ja, Muller, you might say abandon ship. Our deal with China is being terminated."
  
  
  Two shots fired at the corvette penetrated the junk's bow and blew the sl 40 mm gun into scrap. Nick made a mental note to head for the shore at full power, barring long-range shots, which these gunners never missed.
  
  
  Hans met ego in a bar. "It looks like Hawk got the telegram and spread the word correctly."
  
  
  Adam Makhmur ran over and hugged his son.
  
  
  The junk burned, sinking slowly. The corvettes on the horizon were getting smaller. "How will you bet, Hans?" asked Nick. "Is this the thread of Judas or not?"
  
  
  "No argument. From what we know about nen, he might have run away openly now in a scuba suit."
  
  
  "Let's take a boat and see what we can find."
  
  
  They found part of the crew clinging to the wreckage, four bodies, two seriously injured. Judas and Muller were nowhere in sight. When they stopped searching at nightfall, Hans commented, " I hope they're in the belly of a shark."
  
  
  The next morning at Adam's conference, Makhmur was once again composed and calculating. "Families are grateful. It was well done, Mr. Bard. Planes will be arriving soon to pick up the boys."
  
  
  "What about the armies and the explanation for Sudirmat's death?" Nick asked.
  
  
  Adam smiled. "Thanks to our joint influence and testimony, the army will be reprimanded. It's all the fault of Colonel Sudirmat's greed."
  
  
  A Van King amphibious boat took Nick and Hans to Jakarta. At dusk, Nick was waiting for Mata in the cool, dark living room where he had spent so many fragrant hours, showered and dressed in fresh clothes. She arrived and approached him openly. "You're really safe! I've heard the most fantastic stories about her. They go all over the city."
  
  
  "Some may be true, my dear. Most importantly, Sudirmat is dead. The hostages are released. The pirate ship Judas is destroyed."
  
  
  She kissed ego warmly, " ... everywhere."
  
  
  "Almost."
  
  
  "Almost? Let's go-I'll change, and you can tell me about it..."
  
  
  He explained very little as he watched in rapt admiration as she threw off her city clothes and wrapped herself in a flowered sarong.
  
  
  When they were out on the patio and calming down with a gin and tonic, she asked, " What's the matter?": "What are you going to do now?"
  
  
  "I have to leave. And her, I want you to come with me."
  
  
  Her beautiful face shone as she looked at him with surprise and delight. “what? Oh, yeah... You really..."
  
  
  "Really, Mata. You must come with me. Within forty-eight hours. I'll leave you in Singapore or wherever. And you should never go back to Indonesia." He looked hey straight in the eye, serious and serious. "You should never go back to Indonesia. If you do, then it's up to me to go back and make some adjustments."
  
  
  She turned pale. There was something deep and unreadable in his gray eyes, hard as polished steel. She understood, but tried again. "But if I decide I don't want it? I mean, with you, it's one thing, but being abandoned in Singapore ...
  
  
  "
  
  
  "Too dangerous to leave you, Mata. If I do that, I won't finish my work - and I'm always thorough. You're working for money, not ideology, so I can make you an offer. stay?" He sighed. "You had many other contacts besides Sudirmat. Your channels and the network through which you communicated with Judas are still intact. I assume you used a military radio, or you might have people of your own. But... you see... my position."
  
  
  Hey was getting cold. This wasn't the same man she'd held in her arms, almost the first man in her life that she'd ever connected with thoughts of love. A man so strong, so manly, so gentle, with a sharp mind - but how steely were those beautiful eyes now! "I didn't think you'd ..."
  
  
  He touched the tips of ee and covered ih with his finger. "You have fallen into several traps. You ih remember. Corruption breeds carelessness. Seriously, Mata, I suggest you accept my first offer."
  
  
  "And your other...?" My throat was suddenly dry. She remembered the gun and knife he was carrying, put ih aside and hid it from view, and joked softly as she commented on ih. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked back at the implacable mask that had always looked so strange on her beloved beautiful face. Her hand went to her mouth, and she paled. "You would! Yes... you killed Naif. And Judas with the others... not like Hans Nordenboss."
  
  
  "Take it to another one," he agreed with quiet seriousness. "If you ever set foot in Indonesia again, I'll kill you."
  
  
  He hated words, but the deal had to be clearly depicted. The Internet is a fatal misunderstanding. She cried for hours, wilted like a flower in a drought, seeming to squeeze all her life force around her with her tears. He regretted the scene - but he knew the power of restoring beautiful women. Another country-other men - and possibly other offers.
  
  
  She pushed ego away - then crept up to him and said in a high-pitched voice:: "I know I don't have a choice. I'll go get her."
  
  
  He relaxed - just a little. "I'll help you. Nordenboss can be trusted to sell what you leave behind, and I guarantee you'll get the money. You won't be left penniless in a new country."
  
  
  She stifled the last of her sobs, and her fingers caressed his chest. "Can you spare a day or two to help me get settled in Singapore?"
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  Her body seemed boneless. It was a surrender. Nick let out a slow, soft sigh of relief. You never get used to it. It was better that way. Hawk would have approved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  The Hood of Death
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  The Hood of Death
  
  
  Dedicated to the people of the Secret Services of the United States of America
  
  
  
  Chapter I
  
  
  
  Ten seconds after he turned off Highway 28, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Should he bring the girl to this isolated place? Was it necessary to leave the ego weapon out of reach in a hidden locker under the rear deck of the car?
  
  
  All the way out of Washington on US 66, the taillights flickered. This might have been expected on a busy superhighway, but they didn't react on Highway 28, which was less logical. He thought they belonged to the same car. Now it was there.
  
  
  "Fun," he said, trying to sense if the girl's ego was straining at the comment. He felt no change. The beautiful soft body remained deliciously supple.
  
  
  "What is it?" she muttered.
  
  
  "You'll have to sit down for a while, honey." He carefully set it upright, placing his hands evenly on the steering wheel at three and nine o'clock, and set the throttle to the floor. A minute later, he turned into a familiar alley.
  
  
  He was tinkering with the new engine setup himself, and felt a personal sense of satisfaction when the 428 cubic inches caused acceleration without tripping over the REV boost. The Thunderbird raced through the S-turns of a two-lane Maryland country road like a hummingbird lurching through the trees.
  
  
  "Exciting!" Ruth Moto moved away to give the emu room for her hands.
  
  
  Clever girl, he thought. Smart, beautiful. I think...
  
  
  He knew the way well. Most likely, this is not the case. He could run away from them, slip away to safety, and have a promising evening. This won't work. He sighed, allowed the Bird to slow down to a moderate speed, and checked his bike as it climbed. The lights were there. They never decided to put the ih at that speed on the twisty roads. They'll crash. You can't let that happen - they can be just as valuable to him as he is to them.
  
  
  He slowed to a crawl. The headlights came closer, lit up as if another car had been braked, and then went out. Aaa... He smiled in the dark. After the first cold contact, there was always excitement and hope for success.
  
  
  Ruth leaned against him, the scent of her hair and the soft, delicious perfume filling his nostrils again. "It was fun," she said. "I like surprises."
  
  
  Ee hand rest on the hard, hard muscles of the ego thigh. He couldn't tell if she pressed down a little or if the feeling was caused by the rocking of the car. He put his arm around her and hugged her gently. "Her hotel is trying these twists and turns. Last week the wheels were balanced and I didn't have time to bend it in the city. Now it turns perfectly."
  
  
  "I think everything you do is about perfection, Jerry. Am I wrong? Don't be modest. It's enough for me when he's in Japan."
  
  
  "I guess so. .. maybe."
  
  
  "Of course. And you're ambitious. You want to be with the leaders."
  
  
  "You're guessing. Everyone wants perfection and leadership. Just as a tall, dark man will appear in every woman's life if she lasts long enough."
  
  
  "I've been waiting a long time." A hand pressed against his thigh. It wasn't the movement of a car.
  
  
  "You're making a hasty decision. We've only been together twice. Three times, if you count meeting me at Jimmy Hartford's party."
  
  
  "I'm counting it," she whispered. Her hand lightly stroked ego's leg. He was surprised and delighted by the sensuous warmth that the simple caress had aroused in nen. More goosebumps ran down ego's spine than most girls did when they caressed ego's naked flesh. "It's true," he thought, "the physical condition is suitable for animals or fast," but in order to raise a really high temperature, emotional rapport is necessary.
  
  
  In part, he thought, he'd sold out to Ruth Devizes when he'd watched her at the yacht club dance, and a week later at Robert Quitlock's birthday dinner. Like a boy looking through a shop window at a shiny bicycle or a pile of seductively displayed candy, he collected impressions that fueled egos, hopes, and aspirations. Now that he knew her better, he was convinced that ego's taste was excellent.
  
  
  Instead of wearing expensive dresses and tuxedos at parties where men with money brought the most beautiful women they could find, Ruth was portrayed as an incomparable gem. She inherited her height and long bones from her Norwegian mother, and her dark coloring and exotic facial features from her Japanese father, forming a Eurasian blend that often produces the most beautiful women in the world. By any standard, her body was perfectly flawless, and as she moved around the room on her father's arm, each pair of male eyes slid after her or followed her, depending on whether any other woman was watching them or not. It aroused admiration, desire, and, in the simpler mind, instant lust.
  
  
  Her father, Akito Tsogu Nf Moto, accompanied her. He was short and massive, with smooth ageless skin and the calm serene expression of a patriarch carved all over granite.
  
  
  Were the Motos what they looked like? Ih checked the most effective US intelligence service - AX. The report was clean, but the probe will go deeper, return to Matthew Perry.
  
  
  David Hawke, senior officer of TOPOR and Odin under Nick Carter's Chiefs of Command, said: "They may turn out to be a dead end, Nick. Old man Akito made several million dollars in Japanese-American businesses in the fields of electronics and construction products. print like a nail, but straight forward. Ruth was being nice to Vassar. She's a popular hostess and moves in good Washington circles. Follow other instructions... if you have them ."
  
  
  Nick suppressed a grin. Hawk would have supported you with his life and career, but he was adept at the needle of inspiration. He said, " Yes. How about Akito as another victim?"
  
  
  Hawke's thin lips revealed one ego-infrequent smile, forming wise and tired lines around the rta's ego and eyes. They met for their last conversation just after dawn in a secluded cul-de-sac at Fort Belvoir. The morning was cloudless, the day would be hot. Bright sunbeams pierced the air over the Potomac and illuminated the strong features of the Goshawk. He watched the boats leave the mountain. Vernon Gunston Cove Yacht Club. "She must be as beautiful as they say."
  
  
  Nika didn't flinch. "Who, Ruth? The web is one of a kind."
  
  
  "Personality plus sex appeal, eh? Its got to take a look at nah. It appears beautifully in the photos. You can take a look at them in the office."
  
  
  Hawk, Nick thought. If that name didn't fit, Old Fox would have suggested it. He said: "I prefer the real thing, it smells so good if -..? Pornographic"
  
  
  "No, nothing like that. She is tested as a typical girl by a decent family. Maybe a novel or two, but if they're so carefully hidden. Probably a virgin. In our mail business, there is always a" maybe ". But don't buy ih first check it out, Nick. Be careful. Don't relax us for a moment. "
  
  
  Time and time again, Hawk literally saved the life of Nicholas Huntington Carter, N3 on AX-US, with words of caution and very far-sighted actions.
  
  
  "I won't, sir," Nick said. "But I feel like I'm not going anywhere. Six weeks of Washington parties is fun, but I'm bored with the good life."
  
  
  "I can imagine how you feel, but stay with it. This case gives you a sense of helplessness when three important people are dead. But we'll take a break and it will open wide."
  
  
  "No more help from autopsy conferences?"
  
  
  "The best pathologists in the world agree that they died of natural causes-obviously. Do they consider themselves so small Natural? Yes. Logical? No. Senator, cabinet official and key banker in our money resort complex. method, link, or reason. I have a feeling ... "
  
  
  Hawke's "senses" - ego-based encyclopedic knowledge and intelligent intuition-had never, as far as Nick could remember, ever been wrong. He discussed the details of the case and the situation with Hawk for an hour, and they parted ways. The hawk for the team is Nick Ego rol.
  
  
  Six weeks ago, Nick Carter literally stepped into the shoes of "Gerald Parsons Deming," the Washington-based representative for the West Coast oil company. Another tall, dark and handsome young executive who was invited to all the best official and social events.
  
  
  He came to this part. The EMU follows; it was created for it by the masters of the AX documentation and editing department. Nick's hair was black instead of brown, and the tiny blue axe inside his right elbow ego was covered with skin dye. Ego the deep tan wasn't enough to distinguish ego from a real brunette, the skin darkened. He stepped into the life of a pre-created doppelganger, complete with documents and ID cards perfect for even the finer details. Jerry Deming, everyman, with an impressive country house in Maryland and an apartment in the city.
  
  
  The flicker of headlights in the mirror brought Ego back to the moment. He stalked Jerry Deming, fitting into the fantasy, forcing himself to forget about the Luger, stiletto, and tiny gas rig, as it was perfectly hidden in a compartment welded under the back of the Bird. Jerry Deming. By yourself. Bait. Target. The person sent is to make the opponent move. The person who sometimes got the box.
  
  
  Ruth said softly: "Why are you in such a fickle mood today, Jerry?"
  
  
  "I had a hunch. I thought a car was coming for us."
  
  
  "Oh, dear. You didn't tell me you were married."
  
  
  "Seven times and loved each one." He chuckled. It was the kind of joke that Jerry Deming might have made. "Oooh, honey. Hers was too busy to interfere seriously." It was the truth. He added fiction: "I don't see those lights anymore. I think he was wrong. You must do this annually. There are a lot of robberies on these back roads."
  
  
  "Be careful, dear. Maybe we shouldn't have left here. Is your place terribly isolated? I'm not afraid of her, but my father is strict. He's terribly afraid of publicity. He always warns me to be careful. Her ego, I suppose, is old country prudence.
  
  
  She clung to ego's arm. If this is the right thing to do, Nick thought, it's great. With them a ferret as he met her, she behaved exactly like the modern but conservative daughter of a foreign businessman who discovered how to make millions in the US.
  
  
  A man who thought out his every move and word in advance. When you found the golden cornucopia, you avoided any notoriety that might otherwise interfere with your work. In the world of military contracts, bankers, and management, publicity is hailed as a slap in the face to a raw red sunburn.
  
  
  With his right hand, he found a luscious breast, without protest from her. It was about as far as he had gotten with Ruth Moto, progress was slower than emu would have liked, but it was in line with ego's methods. He realized that training women was akin to training horses. The qualities of success were patience, small successes in razz, gentleness and experience.
  
  
  "My house is isolated, dear, but there are automatic gates in the driveway and the police regularly patrol the area. Nothing to worry about."
  
  
  She snuggled up to him. "That's good. Have you owned it for a long time?"
  
  
  "A few years. With them ferret as I started spending a lot of time in Washington." Emu wondered if her questions were random or well-planned.
  
  
  "And you were in Seattle before you came here? It's a beautiful country. These trees are in the mountains. Smooth climate."
  
  
  "Yes." In the dark, she couldn't see his little grin. "I really am a child of nature. She could have retired to the Rockies and just hunted and fished and... and things like that."
  
  
  "All alone?"
  
  
  “no. You can't hunt and fish all winter. And there are also rainy days."
  
  
  She giggled. "These are great plans. But, don't you agree? I mean, maybe you put it off like everyone else, and they'll find you, at their desk, at the age of fifty-nine. A heart attack. No hunting. No fishing. We have winter, we have rainy days ."
  
  
  "Not her. I plan it in advance."
  
  
  And hers, too, he thought as he braked as a small red reflector came into view, marking the almost hidden road. He turned, walked forty yards, and stopped in front of a solid wooden gate made of cypress planks painted a rich red-brown. He turned off the engine and lights.
  
  
  The silence was startling as the thunder of the engine and the rustle of tires stopped. He gently tilted her chin to his, and the kiss began smoothly, his lips rippling together in a warm, stimulating, wet mix. He stroked her lithe body with his free hand, moving cautiously a little further than ever before. The emu was pleased to feel her cooperate, her lips slowly joining the ego's tongue, her breasts seeming to return to the ego's gentle massage without a shiver of retreat. Her breathing quickened. He matched his own rhythm to the fragrant aroma - and listened.
  
  
  Under the insistent pressure of ego's tongue, her lips finally parted fully, swelling like a flexible hymen as he formed a spear across flesh, exploring the sharp depths of ee rta. He teased and tickled her, feeling her tremble with reaction. He caught her tongue between his lips and sucked gently... and he listened.
  
  
  She was wearing a simple dress of fine white sharkskin with buttons on the front. Ego's deft fingers undid three buttons, and he stroked the smooth skin between her breasts with the backs of his nails. Effortlessly, thoughtfully - with the power of a butterfly stomping on a rose petal. She froze for a moment, and he even tried to keep up the rhythm of his caresses; accelerating only when her breath rushed into him with a warm, gasping rush, and she made small humming sounds. He sent his fingers on a gentle exploratory cruise over the swelling ball of her right breast. The hum turned to a gasp as she pressed her hand to ego's.
  
  
  And he listened. The car moved slowly and silently along the narrow road mimmo driveway, its headlights floating in the night. They were too decent. He heard them stop when he switched off. Now they were checking. He hoped they had a good imagination and saw Ruth. Eat your hearts out, boys!
  
  
  He undid the clasp of her half-bra where it met her gorgeous cleavage, and savored the smooth, warm flesh that rested on his palm. Delicious. Inspirational - he was glad nen wasn't wearing specially tailored shorts; guns in the pockets of tight ones would have been comforting, but the stricture was annoying. Ruth said, "Oh, my dear," and bit her lip a little.
  
  
  He thought: "I hope this is just a teenager looking for a parking spot." Or maybe it was Nick Carter's sudden-death car. Removing a dangerous figure in a game that wasn't being played now, or legacy moved, earned in the past. Once you got the Killmaster classification, you understood the risks.
  
  
  Nick ran his tongue down her silky cheek to her ear. He started the rhythm with his hand, which was now wrapped around the gorgeous, warm breast inside the bra. He compared her sigh to his own. If you die today , you don't have to die tomorrow.
  
  
  He held up the index finger of his right hand and gently inserted the ego into the other ear, creating a triple tickle as he changed the pressure over time with his own little symphony. She was trembling with pleasure, and he found with some trepidation that the emu liked to shape nah's joy, and he hoped nah didn't have a connection to the car on the road,
  
  
  which then stopped a few hundred yards away. He could hear it easily in the stillness of the night. At the moment, she hadn't heard anything.
  
  
  Ego's hearing was sharp - indeed, at a time when he wasn't physically perfect, AXE didn't give him any similar tasks, and he didn't take ih. The odds were already deadly enough. He heard the soft creak of the car's doorknobs, the sound of a rock hitting in the dark.
  
  
  He said. "Honey, how about a drink and a swim?"
  
  
  "I love that," she replied with a small, hoarse gulp before she said it.
  
  
  He pressed the button on the transmitter to activate the gate, and the barrier slid aside, closing automatically behind them as they followed the short windup. This was just a deterrent to intruders, not an obstacle. The property's handrails were a simple open post-rail fence.
  
  
  Deming's Gerald Parsons has built a charming country house with seven rooms and a huge blue stone patio overlooking the pool. When Nick pressed a button on a light pole at the edge of the room, the interior and exterior spotlights came on. Ruth gurgled happily.
  
  
  "This is wonderful! Ah, beautiful flowers. Do you do landscaping yourself?"
  
  
  "Enough of it," he lied. "Too busy to do whatever her hotel does. The local gardener comes twice a week."
  
  
  She stopped on the stone path next to a column of climbing roses, a vertical band of red and pink, white and cream flowers. "They're so cute. It's part Japanese or part Japanese, I think. Even one flower can excite me."
  
  
  He kissed ee's neck before they walked on, and said, " Just how can one beautiful girl excite me? You are as beautiful as all these flowers together - and you are alive."
  
  
  She laughed approvingly. "You're cute, Jerry, but I'm wondering-how many girls did you spend on this walk?"
  
  
  "Really?"
  
  
  "I hope so."
  
  
  He opened the door and they entered a large living room with a giant fireplace and a glass wall facing the pool. "Well, Ruth is true. The truth for Ruth." He led her to a small bar and flicked the record player with one hand while holding her fingers with the other. "You, my dear, are the first girl he brought here alone."
  
  
  He saw her eyes widen, and then he knew from the warmth and softness of her expression that she thought he was telling the truth - that he was-and he liked it.
  
  
  Any girl would believe it if she believed you, and the creation, weapons, and growing intimacy were right tonight. A doppelganger's ego might have brought fifty girls here - I know Deming probably had one-but Nick was telling the truth, and Ruth's intuition confirmed it.
  
  
  He was making a martini with quick movements, while Ruth sat watching him through the narrow oak grate, her chin in her hands, her black eyes wary and thoughtful. Her flawless skin still glowed with the emotion he'd evoked, and Nick caught his breath at the surprisingly beautiful portrait she'd taken as he set the glass in front of her and poured it.
  
  
  She'll buy it, but she won't believe it, he thought. Eastern caution or doubts that women harbor, even if emotions lead ih astray. He said softly: "To you, Ruthie. The most beautiful painting I've ever seen. An artist would like to draw you sincerely now."
  
  
  "Thank you. You make me feel - very happy and warm, Jerry."
  
  
  Her eyes glowed at him over the rim of her cocktail glass. He listened. Nothing. They were walking through the woods now, or perhaps they had already reached the smooth green carpet of the lawn. They circled cautiously, and soon found that the panoramic windows were perfect for watching who was in the hall and entering the house.
  
  
  His bait. We didn't mention it, but its just cheese trapped in AX. It was the only way out. Hawk Stahl wouldn't be so selfish if there was no other way. Three important men are dead. Natural causes on death certificates. No leads at all. No hints. Clean drawing.
  
  
  You can't give your bait special protection, Nick thought grimly, because you have no idea what might frighten your prey or what strange level it might appear in. If you find complex security measures, the one around them may be part of the fold paper you were trying to uncover. Hawk chose the only logical path - the ego of the most trusted agent will become bait.
  
  
  Nick followed the Washington trails of the dead as best he could. He unobtrusively received invitations through the Goshawk to countless yahoo, receptions, business and social gatherings. He has visited convention hotels, embassies, private homes, estates, and clubs from Georgetown to universities and Union leagues. Emu was tired of appetizers and filet mignon, and he was tired of getting into a tuxedo and taking off his ego. The laundry didn't return Ego's creased shirts quickly enough, and Em had to call Rogers Pete to get a dozen delivered via special courier.
  
  
  He had met dozens of important men and beautiful women, and he had received dozens of invitations, which he respectfully declined, except for those that concerned people the dead knew or places they had visited.
  
  
  It was consistently popular, and most women found ego-quiet mindfulness mesmerizing. When they discovered that he was an "oil industry executive" and unmarried, some around them aggressively wrote notes and called.
  
  
  He definitely didn't find anything. Ruth and her father seemed quite respectable, and he wondered if he was honestly checking her out because the ego-built-in troubleshooting antenna had given a small spark - or because she was the most desirable beauty in the world he'd met in the last few weeks.
  
  
  He smiled into her gorgeous dark eyes and caught her hand, which was resting on the polished oak next to his own. There was one corkscrew: who was there and how did they find the ego then in "Thunderbird"? And why? Had he really hit the nail on the head, too? He grinned at the punning situation as Ruth said softly, " I'm not sure.: "You're a strange man, Gerald Deming. You're bigger than you look."
  
  
  "Is this some Eastern wisdom or Zen or something?"
  
  
  "I think the German philosopher was the first to say this as a maxim - 'Be more than you think'. But I've been watching your face and your eyes. You were far away from me."
  
  
  "Just dreaming."
  
  
  "Have you always been in the oil mail business?"
  
  
  "More or less."He promoted his national team history. "I was born in Kansas and moved to the oil fields. I spent some time in the Middle East, made friends with a few suitable people, and got lucky." He sighed and grimaced.
  
  
  "Go ahead. You thought of something and stopped..."
  
  
  "Now its almost so advanced. It's a good job, and he should be happy. But if I had a college degree, it wouldn't be limited."
  
  
  She squeezed ego's hand. "You will find a way around this. You - you have a bright personality."
  
  
  "I was right there." He grinned and added. "In fact, delle nez did more than he said. In fact, a couple of times he didn't use Deming's name. It was a quick deal, in the Middle East, and if we could have stood up to the London cartel for a few months, I would be a rich man today."
  
  
  He shook his head as if in deep regret, went to the Hi-Fi console, and switched from the player to the radio bands. In a shower of static, he twisted frequencies and long waves caught it-bi-bi-bi. So vote as they went for it! The corkscrew question now was whether the pager was hidden in the ego car without Ruth's knowledge, or whether the ego lovely guest carried the ego in a purse strapped to her clothes, or-one had to be careful - in a plastic case? He switched back to the recording, the strong, sensual images of Pyotr Tchaikovsky's Fourth Piece, and wandered back to the bar. "How about that swimming trip?"
  
  
  "I love it. Give me a minute to finish."
  
  
  "Do you want another one?"
  
  
  "And then after we sail."
  
  
  "All right."
  
  
  "And-where's the bathroom, please?"
  
  
  "Open here..."
  
  
  He led her into the master bedroom and showed her a large tub with a Roman tub set in pink ceramic tiles. She kissed him lightly, then went in and closed the door.
  
  
  He quickly returned to the bar where she'd left her purse. Ih was usually taken to see John. A trap? He was careful not to disturb the ego's position or disposition when checking the ego's contents. Lipstick, bills in a money clip, a small gold lighter that he opened and examined, a credit card... nothing that could be a buzzer. He accurately placed the items and picked up his drink.
  
  
  When will they arrive? When was he in the pool with her? Em didn't like the feeling of helplessness that the situation gave him, the uncomfortable feeling of insecurity, the unpleasant fact that he couldn't strike first.
  
  
  He wondered grimly if he had been in this business for too long. If weapons meant confidence, he had to leave. Did he feel defenseless because Hugo with the thin blade wasn't tied to ego's forearm? It's impossible to hold a girl with Hugo until she feels it.
  
  
  Hauling the Wilhelmina, a modified Luger with which he could usually hit a fly at sixty feet, was also impossible in Deming's ego role-with Targets. If you felt it or found it, it was a sale. Em had to agree with Eglinton, AX's gunsmith, that Wilhelmina was flawed as a favored weapon. Eglinton redesigned the ih as he saw fit, fitting the three-inch barrels to perfect bolts and fitting the ih butts around a thin transparent plastic. He reduced the size of Alenka, too, and you could see the bullets marching down the ramp like a relay race around the little bottle-nosed full name-but there were still plenty of guns.
  
  
  "Call it psychological," he argued to Eglinton. "My Wilhelmina brothers helped me get through some difficult times. I know exactly what I can do at any angle and in any position. It must have been burned by ten thousand rounds of nine million rounds in its time. I like the gun."
  
  
  "Take another look at this S. & W., boss," by vast Country, Eglinton.
  
  
  "Could you talk Baby Ruth out of his pet bat? Tell the Mets to change their gloves? I go hunting with an old man in Maine who catches his deer every year for forty-three years with the Springfield 1903. I'll take you with me. join me this summer, and let you talk ego into using one of the new automatons."
  
  
  Eglinton gave up. Nick chuckled at the memory. He glanced at the copper lamp,
  
  
  which now hung over the giant sofa in the gazebo across the room. He wasn't completely helpless. The AX masters did everything they could. Pull this lamp down and you'll lower the ceiling wall, carrying a Swedish Carl Gustav SMG Parabellum submachine gun with a butt that you can take.
  
  
  Inside the car were Wilhelmina and Hugo, and a tiny gas bomb known by the code name Pierre. Under the counter, the fourth bottle of gin on the left of the cabinet contained a tasteless version of Michael Thin that could be disposed of in about fifteen seconds. And in the garage, the penultimate hook - the one with the shabby, least attractive raincoat-opened the hook board with a full turn to the left. Wilhelmina's twin sister lay on the shelf between the stilettos.
  
  
  He listened. He was frowning. Nick Carter with nerves? There was nothing to be heard in Tchaikovsky's masterpiece spilling out its suggestive theme.
  
  
  It was an expectation. And doubts. If you rushed for a weapon too early, you've ruined the entire expensive setup. If you wait too long, you may die. How did they kill these three? If yes? Hawke was never wrong ...
  
  
  Ruth stepped out from behind the archway. "Still want to swim?"
  
  
  He met her halfway across the room, hugged her, gave her a big kiss, and led her back to the bedroom. "More than ever. Just thinking about you makes my temperature rise. I need to take a dip."
  
  
  She laughed and stood by the king-size bed, looking uncertain as he took off his tuxedo and tied a knot in his burgundy tie. When the sorting belt fell on the bed, she timidly asked, " Do you have a suit for me?"
  
  
  "Sure," he smiled, pulling out the gray pearl studs on his shirt. "But who needs them? Are we really that old-fashioned, too? I've heard that in Japan, boys and girls hardly bother with costumes in the bathroom.
  
  
  She looked at him questioningly, and he caught his breath as the light danced in her eyes like sparks caught in obsidian.
  
  
  "We wouldn't want that to happen," she said hoarsely and quietly. As she undid the buttons on her neat shark skin, he turned away and heard the promising z-z-z-z of a hidden zipper, and when he looked again, she was carefully arranging the dress on the bed.
  
  
  With an effort, he kept his eyes on Nah until he was completely naked, then casually turned around and treated himself - and he was sure that buck's ego gave a little thump as it started to raise his blood pressure.
  
  
  He thought he saw, ih everyone. From tall Scandinavian women to burly Australian women, at Kamatipur and Hoo-Pang Road and the Palace of Politics in Hamburg, where you paid a hundred dollars just to get in. But you, Ruthie, he thought, are something else again!
  
  
  She attracted attention at exclusive parties where competitions were chosen around the best in the world, and then she was in her clothes. Now, standing naked against the snow-white wall and rich blue carpet, she looked like something specially painted for the harem wall - to inspire the owner.
  
  
  Her body was firm and flawless, her twin breasts with high-set nipples like red ball signals-beware of explosives. Her skin was flawless, from her eyebrows to her pink enameled toes, and her pubic hair was a thrilling bib of soft black. It was locked in place. Nah had him at the moment, and she knew it. She raised a long fingernail to her lips and tapped her chin questioningly. Her brows, plucked out in high curves to add a little roundness to the slight slant of her eyes, rose and fell. "Do you approve, Jerry?"
  
  
  "You..." He swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "You are one huge aggregate of a beautiful woman. I want it I want to take a picture of you. Just the way you are at this moment."
  
  
  "That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. You have an artist in you." She picked up two ego-pack cigarettes from the bed and pressed one after the other to her lips so that he would light them. After she handed him Odin's letter, she said: "I'm not sure I would have done it if it wasn't for what you said..."
  
  
  "What I said?"
  
  
  "About her web girlfriend that you brought here. Somehow I know it's true."
  
  
  "How do you know?"
  
  
  Her eyes were dreamy from the blue smoke. "I'm not sure. That would be a typical lie for a man, but I knew you were telling the truth."
  
  
  Nick put a hand on her shoulder. It was round and satiny and hard, like an athlete's under his tanned skin. "It was true, my dear."
  
  
  She said, " You have an amazing body too, Jerry. I didn't know her. How much do you weigh?"
  
  
  "Two-ten. Plus or minus."
  
  
  She felt ego's hand, which her slender arm almost didn't bend around, so hard was the surface above the bone. "You do a lot of sports. It's good for everyone. Her, I was afraid that you would become like many men today. They grow lives at these tables. Even the young people in the Pentagon. It's a shame."
  
  
  He thought: this isn't really the time or place to be in the dell,
  
  
  and he took her in his arms, and their bodies merged into one pillar of responsive flesh. She wrapped both arms around ego's neck and pressed herself into ego's hot embrace, her legs lifting off the floor, and she parted them several times, like a ballerina, but with a sharper, more energetic and excited movement, like a muscular reflex.
  
  
  Nick was in great physical shape. Ego-a program of exercises for the body and mind, was strictly followed. They included controlling his ego libido, but he couldn't catch himself in time. The ego-stretched, passionate flesh swelled between them. She kissed ego deeply, pressing her entire body against ego's.
  
  
  He felt as if a child's sparkler had run down his spine from his tailbone to the top of his head - lit it. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing like a runner on Paris for about a two-minute bookmark. The gusts from her lungs were like lustful jets aimed at his throat. Without violating her principles, he took three short steps to the edge of the bed.
  
  
  He wished he'd listened more, but it wouldn't have helped. He felt - or perhaps caught a reflection or shadow - a man enter the room.
  
  
  "Pawn it and turn around. Slowly."
  
  
  It was a deep voice. The words were loud and clear, with a slight guttural undertone. They sounded like they were coming from someone who was used to emus being obeyed literally.
  
  
  Nick obeyed. He turned a quarter round and pawned Ruth. He took another slow quarter turn to come face-to-face with a blond giant, like an ego of his own age and as big as himself.
  
  
  In his large hand, which he held low and steady and fairly close to his body, the man held what Nick easily identified as a Walther P-38 . Even without the ego of impeccable gun handling, you'd know this guy knew his stuff.
  
  
  It's time to vote, Nick thought ruefully. All judo and savaticism will not help you in this situation. He also knows ih, because he knows his business.
  
  
  If he came to kill you, you're dead.
  
  
  
  Chapter II.
  
  
  
  Nick remained frozen in place. If the big blonde's blue eyes had strained or flared, Nick would have tried to fall off a roll - a reliable McDonald's Singapore company that has saved the lives of many men and ruined many more. It all depends on your position. The P-38 didn't flinch. It could be screwed into a test firing rig.
  
  
  A short, thin man followed the big guy into the room. He had brown skin and facial features that looked as if they had been smeared in the dark by an amateur sculptor's thumb. Ego's face was hard, and there was a bitterness in his mouth that must have taken centuries to get into. Nick wondered-Malay, Filipino, Indonesian? Make your choice. There are over 4,000 islands. The smaller man held the Walther with beautiful firmness and pointed to the floor. Another professional. "There's no one else here," he said.
  
  
  The player suddenly stopped. That meant a third person.
  
  
  The big blond man looked at Nick impassively, waiting. Then, without losing nen's attention, they moved toward Ruth, and a flash of amusement appeared at the corner of one lip. Nick exhaled - when they showed emotion or talked, they usually didn't shoot - right away.
  
  
  "You have good taste," the man said. "I haven't seen such a delicious dish in years."
  
  
  Nick was tempted to say, "Come on, eat if you like," but he took a bite. Instead, he nodded slowly.
  
  
  He turned his eyes to the side, without moving his head, and saw Ruth frozen, and me standing with the back of one hand pressed to my mouth and the other knuckled up in front of my navel. Her black eyes were fixed on the gun.
  
  
  Nick said: "You're scaring her. My wallet is in my pants. You'll find about two hundred. There's no point in hurting anyone."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. You don't even think about quick steps, and maybe no one will. But I believe in self-preservation. Jump in. Jerk. Reach out. I just need to shoot. A man is a fool to take the risk. I mean, I'd be a fool if I didn't kill you quickly. "
  
  
  "I understand your point. I don't even plan on scratching her neck, but she's itching."
  
  
  "Let's go. Very slowly. Don't you want to now? All right." The man ran his eyes up and down Nick's body. "We are very similar to each other. You're all big. Where did you get all these scars?"
  
  
  "Korea. He was very young and stupid."
  
  
  "A grenade?"
  
  
  "Shrapnel," Nick said, hoping the guy wasn't looking too much at infantry casualties. Rare healing shrapnel stitched you up on both sides. The scar collection was an ego memento of the ego years of working with AX. He hoped he wasn't going to add to them; P-38 bullets were vicious. Once a man took three and still exists-odds are four hundred to one will survive with two.
  
  
  "A brave man," said another, in a tone of comment rather than compliment.
  
  
  "I was hiding in the biggest hole I could find. If I could have found a bigger one, I would have ended up in it."
  
  
  "This woman is beautiful, but don't you prefer white women?"
  
  
  "I love to love ih everyone," Nick replied. The guy was cool or crazy. Tak cracks with a brown man behind him with a gun.
  
  
  ;
  
  
  A ghastly face appeared in the doorway behind the other two. Ruth gasped. Nick said: "Calm down, baby."
  
  
  The face was a rubber mask worn by a third man of medium height. Obviously, he had chosen the worst one around them in the warehouse: a red open mouth with protruding teeth, a fake bloody wound on one side. Mr. Hyde, on a bad day. He handed the math kid both a coil of white fishing line and a large jackknife.
  
  
  The big man said, " You, girl. Lie down on the bed and put your hands behind your back."
  
  
  Ruth turned to Nick, her eyes wide with horror. Nick said: "Do as he says. They will clean up the place, and they don't want to be followed urgently."
  
  
  Ruth lay back with her hands on her gorgeous buttocks. The little man ignored them as he circled the room and deftly bound their wrists. Nick noticed that he must have been a sailor once.
  
  
  "Now you, Mr. Deming," the man with the gun said.
  
  
  Nick joined Ruth and felt the return coils slide off her hands and tighten. He expanded his muscles to relax a little, but the man wasn't fooled.
  
  
  The big man said, " We'll be busy here for a while. Behave yourself, and when we leave, you can be free." Don't try it now. Sammy, you look at them." It stopped for a moment in the day. "Deming - prove that you really have the skill. Turn it over with your knee and finish what you started." He grinned and left.
  
  
  Nick listened to the men in the other room, guessing their movements. He could hear the chair drawers opening, the Deming papers shuffling. We searched the closets, opened suitcases and ego briefcases all over the closets, and went through the bookcases. This operation was completely insane. He couldn't put the two pieces of the puzzle together - yet.
  
  
  He doubted they'd find anything. The submachine gun above the lamp could only be unsheathed by truly ripping město apart, the gun in the garage was almost safely hidden. If they had drunk enough gin to get a fourth bottle, they wouldn't have needed knockout drops. Secret compartment in the Bird? Let them watch. The AX masters knew their stuff.
  
  
  Why? The corkscrew spun in the egos of the heads until it literally hurt. What for? Why? Em needs more evidence. More conversations. If they searched this place and left, it would be another wasted evening - and he could already hear Hawke's chuckle as he heard the story. He would purse his thin lips judiciously and say things like, " Well, my boy, it's still good that you're not hurt. You should be more careful with yourself. These are dangerous times. You'd better stay away from the harsher areas until I can back you up with a work partner ... "
  
  
  And he was giggling soundlessly all the time. Nick groaned in sour disgust. Ruth whispered: "What?"
  
  
  "Nothing. It'll be all right." Then an idea occurred to him, and he thought of the possibilities behind it. Corners. Ramifications. The target stopped hurting.
  
  
  He took a deep breath, shifted on the bed, gave each tribe a Root, and sat up.
  
  
  "What are you doing?" Her black eyes glinted next to ego. He kissed her and kept pushing until she rolled onto her back on the big bed. He followed her, every tribe's ego caught between her legs again.
  
  
  "You heard what that person said. He's got a gun."
  
  
  "Oh my God, Jerry. Not now."
  
  
  "He wants to be smart. We will carelessly follow orders. I'll be in shape in a couple of minutes."
  
  
  "No way!"
  
  
  "Rather get shot?"
  
  
  "No, but..."
  
  
  "Do we have a choice?"
  
  
  Stable and patient training made Nick a complete master of his body, including ego, sexual accessories. Ruth felt pressure on her hip, rebelled, and squirmed violently as he pressed against her lovely body. "NO WAY!"
  
  
  Sammy woke up. "Hey, what are you doing?"
  
  
  Nick turned his head. "Exactly what the boss told us. Really?"
  
  
  The pressure was now intense in her stomach. Nick swayed lower. "NO WAY!"
  
  
  Sammy ran to the door, shouted" Hans, " and went back to the bed in confusion. Nick was relieved to see that the Walther was still pointed at the floor. However, which way it would be better to go. One to stare right through you and a beautiful woman at the right moment.
  
  
  Ruth writhed under Nick's weight, but her own hands, bound and shackled beneath her, thwarted her attempt to wriggle free. With both of Nick's weirdos between her knees, she was practically pinned down. Nick pressed his hips forward. The tailor. Try again.
  
  
  A big man burst into the room. "Are you yelling, Sammy?"
  
  
  The short man pointed to the bed.
  
  
  Ruth screamed,"NO!"
  
  
  Hans barked, " What the hell is going on? Stop this noise."
  
  
  Nick grunted, moving his loins forward again, " Give me some time, old buddy. I'll do it."
  
  
  A strong hand grabbed Ego's shoulder and pulled him down onto his back on the bed. "Shut your mouth and keep your ego shut," Hans Ruth growled. He looked at Nick. "I don't want any noise."
  
  
  "Then why did you tell me to finish the job?"
  
  
  The blond man put his hands on his hips. The P-38 disappeared from view. "Hey God, man, you're something. You know
  
  
  Its a joke."
  
  
  "How did he know? You have a gun. I do it as I was told."
  
  
  "Deming, she would love to fight you someday. Will you fight? Boxing? Fencing".
  
  
  "A little. Make an appointment."
  
  
  The big man's face became thoughtful. He shook his head slightly from side to side, as if trying to cheer up his brain. "I don't know about you. You're either crazy or the coolest person I've ever seen. If you're not crazy, you'd be a good person to have around. How much do you earn a year? "
  
  
  "Sixteen thousand, and that's all I can do."
  
  
  "Chicken feed. Too bad you're square."
  
  
  "I made mistakes a few times, but now I've got it right and I don't shoot corners anymore."
  
  
  "Where did you go wrong?"
  
  
  "Sorry, old buddy. Take your loot and hit the road."
  
  
  "Looks like I was wrong about you." The man shook his head again. "Sorry for cleaning up one of the clubs around the world, but things are going slowly."
  
  
  "I keep the money."
  
  
  Hans turned to Sammy. "Go help Chick pack up. Nothing special." He turned away, then, almost as an afterthought, took Nick by the trousers, took the bills out of his wallet, and tossed them into the bureau. He said. "You two sit quietly and quietly. After we leave, you'll be free. The phone wires are down. I will leave the distributor cap from your car near the entrance to the entrance. No offense taken."
  
  
  Cold blue eyes rested on Nike. "One for us," Nick said. "And we'll get to that wrestling match someday."
  
  
  "Maybe," Hans said, and went out.
  
  
  Nick rolled off the bed, found the rough edge of the metal frame that supported the spring box, and after about a minute sawed through the stiff cord of the entire section of hide and what looked like a muscle sprain. As he rose from the floor, Ruth's black eyes met Ego's. They were wide open and staring, but she didn't look scared. Her face was expressionless. "Don't move," he whispered, and crept up on her.
  
  
  The living room was empty. He had a strong desire to acquire an effective Swedish submachine gun, but if this team was an ego goal, it would be a gift. Even the oilmen who were nearby didn't have Tommy's guns ready. He walked silently through the kitchen, out the back door, and around to the garage. In the floodlights, he could see the car they'd arrived in. Two men were sitting next to her. He walked around to the back of the garage and turned the hook without removing his jacket. The wooden strip swung and Wilhelmina slid into his hand, and he felt a sudden relief from her weight.
  
  
  A rock bruised Ego's bare foot as he rounded a blue spruce tree and approached the car from the dark side. Hans came out, circling the patio, and when they turned to look at him, Nick saw that the two men beside the car were Sammy and Chick. Now no one around them had weapons. Hans said: "Let's go."
  
  
  Then Nick said, " Surprise, boys. Don't move. The gun I'm holding is as big as yours."
  
  
  They turned to him in silence. "Calm down, boys. You too, Deming. We can solve this. Is that really a gun you have?"
  
  
  "Luger. Don't move. I'll step forward a little so you can see the ego and feel better. And lived longer."
  
  
  He stepped forward, and Hans snorted. "Next time, Sammy, we'll use the wire. And you must have done a rotten job with those knots. When we have time, we'll give you a new education."
  
  
  "Oh, they were strong," Sammy snapped.
  
  
  "Not tight enough. What do you think connected them, the sacks of grain? Maybe we'd better have some handcuffs..."
  
  
  The meaningless conversation suddenly made sense. Nick yelled," Shut up, " and started to back away, but it was too late.
  
  
  The man behind him growled: "Hold your ego, buko, or you're full of holes. Drop it. It's a boy. Come here, Hans."
  
  
  Nick gritted his teeth. Clever, this Hans! The fourth man is on watch, and has never been unmasked. An excellent guide. When he woke up, he was glad that he had gritted his teeth, otherwise he might have lost a few. Hans came up, shook his head, and said: "You're something else," and hung a quick left kick on his chin that shook the world for years.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As Nick Carter lay strapped to the bumper of the Thunderbird, the world coming and going, the golden turntables twinkling and the pain pulsing in his head, Herbert Wheeldale Tyson told himself what a grand world it was.
  
  
  For an Indiana lawyer who's never made more than six grand a year in Logansport and Fort. Wayne and Indianapolis, he did it in the shadows. Congressman Odin Odin, before the citizens decided that the ego of the opponent is less slippery, stupid and self-serving, he turned a few quick Washington connections into a big deal. You need a lobbyist who gets things done - you need Herbert for certain projects. He was well-connected in the Pentagon, and at nine years old he learned a lot about the oil mail business, ammunition, and construction contracts to improve the soc.
  
  
  Herbert was plain, but very important. You didn't have to love the ego, you used it. and it was extracted.
  
  
  Tonight Herbert was enjoying his favorite activity in his expensive little house on the outskirts of Georgetown. He was in a big bed in a big bedroom with a big pitcher of ice,
  
  
  bottles and glasses by the bed where the big girl waited for ego pleasure.
  
  
  Even now, Emu was enjoying watching a sex movie on a far moan. Another-the pilot brought ih for him across West Germany, where they make ih.
  
  
  He hoped that the girl would get the same boost from them as he did, though it didn't matter. She was a Korean, Mongolian one or around them who worked in one around the trading offices. Stupid, maybe, but Emu liked them the way they were - big body and pretty face. Em wanted those Indianapolis sluts to see ego now.
  
  
  He felt safe. There was such a nuisance about Bauman's clothes, but they can't be as tough as the whispers said to them. Whatever it was, the house had a full security alarm system, and there was a shotgun in the closet, and a pistol on the bedside table.
  
  
  "Look, baby," he chuckled, and leaned forward.
  
  
  He felt her move across the bed, and something blocked Emu's view of the screen, and he raised his hands to push the screen away. Why, it went over my head! Hello.
  
  
  Herbert Wheeldale Tyson was paralyzed before his hands even reached his chin, and died a few seconds later.
  
  
  
  Chapter III.
  
  
  
  When the world stopped shaking and Stahl focused, Nick found himself in the hall on the ground behind the car. Ego's wrists were tied to the car, and most likely Chick showed Gansu that he knew his knots, securing Nick for a long time. Ego's wrists were covered with ropes, plus a few strands to the square knot that held ego's hands together.
  
  
  He heard the four men talking in low voices, and only noticed Hans 'remark," ... we know. One way or another."
  
  
  Oni played this game in her car, and as it passed under the spotlight, licking its way to the roadway, Nick recognized it as a four-door green Ford sedan from 1968. The ego was strapped at the wrong angle to get a good look at the tag or who exactly the model was, but it wasn't compact.
  
  
  He applied his great strength to the rope, then sighed. Cotton hazelnut, but not household, shipboard and durable. He secreted copious amounts of saliva, applied his tongue to the area on his wrists, and began constantly gnawing with his strong white teeth. The material was heavy. He was chewing monotonously on the hard, wet mass when Ruth came out and found ego.
  
  
  She put on her clothes, right down to her neat white high-heeled shoes, walked across the asphalt, and looked down at him. He felt that her step was too steady and her gaze too calm for the situation. It was depressing to realize that she might have been on a different team, despite what had happened, and the men had left her to pull off some kind of coup.
  
  
  He smiled his biggest smile. "Hi, I didn't know you'd be free."
  
  
  "No, thank you, sex maniac."
  
  
  "My dear! What to say. I risked my life to chase away ih and save your honor."
  
  
  "You could at least untie me."
  
  
  "How did you get free?"
  
  
  "Just like you. Rolled off the bed and peeled the skin off my hands, cutting the rope on the bed frame." Nick felt a wave of relief.. She continued, frowning: "Jerry Deming, I think I'll leave you here."
  
  
  Nick thought quickly. What would Deming say in such a situation? It exploded. made a lot of noise. Now you let me go right now, or when I get her out, I'll paddle your pretty ass so you don't sit down for a month, and then I'll forget I ever knew you. crazy, you... "
  
  
  He stopped when she laughed and leaned down to show em the razor blade she held in her hand. She carefully cut through the ego's shackles. "Here, my hero. You were brave. Did you really attack them with your bare hands? They could have killed you instead of tying you up."
  
  
  He rubbed his wrists and felt his jaw. That big guy Hans has lost his temper! "I hide the gun in the garage, because if the house is robbed, I think there is a chance that the ego will not be found there. Ego took her, and three of them took her when I was disarmed by a fourth hidden in the bushes. Hans shut me up. These guys must be real professionals. Imagine that you are leaving the picket line?
  
  
  "Be grateful that they didn't make it worse. Its my guess, your travels in the oil mail business has conditioned you to violence. I think you acted without fear. But this way you can get hurt."
  
  
  He thought: "In Vassar ih, kids train with composure, otherwise it's more than meets the eye for you." They walked toward the house, a pretty girl holding the hand of a naked, heavily built man. When Nika left, he made her think of an athlete in training, perhaps a professional soccer player.
  
  
  He noticed that she kept her eyes on the ego of the body, like a nice young lady should. Was it an act? He shouted as he reached into his plain white boxers: ;
  
  
  "I'll call the police. No one will get caught here, but it will cover my insurance, and maybe they will keep a close eye on this place."
  
  
  "I called them, Jerry. I can't imagine where they're coming from."
  
  
  "It depends on where they were. They have three cars in a hundred square miles. Another martini?..."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The officers were sympathetic. Ruth had messed up the phone a little, and they'd wasted their time. They commented on the large number of burglaries and robberies committed by city hooligans. They wrote this and borrowed spare keys from him so that ih BCI staff could double-check the place in the morning. Nick thought it was a waste of time, and it was.
  
  
  After they left, she and Ruth took a swim, had another drink, danced, and cuddled for a while, but the attraction had already subsided. He thought that even though her upper lip was stiff, she seemed thoughtful - or nervous. As they rocked in a tight embrace on the patio, to the beat of Armstrong's trumpet on the blue and light suite, he kissed her a few times, but the mood was gone. Her lips weren't melting anymore, they were limp. Her heartbeat and the rhythm of her breathing didn't increase as much as before.
  
  
  She'd noticed the difference herself. She has brought her face away from his face, but attaches the emu's head to her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Jerry. I think she's very timid. I keep thinking about what might happen. We could be... they're dead." She shuddered.
  
  
  "We're not like that," he said, and squeezed her hand.
  
  
  "Would you really do that?" she asked.
  
  
  "Did what?"
  
  
  "On the bed. The fact that the man called Hans gave me a clue."
  
  
  "He was a smart guy, and it backfired."
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "Remember when Sammy called out to the emu? He went in and then sent Sammy out for a few minutes to help the other guy. Then he left the room on his own, and this was my chance. Otherwise, we'll still be tied to this bed, maybe. , ih is long gone. Or they'll stick matches under my fingers to get me to tell them where I hide my money."
  
  
  "And you? Hiding money?"
  
  
  "Of course not. But doesn't it look like they had false advice like I did?"
  
  
  "I see her."
  
  
  If she sees it, Nick thought, it's all right. At least she was puzzled. If she'd been on a different team, hey, she'd have had to admit that Jerry Deming was acting and thinking like a typical citizen. He bought Amy a beautiful car at Perrault's Supper Club and drove her home to the Moto residence in Georgetown. Not far from the beautiful little house where Herbert W lay dead. Tyson, waiting for the maid to find ego in the morning, and the hasty doctor to decide that the offended dollar stack has failed its owner.
  
  
  He collected one small plus. Ruth was invited to accompany Ego Ego to a dinner party at Sherman Owen Cushing's on Friday for the week-ih annual All Friends event. The Cushing's were rich, introverted, and had started accumulating real estate and money even before the du Pont started producing gunpowder, and they held most of their egos. There were many senators who tried to get Cushing's proposal-but never got it. He told Ruth that he was pretty sure he could do it. He will confirm it with a call on Wednesday. Where would Akito be? In Cairo-the voice of why Nick could take his place. He realized that Ruth had met Alice Cushing in Vassar.
  
  
  The next day was a hot, sunny Thursday. Nick slept until nine, then had breakfast at the Jerry Deming apartment building restaurant - fresh orange juice, three fried eggs, bacon, toast, and two cups of tea. When he could, he planned his lifestyle like an athlete who stayed in good shape.
  
  
  The ego's big body alone wouldn't be able to stay in top-notch shape, especially when it enjoyed a certain amount of plentiful food and alcohol. He didn't neglect his wits, especially when it came to current affairs. His newspaper was The New York Times, and through an AXE subscription, he read periodicals from Scientific American to The Atlantic and Harper's. Not even a month has passed without four or five significant books in the ego expense account.
  
  
  Ego physical skills required a constant, though off-schedule, training program. Twice a week, unless he was "on the spot" - which means "at work" in the local language-he did acrobatics and judo, went bagging, and methodically swam underwater for long hours. Also on a regular schedule, he spoke on his dictaphones, honed his fine French and Spanish, improved his German and three other languages that he said he could "pick up", get a bed, and get directions to the airport. . "
  
  
  David Hawke, who was unimpressed by almost anything, once told Nick that in ego's opinion, ego's greatest asset was acting: "... I lost something when you came into our business."
  
  
  Nick's father was a character actor. One of these rare chameleons who slipped into any role and became it. The talent that smart producers are looking for. "See if you can get Carter," enough parts were said to give Nick's father all the roles he'd chosen.
  
  
  Nick actually grew up all over the United States. The education ego, divided between tutors, the studio, and public education, seemed to benefit from diversity.
  
  
  At the age of eight, he was honing his Spanish and making films behind the scenes with a company playing Está el Doctor en Casa? By his tenth year - because Tea and 100 % had a lot of experience and the leader was a mathematical genius - he could do most of the algebra in his head, quote the odds of all hands at poker and blackjack, and do perfect imitations of Oxonian, Yorkshire, and Cockney.
  
  
  Shortly after his twelfth birthday, he wrote a one-act play, which is engaged, slightly edited a few years later, now in the hall in books. and he found that the savat that Ego recognized as a French tumbler, Jean Benoit-Gironnier, was as effective in an alley as on a mat.
  
  
  It was after a late-night show, when he was coming home alone. Two would-be robbers approached him in the lonely yellow light of an abandoned passageway from the entrance to the street. He stomped his foot, kicked him in the shin, dove on his hands and whipped like a mule to hit him in the groin, then wheeled him around for a grand flip and a kick to the chin. Then he went back to the theater and led his father back to the crumpled, groaning figures.
  
  
  The elder Carter noted that Ego son spoke calmly and ego breathing was perfectly normal. He said, " Nick, you did what you had to do. What are we going to do with them?"
  
  
  "I don't care."
  
  
  "Do you want to see ih arrested?"
  
  
  "I don't think so," Nick replied. They went back to the theater, and when they got home an hour later, the men were gone.
  
  
  A year later, Carter Sr. discovered Nick in a relationship with Lily Green, a beautiful young actress who would later succeed in Hollywood. He just chuckled and left, but after a later discussion, Nick discovered that he was taking his college entrance exams under a different name and going to Dartmouth. Ego's father died in a car accident less than two years later.
  
  
  Some of those memories - the best ones - flashed through Nick's mind as he walked the four blocks to the health club and changed into his swimming trunks. In the sunny rooftop gym, he trained at a light pace. We rested. Fell. Sunbathing. I trained on rings and a trampoline. After an hour, he worked until six o'clock on the sacks, and then swam continuously for fifteen minutes in a large pool. He was practicing yoga breathing and checked his underwater time, wincing when he noticed that the emu was forty-eight seconds short of the official world record. Well, it won't work out.
  
  
  Just after twelve, Nick headed back to his swanky apartment building, making his way past breakfast to make an appointment with David Hawke. He found his senior officer in the apartment. They greeted each other with a handshake and quiet friendly nods; a combination of controlled warmth based on a long relationship and mutual respect.
  
  
  Hawke was wearing one around his gray suits. When he slumped his shoulders and walked casually, instead of the usual marching gait, he could be a major or minor Washington businessman, a government employee, or a visiting taxpayer on the West Fork. Ordinary, unremarkable, so as not to remember.
  
  
  Nick said nothing. Hawk said, " We can talk. I think the boilers are starting to burn."
  
  
  "Yes, sir. How about a cup of tea?"
  
  
  "Excellent. Have you had lunch?"
  
  
  “no. I'm missing it today. As opposed to all the canapes and seven-course dinners I get on this assignment."
  
  
  "Lay down the water, my boy. We will be very British. Maybe this will help. We are against what they specialize in. Threads within threads and no beginnings for a node. How it went last time. night?"
  
  
  Nick told emu. Hawk nodded from time to time and played carefully with his unwrapped cigar.
  
  
  "This is a dangerous place. No weapons, they were taken and tied up. Let's not take any chances again. Its sure that we are dealing with cold killers and it might be your turn." Plans and Actions " disagree with me. one hundred percent, but I think they will be after we meet tomorrow."
  
  
  "New facts?"
  
  
  "Nothing new. That's the beauty of it. Herbert Wheeldale Tyson was found dead in his home this morning. Supposedly natural causes. I'm starting to like that phrase. Every time I hear her ee, my suspicions double. And now there are good reasons for this. . Or a better reason. Do you recognize Tyson? "
  
  
  "The nickname' Wheel and Deed'. Rope puller and oiler. One by one and a half thousand people like him. I can probably name a hundred of them."
  
  
  "Actually. You know, ego, because he was climbing to the top of a stinking barrel. Now let me try to connect the end of the puzzle. Tyson is the fourth person to die of natural causes, and they all knew each other. all major holders of oil and ammunition reserves in the Middle East ."
  
  
  Hawke paused, and Nick frowned. "You would expect me to say that this is not unusual in Washington."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. Another article. Last week, two important and very respectable people received death threats. Senator Aaron Hawkburn and Fritching on the Treasury Department."
  
  
  "And they have something to do with the other four?"
  
  
  "Not at all. No one around them will be caught having lunch with Tyson, for example. But they both have huge key positions that can make an impact... The Middle East and some military contracts ."
  
  
  "They were only threatened? You didn't order anything?"
  
  
  "I believe it will happen later. I think the four deaths will be used as horrifying examples. But Hawkburn and Fritching aren't around to be intimidated, although you can never really tell. They called the FBI and cross-notified us. I told them I might have something."
  
  
  Nick said carefully: "It doesn't look like we don't have a lot - yet."
  
  
  "Vote where you enter. How about that tea?"
  
  
  Nick got up, poured a glass, and brought it back, two bags in each. They had gone through this ritual before. Hawke said, " Your disbelief in me is understandable, even though after all these years of hers, I thought I deserved more..." He sipped his tea and stared at Nick with that twinkle in his eye that always presaged a satisfying revelation - like laying on a powerful hand for a partner who was afraid he was overcharging.
  
  
  "Show me another piece of the puzzle you're hiding," Nick said. "The one that fits."
  
  
  "Pieces, Nicholas. Pieces. Which you're going to combine, its safe. You're warm. You and I both know that last night was no ordinary robbery. Your visitors watched and listened. Why? oni hotels learn more about Jerry Deming. Is it because Jerry Deming-Nick Carter - is close to something and we don't realize it yet? "
  
  
  "...Or is Akito watching his daughter so damn closely?"
  
  
  "...Or is the daughter involved and playing the victim?"
  
  
  Nick frowned. "I won't discount it. But she could have killed me when I was tied up. Nah had a razor. She could just as easily get a meat cleaver and cut me up like a roast."
  
  
  "Maybe they need Jerry Deming. You are an experienced oilman. Low-paid and most likely greedy. You may be contacted. This will be a clue."
  
  
  "I searched her bag," Nick said thoughtfully. "How did they chase us? They couldn't let the four of them ride all day."
  
  
  "Ouch," Hawke said, feigning regret. "Your bird has a pager on it. Odin around the old round-the-clock shops. We left the ego in place, in case they decide to raise the ego."
  
  
  "I knew it," Nick said, turning his chair gently.
  
  
  "You did?"
  
  
  "I checked the frequencies with my home radio. I didn't find the pager itself, but I knew it must be there."
  
  
  "You could have told me. Now for a more exotic theme. Mysterious East. Have you noticed many pretty girls with slanted eyes in society?"
  
  
  "Why not? Since 1938, we have been harvesting a new crop of Asian millionaires every year. Most of the people around them arrive here sooner or later with their families and loot."
  
  
  "But they remain out of sight. There are others. Over the past two years, we've compiled guest lists for more than six hundred and fifty events and put ih on a computer. Among Oriental women, six charming women top the list for attending international-level parties. or lobbying for importance. Voice... He handed Nick the note.
  
  
  Jeanyee Ahling
  
  
  Suzy Kuong
  
  
  Ann Ve Lin
  
  
  Pong Pong Lily
  
  
  Ruth Moto
  
  
  Sonya Raniez
  
  
  Nick said: "I saw three people around them plus Ruth. Most likely, he just wasn't introduced to the others. The number of Oriental girls caught my attention, but it didn't seem important until you showed me this sample. Of course, his" I've met about two hundred people in the last six weeks, of all nationalities in the world ... "
  
  
  "But not counting the other beautiful flowers from the East."
  
  
  "True."
  
  
  Hawk tapped the paper. "Others may be in a group or somewhere else, but not detected in the computer template. And now the nugget...
  
  
  "One or more around these loved ones were in at least one gathering where they could meet the dead. The computer tells us that Tyson's garage worker tells us that he thinks he saw Tyson driving away in his car about two weeks ago with an Oriental girl. He's not sure, but it's an interesting piece for our puzzle. We're checking out Tyson's habits. If he's been to a major restaurant or hotel, or has appeared with her more than a few times, it's good to find out."
  
  
  "Then we will know that we are on a possible path."
  
  
  "Although we won't know where we're going. Don't forget to mention the Confederate oil company in Latakia. They tried to do business through Tyson and another dead man, Armbruster, who told his law firm to turn them down. They have two tankers and they are chartering three more with more Chinese in their teams. They are banned from carrying American cargo because they have traveled to Havana and Haiphong. We can't put pressure on them, because there is a lot of pressure there ... French money is involved, and they have close ties to Ba'al in Syria. The Confederation is the usual five corporations stacked on top of each other and cleverly intertwined in Switzerland, Lebanon and London. But Harry Demarcin told us that the center is something called the Bauman Ring. the authorities ".
  
  
  Nick will repeat this "Bauman's Ring".
  
  
  "You're on."
  
  
  "Baumann. Bormann. Martin Bormann?"
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  Nick's pulse quickened, but it was hard to be surprised. Bormann. The mysterious vulture. Elusive as smoke. Odin around the most wanted men on or off earth. Sometimes it felt like it was operating on the entire other side of space.
  
  
  Ego's death was reported dozens of times with them a ferret, as ego Boss died in Berlin on April 29, 1945.
  
  
  "Is Harry still researching?"
  
  
  Hawke's face clouded. "Harry died yesterday. Ego car fell off a cliff over Beirut."
  
  
  "A genuine accident?" Nick felt a sharp pang of regret. AXEman Harry Demarcin was an ego friend, and you didn't achieve much in this mail business is. Harry was fearless, but cautious.
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  In a moment of silence, it seemed to echo-perhaps.
  
  
  Hawke's brooding eyes were as dark as Nick had ever seen them. "We're going to open a bag of big trouble, Nick. Don't underestimate ih. Remember, Harry."
  
  
  "The worst part is that we're not sure what the bag looks like, where it is, or what's in it."
  
  
  "Good description. There is an unpleasant situation around. I feel like I'm putting you on a piano with a seat full of dynamite that explodes when you press a certain key. I can't tell you which is the death key, because I don't know either! "
  
  
  "There's a chance it's less serious than it looks," Nick said, not believing it, but encouraging the old man. "I can find that these deaths are an amazing coincidence, the girls are the new paid band, and the Swiss ones are the usual crowd of promoters and ten percenters."
  
  
  "Actually. You rely on Maxim TOPOR-only the stupid are sure, the smart always doubt. But, Kostya Boga, be very careful, the facts that we have point in many directions, and this is the worst case scenario. Hawke sighed and took out a folded paper around his pocket, " I can help you a little more. Voting dossiers on six girls. We're still digging through ih biographies, of course. And the voice..."
  
  
  Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a small, bright metal pellet about twice the size of a bean. "New pager around Stewart's department. You tap this green dot and it activates for six hours. The range is about three miles in the countryside. Depends on the conditions in the city. Whether you are protected by buildings, etc."
  
  
  Nick examined the ego: "Oni is getting better and better. Another type of case?"
  
  
  "Can be used this way. But the real idea is to swallow it. The search finds nothing. Of course, if they have a monitor, they know it's in you..."
  
  
  "And they have until five o'clock to cut you open and silence you," Nick added dryly. I put the device in a minute "Thank you".
  
  
  Hawk leaned back in his chair and took out two bottles of expensive brand Scotch whisky with dark brown glasses. He handed one to Nick. "Look at this."
  
  
  Nick examined the seal from, read the label, and examined the lid and base. "If it was a cork," he mused, " it might contain anything, but it looks absolutely kosher. Is there scotch in there too?"
  
  
  "If you ever pour yourself a drink of this, enjoy it. One of the best mixes around." Hawk tilted the bottle he was holding up and down, watching the liquid form tiny bubbles around its own air sampling.
  
  
  "See nothing?" Hawk asked.
  
  
  "Let me try it." Nick carefully turned his bottle over and over, and he got it. If your eyes were very sharp and you looked at the bottom of the bottle, you would find that oil bubbles don't appear there when the bottle is turned over. "Bottom, something's wrong."
  
  
  "Actually. There's a glass partition. Top half of whiskey. The bottom half is one of Stewart's super-explosive actives, which actually looks like whiskey. You activate it by breaking the bottle and exposing it to the air for two minutes. Then any flame will ignite it. As it is now in the hall under compression and airless, it is relatively safe, " says Stewart ."
  
  
  Nick set the bottle down carefully. "They might come in handy."
  
  
  "Yes," Hawk agreed, standing up and carefully brushing ash from his doublet. "In a difficult place, you can always offer to buy the last drink."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Rivnenskaya at 16: 12. on Friday, not when Nick's phone rang. The girl said: "This is Miss Rice from the phone company. You called... " She quoted a number ending in seven, eight.
  
  
  "Sorry, no," Nick said. She sweetly apologized for the call and hung up.
  
  
  Nick flipped his phone over, unscrewed the two screws, the bases, and connected three wires from the small brown box to three terminals, including the entrances to read 24 On. Then he dials the number. When Hawke answered, he said, " Scrambler code seventy-eight."
  
  
  "Correctly and clearly. A report?"
  
  
  "Nothing. I've been to three other boring parties. You know what kind of girls were there. Very friendly. They had an escort and ih couldn't release her."
  
  
  "Very good. Continue tonight at Cushing's. We have big problems. Most companies have big leak tests."
  
  
  "I will."
  
  
  "Please call number six from ten to nine in the morning."
  
  
  "It will do. Goodbye."
  
  
  "Goodbye and good luck."
  
  
  Nick hung up, removed the wires, and replaced the phone. Small brown portable scramblers were one of Stewart's most ingenious devices. Scrambler patterns are endless. He designed small brown boxes with transistor circuits packed in a pack smaller than a regular-sized cigarette pack, with a ten-pin switch.
  
  
  If both were not set to "78", the audio modulation was gibberish. Just in case - every two months the boxes were changed to new ones, with new scrambler schemes and ten new selections. Nick put on a tuxedo and went to Ruth's Bird .
  
  
  The Cushing Gathering is an annual all-friends gathering with cocktails, dinner, entertainment, and baby dancing, at IH's two-hundred-acre estate in Virginia. The atmosphere was great.
  
  
  As they drove down the long road, colored lights glinting in the dusk, music drifted through the conservatories to the left, and they had to wait a little while as solid people got out around their cars and the maintenance staff drove ih away. Shiny limos were popular - Cadillacs stood out.
  
  
  Nick said: "I assume you've been here before?"
  
  
  "Many times. Alice and I used to play tennis all the time. Now I sometimes come here for weekends."
  
  
  "How many tennis courts are there?"
  
  
  "Three, counting Odin in the room."
  
  
  "A good life. Name the money."
  
  
  "My father says that because most people are so stupid, there is no excuse for a person with a brain not to become rich."
  
  
  "The Cushing family has been rich for seven generations. All the brains?"
  
  
  "Dad says people are stupid to work so many hours. Selling himself for a bunch of time, he calls it. Oni other your slavery, because freedom is terrible. You have to work for yourself. Use this option."
  
  
  "I'm never in the right place at the right time." Nick sighed. "They send me to the field ten years after the start of oil production."
  
  
  He smiled at her as they climbed the three wide steps. Beautiful black eyes studied him. As they walked across the tunnel-like lawn lit by colorful lights, she asked, " What's the matter?": "Do you want her to talk to her father?"
  
  
  "Its wide open. Especially when I see such a party. Just don't make me lose the job that I already have."
  
  
  "Jerry, you're being conservative. This is not the way to get rich."
  
  
  "That's how they try to stay rich," he muttered, but she was greeting a tall blonde in a line of beautifully dressed people at the entrance of a giant tent. Ego gave Alice Cushing and fourteen other people in the waiting room, six of them called Gushing. He memorized every name and face.
  
  
  They crossed the line to the long counter , a sixty-foot-high table covered with a sheet of snow. They exchanged greetings with several people who knew Ruth or "that nice young oilman, Jerry Deming." Nick got two brandies on rocks from the bartender, who looked surprised by the order, but he had one. They walked a few feet away from the bar and stopped for drinks.
  
  
  The large tent could accommodate a two-ring circus, with room left for two bocce games, and it only managed to handle the overflow around the stone conservatory it adjoined. Through the tall windows, Nick could see another long bar inside, and people dancing on the polished floors.
  
  
  He noted that the snacks on the long tables opposite the bar in the tent were prepared on site. Roasts, poultry, and caviar, followed by white-coated attendants who deftly prepared the appetizer you requested, would have fed a Chinese village for a whole week. Among the guests, he saw four American generals he knew, and six around other countries he didn't know.
  
  
  They stopped to talk to Congressman Andrews and Ego's niece - he introduced her everywhere as his niece, but Nah had this haughty look of a boring girl doing her homework in the shadows - and while Nick was thoughtful, Ruth exchanged glances with Ego's back. I came back with a Chinese woman in another group. Ih glances were quick, and since they were completely expressionless, they were hiding.
  
  
  We tend to classify Chinese people as small, soft, and even helpful. The girl who'd been exchanging rapid-recognition signals with Ruth was large, domineering, and the bold look in her intelligent black eyes was shocking, because it came from under brows that had been deliberately plucked to emphasize the slant. "Eastern?" they seemed to challenge. "You're damn right. Hold on if you dare."
  
  
  That's exactly what Nick was impressed with a moment later when Ruth introduced Ego to Ginny Aling. He'd seen her at other parties, carefully checked her name on his mental list, but this was the first lime he'd felt under the influence of her gaze - almost molten coals from those glittering eyes above round cheeks, the softness of which was challenged by the clean, sharp, fiberboard of her face and the bold curve of her red lips.
  
  
  He said, " I'm particularly pleased to meet you, Miss Aling."
  
  
  The glossy black brows rose a fraction of an inch. Nick thought, " She's amazing-a beauty like him on TV or in the movies." "Yes, because I saw you at a Pan-American party two Sundays ago. I was hoping to meet you back then."
  
  
  "Are you interested in the East? Or China itself? Or girls?"
  
  
  "All three of these things."
  
  
  "Are you a diplomat, Mr. Deming?"
  
  
  “no. Just a small oilman."
  
  
  "How are Mr. Murchison and Mr. Hunt?"
  
  
  “no. The difference is about three billion dollars. I work as an official there."
  
  
  She grinned. Her tone was soft and deep, and her English was excellent,
  
  
  with the faintest hint of" too perfect, " as if she had learned the ego thoroughly or spoke several languages and was being taught to round all the vowels. "You are very honest. Most men you can meet give themselves a small raise. You could just say:" I'm on official business."
  
  
  "You would have found out, and my integrity rating would have dropped."
  
  
  "Are you an honest person?"
  
  
  "I want to be known as an honest person."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "Because I promised my mother. And when I lie to you, you'll believe me."
  
  
  She was laughing. He felt a pleasant tingling sensation on his back. We didn't do many of them. Ruth was chatting with Ginny's escort, a tall, slender, Hispanic type. She turned around and said: "Jerry, have you met Patrick Valdez?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  Ruth moved in and put the quartet back together, away from the group Nick called the politicians, ammunition, and the four nationalities. Congressman Crixus, who was already high as usual, was telling a story - the audience's egos pretended to be interested in him because he was the old devil Crixus, with seniority, committees, and control of about thirty billion dollars ' worth of appropriations.
  
  
  "Pat, this is Jerry Deming," Ruth said. This means that you will know that you are not competitors"
  
  
  Valdez showed his beautiful white teeth and shook hands. "Maybe we're doing pretty girls," he said. "You two should know that."
  
  
  "What a nice way to pay a compliment, "Ruth said." Ginny, Jerry, will you excuse us for a second? Bob Quitlock wants to meet Pat. We'll join you at the conservatories in ten minutes. Next to the orchestra."
  
  
  "Sure," Nick said, and watched the couple make their way through the growing crowd. Ruth has an amazing figure, he mused, until you look at Ginny. He turned to her. "And you? The princess is on vacation?"
  
  
  "I don't think so, but thank you. I work for Ling-Taiwan Export Company."
  
  
  "I thought you might be a model. Honestly, Ginny, I've never seen her in a movie, a Chinese girl as beautiful as you. Or so high."
  
  
  "Thank you. We are not all small flowers. My family came from the north of China. They're big there. This is very similar to Sweden. Mountains and sea. Lots of good food."
  
  
  "How are they doing under Mao?"
  
  
  Em thought he saw her eyes twinkle, but he couldn't read her emotions. "We went out with Chang. I didn't hear much from her."
  
  
  He took her to the conservatory, brought her a drink, and asked her a few more tender questions. He received soft, uninformative responses. In a pale green dress that contrasted perfectly with her sleek black hair and sparkling eyes, she stood out. He watched other men watch.
  
  
  She knew a lot of people who smiled and nodded or paused to say a few words. She fended off some of the men who wanted to stay with her, a change of pace that created a wall of ice until they moved on. She never hurts-
  
  
  Ed, she just went into the deep freeze locker and came out as soon as they left.
  
  
  He found that she danced smartly, and they stayed on the floor because it was fun - and because Nick genuinely enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and the scent of her perfume and body. When Ruth and Valdez returned, they exchanged dances, drank quite a lot, and formed a group in the corner of the large room, made up of people Nick met and some he didn't.
  
  
  During one pause, Ruth said, I'm standing next to Ginny, " Can you excuse us for a few minutes? Dinner needs to be announced now, and we want to refresh ourselves."
  
  
  Nick stayed with Pat. They took fresh drinks and, as usual, greeted each other with toasts. He didn't learn anything new from the South American.
  
  
  Alone in the women's living room, Ruth said to Ginny, " What do you think of nen after a careful look?"
  
  
  "I think you've succeeded this time. Isn't that a dream come true? "Many people are more interesting than Pet."
  
  
  "The leader says if Deming joins, forget about Pat."
  
  
  "I know." Ruth sighed. "I will take the ego off your hands as agreed. Either way, he's a good dancer. But you'll find that Deming is really something else. So much charm to spend on the oil business. And he's all human. He almost turned on the tables. Leader. You would have laughed. Of course, the Leader changed ih back-and he's not mad about it. I think he admires Deming for that. He recommended ego to the Command."
  
  
  The girls were in one of the innumerable women's halls - fully equipped dressing rooms and baths. Ginny looked at the expensive furniture. "Should we talk here?"
  
  
  "Safe," Ruth replied, retouching her exquisite lips on one of the giant mirrors. "You know that the military and political spy only on exits. These are all inputs. You can spy on individuals and trick another person with another, but if you get caught spying on a group, you're screwed."
  
  
  Ginny sighed. "You know, there is much more about politics than her. But I know people. There's something about this Deming that bothers me. It's too-too loud. Have you ever noticed that generals are made of brass, especially ih heads? Steel people became steel, and oilmen became oily? Well, Deming is solid and fast, and you and the Leader have discovered that he has the guts.
  
  
  It doesn't fit the image of an oilman."
  
  
  "I will say that you are familiar with men. Her never thought of it that way. But I believe that these are the reasons why the Command is interested in Deming. He's more than just a businessman. He, like all of them, is interested in money. which is tonight. Offer him something that you thought would work. I suggested that my father might have something for him, but he didn't take the bait."
  
  
  "Children are careful ..."
  
  
  "Of course. This is a plus. Emu likes girls if you're afraid you'll get another one like Carl Comstock."
  
  
  “no. I told you I knew Deming was a real man. Simply... Well, maybe he's such a valuable type, I'm not used to it. I felt that he sometimes wore a mask, just like us."
  
  
  "I didn't get that impression, Ginny. But be careful. If he's a thief, we don't need him." Ruth sighed. "But what kind of body..."
  
  
  "You're not jealous?"
  
  
  "Of course not. If I had a choice, I would choose him. If hers got the order, its beru pat and make the most of ego."
  
  
  What Ruth and Ginny didn't discuss - never did - was ih's conditioned taste for Caucasian, not Oriental men. Like most girls who grew up in a certain society, they accepted the ego of the norm. The Ih ideal was Gregory Peck or, Lee Marvin. The Ih leader was aware of this - he was thoroughly briefed by the First Commander, who discussed it carefully with his psychologist Lindhauer.
  
  
  The girls closed their bags. Ruth started to leave, but Ginny held back. "What should I do," she asked thoughtfully, " if Deming isn't what Hema thinks he is? I still have this strange feeling..."
  
  
  "That he might be on another team?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  Ruth paused, her face expressionless for a moment, then stern. "I wish I wasn't you, if you're wrong, Ginny. But if you're sure, hers, I guess there's only one thing left."
  
  
  "Rule seven?"
  
  
  "Yes. Cover your ego."
  
  
  "I've never made that decision on my own."
  
  
  "The rule is clear. Put on the ego. Don't leave any footprints."
  
  
  Chapter IV.
  
  
  
  Since the real Nick Carter was not a man who attracted people, both men and women, when the girls returned to the conservatory, they saw ego from the balcony in the center of a large group. He was chatting with an Air Force star about artillery tactics in Korea. Two entrepreneurs he met at the newly opened Ford's Theater tried to attract ego attention by talking about oil. The ravishing redhead with whom he'd exchanged warm comments at a small, intimate party was talking to Pat Valdez while she wanted a chance to open Nick's eyes. Several other couples said, "Hey, it's Jerry Deming!" and squeezed through.
  
  
  "Look at this," Ruth said. "It's too good to be true."
  
  
  "It's oil," Ginny said.
  
  
  "It's a hobby."
  
  
  "And the ability to sell. I keep the money, he sells these things in tanks."
  
  
  "I think he knows."
  
  
  Ruth said Nick and Jenny reached Pat when the soft chimes sounded over the speakerphone and calmed the crowd.
  
  
  "Looks like the SS UNITED STATES," the redhead chirped loudly. She was almost there for Nick, and now he was lost to her for the time being. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, wrote it down for reference, but didn't show it.
  
  
  A man's voice came over the speakers in soft, oval tones that sounded professional: "Good evening, everyone. The Cushing family welcomes you to a dinner party of all their friends and asked me to say a few words. It's the eighty-fifth anniversary. a dinner that was started by Napoleon Cushing for a very unusual purpose. He tried to introduce the philanthropic and idealistic Washington community to the need for more missionaries in the Far East, especially in China. receiving diverse support for this noble effort ."
  
  
  Nick took a sip of his drink and thought: "Oh my God, put the Buddha in the basket." Build your own me house, where buffaloes roam over cans of kerosene and gasoline.
  
  
  The unctuous voice continued. "This project has been somewhat curtailed for several years due to circumstances, but the Cushing family sincerely hopes that the good works will be resumed soon.
  
  
  "Due to the current size of the annual dinner, tables were placed in the Madison dining room, Hamilton Hall in the left wing, and the great hall at the back of the house."
  
  
  Ruth squeezed Nick's hand and said with a little giggle, "Gymnasium."
  
  
  The speaker concluded: "Most people around you have been advised where to find your place cards. If you are not sure, the butler at the entrance to each room has a guest list and can advise you. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. The Cushing family says once again, thank you all for coming."
  
  
  Ruth asked Nick ," Have you been here before?"
  
  
  “no. I'm working my way up."
  
  
  "Go look at the things in Monroe's room. It's as interesting as a museum." She motioned for Ginny and Pat to follow them and left the group.
  
  
  It seemed to Nick that they had passed through Paris. They went up wide staircases, through large halls that looked like hotel corridors, except that the furniture was varied and expensive,
  
  
  and every few yards, a servant would stand at the front desk to give advice if needed. Nick said, " They have their own armies."
  
  
  "Almost. Alice said they hired sixty people before they downsized a few years ago. Some around them were probably hired for the occasion."
  
  
  "They impress me."
  
  
  "You should have seen this a few years ago. They were all dressed like French court servants. Alice Mistletoe has something to do with modernization."
  
  
  Monroe Hall offered an impressive selection of art objects, many of which are priceless, and was guarded by two private detectives and a stern-faced man who looked like an old family servant. Nick said: "It warms you up to add up a dollar, doesn't it?"
  
  
  "How?" Ginny asked curiously.
  
  
  "All these wonderful things were given to the missionaries, her, I believe, by your grateful countrymen."
  
  
  Ginny and Ruth exchanged glances. Pat seemed about to laugh, but changed his mind. They left through another door and entered Madison's dining room.
  
  
  The meal was excellent: a nice present, fish and meat. Nick identified choi-ngou tong, Omar in Cantonese, south-dou-chau-ih-yok, and Bok-choi-ngou before giving up when a simmering chunk of Chateaubriand was placed in front of him. "Where can we supply this from?" he muttered to Ruth.
  
  
  "Try how delicious it is," she replied. "Frederick of Cushing IV personally chooses the menu."
  
  
  "Who is he?"
  
  
  "Fifth from the right at the main table. He was seventy-eight years old. I'm on a mild diet myself."
  
  
  "I'll be with him after that."
  
  
  There were four wine glasses in each serving, and they couldn't stay empty. Nick sipped half an inch from each of them and responded to a few toasts, but the vast majority of the diners were flushed and drunk by the time the cheery donkey arrived, a pineapple hardtack with whipped cream.
  
  
  Then everything happened smoothly and quickly, to Nick's complete satisfaction. Guests have returned to the winter garden, and to the tent, where bars now sell coffee and liqueurs in addition to a huge amount of alcohol in almost all forms invented by man. Ginny told Em that she hadn't come to dinner with Pat ... Ruth's goal suddenly ached: "All that copious eda.".. and he found himself dancing with Ginny while Ruth disappeared. Pat is paired with the redhead.
  
  
  Shortly before midnight, Jerry Deming received a call with a note saying, " My dear, she is ill." Nothing serious, just too much food. She went home with the Reynolds family. You can offer Ginny a ride to the city for Ego. Please call me tomorrow. Ruth.
  
  
  He handed the letter gravely to Ginny. The black eyes flashed, and the gorgeous body was wrapped in ego's embrace. "I'm sorry about Ruth," Ginny muttered, " but I'm glad of my good fortune."
  
  
  The music was smooth, and there were fewer people on the floor as the wine-drunk guests dispersed. As they circled slowly in the corner, Nick asked, " What's your name?": "How are you feeling?"
  
  
  "Great. I have an iron digestion." She sighed. "It's a luxury business, isn't it?"
  
  
  "Great. All he needed was the ghost of Vasily Zakharov popping up by the pool at midnight."
  
  
  "Was he fun?"
  
  
  "Most of the time."
  
  
  Nick inhaled her perfume again. It invaded the emu's nostrils by way of its shiny hair and shiny hide, and it savored it like an aphrodisiac. She clung to him with a soft urgency that suggested affection, passion, or a mixture of both. He felt warmth at the back of his neck and in his back. You can raise the temperature with Ginny, and about Ginny. He hoped it wasn't the black widow who was being made to flutter her gorgeous butterfly wings as bait. Even if she was like this, it would be interesting, perhaps delightful, and he was looking forward to meeting the talented person who taught her such skills.
  
  
  An hour later, he was at the Bird, speeding toward Washington, D.C., with Ginny's warm, fragrant body pressed against Ego's arm. He thought that switching from Ruth to Ginny might have been far-fetched. Not that he minded. For his AX assignment or personal pleasure, he would take either one or the other. Ginny seemed very sympathetic - or maybe it was because of the drink. He squeezed his ee. Then I thought - but first...
  
  
  "My dear," he said, " I hope Ruth is all right. She reminds me of Susie Quong. Do you know her?"
  
  
  The pause was too long. She had to decide whether to lie, he thought, and then she came to the conclusion that the truth was the most logical and safe way. But how? I don't think they're very similar."
  
  
  "They have the same oriental charm. I mean, you know what they're saying, but sometimes you can't guess what they're thinking, but you know, it would be pretty damn interesting if you could."
  
  
  She considered it. "I know what you mean, Jerry. Yes, they are cute girls." She sounded indistinct and gently rolled her head onto Emu's shoulder.
  
  
  "And Ann So Ling," he continued. "There is a girl who always makes me think about the flowers produced by lotus and the fragrant tea in the Chinese garden."
  
  
  Ginny just sighed.
  
  
  "Do you know, Ann?"
  
  
  Another pause. For estestvenno, girls of the same background who often run into each other usually get together and exchange notes. I think I know a hundred of them
  
  
  Red cute Chinese women in Washington." They rode in silence for several miles. He wondered if he had gone too far by relying on the alcohol in her. He was startled when she asked, " Why are you so interested in Chinese girls? "
  
  
  "I was in the East for a while. Chinese culture intrigues me. I like the atmosphere, eda, traditions, girls..." He took a large breast and gently stroked it with his sensitive fingers. She snuggled up.
  
  
  "That's nice," she murmured. "You know that the Chinese are good business people. Pretty much everywhere we land, we thrive on trading."
  
  
  "I noticed her. He had dealings with Chinese firms. Reliable. Good reputation."
  
  
  "Do you make a lot of money, Jerry?"
  
  
  "Enough to get through. If you want to see how I live, let's stop at my house for a drink before I take you home."
  
  
  "All right," she said lazily. "But by money, I mean making money for myself, not just wages. So that they come in good thousands of chunks, and maybe you don't have to pay too much tax on them. It's a way to make money."
  
  
  "It's true," he agreed.
  
  
  "My cousin is in the oil business," she continued. "He talked about finding another partner. No attachments. A new math major would be guaranteed a decent salary if he had real experience in the oil industry. But if they succeed, he will split the profits."
  
  
  "Her hotel would like to meet your cousin."
  
  
  "I'll tell you when I see ego."
  
  
  "I'll give you my card so he can call me."
  
  
  "Please do it. Her hotel would help you." A thin, strong hand gripped the ego of every tribe.
  
  
  Two hours and four drinks later, a beautiful hand was squeezing the same thing to each tribe with a much firmer touch - and touching a much larger ego of the body. Nick was pleased, he thought, with the ease with which she agreed to stay in Ego's apartment before he drove her home, to what she described as "the place the family bought in Chevy Chase".
  
  
  A drink? She was stupid, but I don't think he could get any more words out of her about her cousin or the family mail business. "I help out in the office," she added, as if nah had an automatic silencer.
  
  
  Play in? She didn't protest in the slightest when he advised them to take off their shoes for comfort - then her dress and ego striped pants... "so that we can relax and not wrinkle everyone's ih."
  
  
  Sprawled out on the couch in front of the panoramic window overlooking the Anacostia River, with the lights dimmed, the music soft, ice, soda, and whiskey stacked next to the couch so Emu wouldn't have to go too far, Nick thought contentedly, What a way to make a living.
  
  
  Partially undressed, Ginny looked more gorgeous than ever. She was wearing a pair of silk bib overalls and a strapless bra, and her skin was a delicious mistletoe shade of golden-yellow peach in a moment of firm ripeness before being replaced by red softness. Her hair, he thought, was the color of fresh oil that had spilled into the food tanks on a dark night - black gold.
  
  
  He kissed her thoroughly, but not as continuously as she would have liked. He caressed and stroked her, and let her dream. He was patient until she said suddenly there was silence all around: "I can feel you, Jerry. You want to make love to me, don't you?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "You're easy to talk to, Jerry Deming. Have you ever been married?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "But you knew a lot of girls."
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Around the outdoor pool?"
  
  
  "Yes." He gave short answers gently, quickly enough to show that they were true - and they were true, but not a hint of brevity or annoyance when questioned.
  
  
  "Do you feel like you like me?"
  
  
  "Just like any girl I've ever met. You're absolutely gorgeous. Exotics. More beautiful than any photo of a Chinese princess, because you're warm and alive."
  
  
  "You can bet it's hers," she breathed, and turned to face him. "And you're going to learn something," she added before ih's lips met.
  
  
  He didn't have time to worry too much about it, because Ginny was making love, and her activities required all of his attention. She was an exciting magnet that drew your passion out and out, and as soon as you feel the ego pull and allow yourself to walk a fraction of an inch, you are captured by an irresistible attraction, and nothing can stop you from sinking into the very core. And once you moved in, you didn't want to stop.
  
  
  She didn't rape the ego, nor did the attention of a prostitute, given with professional intensity at arm's length. Ginny made love as if she had a license to make it, with skill, warmth, and such personal pleasure that you were simply amazed. The man would be a fool if he didn't relax, and no one ever called Nick a fool.
  
  
  He collaborated, contributed, and was grateful for the good fortune. He'd had more than an ego's share of sensual sessions in his life, and he knew that he'd earned ih not by accident, but because of his physical attraction to women.
  
  
  With Ginny - as with others who needed love and only required the right exchange offer to open their hearts, minds, and bodies wide-the deal was done. Nick gently and subtly removed the load.
  
  
  As he lay there with his wet black hair covering Ego's face, reflecting the taste of ih texture with his tongue and wondering again what kind of perfume it was, Nick thought, great.
  
  
  For the last two hours, he had been happy - and he was sure that he had given as much as he had received.
  
  
  Her hair was slowly being pulled back from contact with her skin and replaced with sparkling black eyes and a mischievous grin - the elf stood out full-length in the dim light of a single lamp, which he then dimmed by draping his robe over her. "Happy?"
  
  
  "Stunned. Super-excited, " he said very gently.
  
  
  "I feel that way too. You know that."
  
  
  "I can feel it."
  
  
  She flipped the emu's head over her shoulder, the giant elf stahl soft and flowing along its entire length. "Why can't people be happy with it? They get up and argue. Or they leave without a kind word. Or men walk away from it to drink or fight stupid wars."
  
  
  "That means," Nick said in surprise, " most people don't have it. They are too stressed, self-centered, or inexperienced. How do two people like us come together? Both donors. Both are patient. . You know, everyone thinks they're natural gamblers, conversationalists, and lovers. Most people never discover that they don't really know a damn thing about us, about anyone around them. As for digging, learning and developing skills-they never worry."
  
  
  "You think she's skilled?"
  
  
  Nick thought about the sixth or seven varieties of skills she'd demonstrated, so far a ferret. "You are very skilled."
  
  
  "Watch."
  
  
  The golden elf fell to the floor with the ease of an acrobat. The artistry of her movements took his breath away, and the undulating, perfect curves of her breasts, thighs, and rump made him run his tongue over his lips and swallow. She was sitting with wide legs, smiled at the emu, then leaned back, and suddenly her target was between her leg, red lips still curled. "Have you ever seen this before?"
  
  
  "Only on stage!" he propped himself up on one elbow.
  
  
  "Or this?" She slowly got up, bent down and applied her hands to the wall-to-wall carpet, and then smoothly, an inch at a time, lifted her neat toes until ih pink nails were set on the ceiling, then lowered ih k him until they just hit the bed and reached the floor, bending in a stiletto arc.
  
  
  He was looking at half of the girl. An interesting story, but oddly disturbing. In the dim light, it was cut off at the waist. Her soft voice was inconspicuous. "You're an athlete, Jerry. You're a mighty man. Can you do it?"
  
  
  "God, no," he said with genuine awe. The half-shadow turned back into a tall golden girl. The dream arises, laughs. "You must have trained all your life. Have you - have you been to the show business show?"
  
  
  "When she was little. We trained every day. Parts two or three times a day. Hers continued in the same vein. I think it's good for you. She's never been ill in her life."
  
  
  "It should be a big hit at parties."
  
  
  "I never perform again. Only vote like this. For someone who is particularly good. It has other uses..." She came down on top of him, kissed him, and pulled back to look at him thoughtfully. "You're ready again, " she said in surprise. "The Mighty man."
  
  
  "Watching you do it would bring every statue in the city to life."
  
  
  She laughed, rolled away from him, and then wriggled lower until she could see the top of his black hair. Then she rolled over on the bed, and her long, lithe legs turned 180 degrees, a slight arc, until she was bent over twice again, curling back onto herself.
  
  
  "Now, my dear." Her voice was muffled to her own stomach.
  
  
  "Currently?"
  
  
  "You'll see the voice. It will be different."
  
  
  When he did, Nick felt unusually excited and eager. He prided himself on his perfect self - control - dutifully performing his daily yoga and Zen exercises-but now emu didn't need to persuade himself.
  
  
  He swam to a warm cave where a beautiful girl was waiting for ego, but he couldn't touch her. He was alone and right with her. He walked all the way, swimming on his crossed arms, resting his head on them.
  
  
  He felt the silky tickle of her hair float up his ego's thighs, and he thought he might have gone through the depths for a moment, but the big fish with its wet and tender mouth caught the twin spheres of ego masculinity, and for another moment he fought the loss of control. but the elation was too great, and he closed his eyes and let the sensations sweep over his ego in the sweet darkness of friendly depths. It was unusual. It was a rare healing experience. A Bosnia and Herzegovina court convicted Him in red and dark purple, and turned him into a living rocket of unknown size, tingling and throbbing on the launch pad beneath the secret sea until he pretended to want it, but knew he was helpless, as with a wave of delicious power shot into space or, at it it didn't matter now, and the boosters exploded happily in the line of enthusiastic helpers.
  
  
  When he checked his watch, it was 3: 07. They slept for twenty minutes. He stirred, and Ginny woke up as usual, alert and alert. "Time?" She asked with a satisfied sigh. When he said yes, she said: "I'd better go home. My family is tolerant, but ... "
  
  
  On the way to the Chevy Chase, Nick convinced himself that he would soon see Ginny again .
  
  
  The thoroughness of the part paid off. Plenty of time to double-check Ann, Susie, and the others. To Ego's surprise, she refused to set up any dates.
  
  
  "I need to leave, around town on business," she said. "Call me in a week and I'll be happy to see you - if you still want to."
  
  
  "I'll call you," he said seriously. He knew several beautiful girls ... some around them were distinguished by beauty, intelligence, passion, and some shared common qualities. But Ginny Ahling was something else!
  
  
  Then there was a corkscrew - where was she going on business? Why? From hema? Could this be related to unexplained deaths or Bauman's ring?
  
  
  He said: "I hope your business trip will be to a place away from this hot period. Unsurprisingly, Brits pay a tropical bonus for Washington debt. She'd like a hotel so you can sneak her off to the Catskills, Asheville, or Maine."
  
  
  "That would be nice," she said dreamily. "Maybe someday. We're very busy right now. Mostly we will fly. Or in air-conditioned conference rooms." She was sleepy. The pale gray first light of dawn softened the darkness when she told him to stop at an older house of ten or twelve rooms. He parked behind a screen around the bushes. He decided not to try to pump it any further - Jerry Deming was doing well in all departments, and it would be pointless to destroy everything, to drown it too much.
  
  
  He kissed her for several minutes. She whispered: "That was a lot of fun, Jerry. Think about whether you want her to introduce you to my cousin. I know that the way he handles oil makes real money."
  
  
  "I've decided. I want to meet him."
  
  
  Good. Call me in a week."
  
  
  And she left.
  
  
  Em liked going back to the apartment. You'd think it was a fresh, still cool day and there wasn't much traffic. When he was teased, the milkman waved at the emu, and it waved heartily at rheumatism.
  
  
  He thought of Ruth and Ginny. They were the shooters in a long line of promoters. You were in a hurry or hungry. They might have needed Jerry Deming because he seemed like a stubborn and experienced person in this business, which is where money flowed in, if you were lucky at all. Or it may be the ego's first valuable contact with something both complex and deadly.
  
  
  He set the alarm for 11: 50 in the morning. When he woke up, he turned on fast Farberware and called Ruth Moto.
  
  
  "Hi, Jerry..." she didn't look ill.
  
  
  "Hello there. Sorry, you didn't feel well last night. Are you feeling better now?"
  
  
  "Yes. I woke up feeling great. I hope I didn't make you angry by leaving, but I might have made her sick if I'd stayed. Definitely bad company."
  
  
  "As long as you feel good again, it's fine. Jenny and I had a good time." Oh, man, he thought, you can light this up. "How about dinner tonight to make up for the lost night?"
  
  
  "Love it."
  
  
  "By the way - Ginny tells me that Nah has a cousin in the oil mail business, and hers might fit in somehow. I don't want you to feel that I'm putting you in a difficult position, but - do you know if she and she have strong business ties? "
  
  
  "You mean can you trust Ginny's opinion?"
  
  
  "Yes, that's it."
  
  
  There was silence. Then she said, " I think so. It can bring you closer to... your field."
  
  
  "Okay, thank you. What are you going to do next Wednesday night?" Nick was tempted to kick a tailspin when he remembered Jenny's plans. What if a few mysterious girls are leaving "on business"? "I'm going to an Iranian concert at the Hilton - do you want to go?"
  
  
  There was genuine regret in her voice. "Oh, Jerry, I'd love her, but I'll be tied up all week."
  
  
  "All week! Are you leaving?"
  
  
  "Well ... yeah, I'll be out of town most Sundays."
  
  
  "It's going to be a boring Sunday for me," he said. "I'll see you around six, Ruth. Pick you up at your place?"
  
  
  "Please."
  
  
  After hanging up the phone, he sat down on the carpet in a lotus pose and started doing yoga exercises for breathing and muscle control. He had progressed about the sixth year of practice - to the point where he could look at the pulse on his wrist, turned over on bent knees, and see how it accelerated or slowed down at will.Then, fifteen minutes later, he deliberately returned to the problem of strange deaths involving Bowman, Ginny, and Ruth. Emu liked both girls. They were strange in some ways, but unique and different always interested the ego. He recounted the events in Maryland, Hawke's comments, and Ruth's strange illness at the Cushing dinner. You can create a pattern around them or recognize that all the connecting threads may be a coincidence. He couldn't remember feeling so helpless in Della... with the choice of answers, but there is nothing to compare ih with.
  
  
  He dressed in maroon slacks and a white polo shirt, went down and arrived at Gallaudet College in a Bird. He went to New York Avenue, turned right onto Mt. Olivet saw a man waiting for ego at the intersection of Bladensburg Road.
  
  
  This person had a double invisibility: complete ordinariness plus a shabby, stooped dejection that made you subconsciously quickly mimm him to poverty or to get out of the way.
  
  
  the ego's unhappiness was at peace and did not intrude on its own. Nick stopped, and the man quickly got in and drove toward Lincoln Park and the John Philip Sousa Bridge.
  
  
  Nick said: "When she saw you, she was asked to buy you a thick jacket and put a five-dollar bill in your battered pocket."
  
  
  "You can do it," Hawk replied. "I didn't have lunch. Grab some hamburgers and milk at that place near the Navy Building. We can eat ih in the car."
  
  
  Although Hawk didn't acknowledge the compliment, Nick knew that Em liked it. The older man could do wonders with a battered jacket. Even a pipe, cigar, or even a hat can completely change the ego's appearance. It wasn't about the object... Hawke had the ability to become old, jaded, and dispirited, or arrogant, tough, and pompous, or dozens of other types. He was adept at disguising the real thing. The hawk might have disappeared because Stahl was an ordinary person.
  
  
  Nick described his evening with Ginny: "... then I drove her home. She won't be here next week. I think Ruth Moto will be there, too. Can they all get together somewhere?"
  
  
  Hawk sipped his milk slowly. "Took her home at dawn, eh?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Ah, to be young again and work in the field. You entertain beautiful girls. Alone with them... would you say four or five hours? Her slave in a boring office."
  
  
  "We were talking about Chinese jade," Nick said softly. "It's her hobby."
  
  
  "I know there are more active hobbies for Ginny."
  
  
  "So you don't spend all your time in the office. What disguise did you use? Something like Clifton Webb in the old TV movies, I guess?"
  
  
  "You're close. It's nice to see your young people's well-honed methods." He dropped the empty container and grinned. Then he continued: "We have an idea of where the girls can go. The Lords ' Estate in Pennsylvania hosts a week - long conference called the Business Conference. The most popular international businessmen. First of all, steel, aircraft and, of course, ammunition. "
  
  
  "Clean oil workers?"
  
  
  In any case, your role as Jerry Deming isn't going anywhere. You've met too many people lately. But you're the person who has to leave.
  
  
  "What about Lou Karl?"
  
  
  "He's in Iran. Deeply involved. The ego hotel wouldn't have taken her out."
  
  
  "I thought of nen because he knows the steel business. And if there are girls out there, whatever identity I choose should be a full cover."
  
  
  "I doubt that girls will circulate among the guests."
  
  
  Nick nodded gravely as he watched the DC-8 pass the mimmo of a smaller plane in a dense strip of Washington. From this distance, they looked dangerously close. "I'll go in. In any case, this may be false information."
  
  
  Hawk chuckled. "If this is an attempt to find out my opinion, it will work. We know about this meeting because we have been monitoring the central telephone exchange for six days now, without interruptions of more than thirty minutes. something big and beautifully organized. If they are responsible for recent deaths that were supposedly natural, they are ruthless and skillful."
  
  
  "Do you deduce all this through phone conversations?"
  
  
  "Don't try to lure me out, my boy - the experts tried to do it." Nick suppressed a grin as Hawk continued: "All the bits and pieces don't fit, but I can feel the pattern. Go there and see how they fit together."
  
  
  "If they're as smart and rude as you think, you might have to put me together."
  
  
  "I doubt it, Nicholas. You know what I think of your abilities. That's why you're going there. If you go on your boat cruise on Sunday morning, I'll meet you at Bryan Point. If the river is crowded. head southwest until we're all alone. "
  
  
  "When will the methods be ready for me?"
  
  
  "Tuesday at a garage in McLean. But I'll give you a full briefing and most of the documents and maps on Sunday."
  
  
  Nick enjoyed having dinner with Ruth Devizes that night, but he doesn't know anything of value, and on Hawke's advice, Stahl doesn't press the issue. They enjoyed some passionate moments while parked on the beach, and at two, he drove her home.
  
  
  He met with Hawke on Sunday, and they spent three hours studying the details with the precision of two architects ready to sign a contract.
  
  
  On Tuesday, Jerry Deming told his answering machine, doorman, and several other important people that he was going to Texas on business, and flew away on a Bird. Half an hour later, he drove through a mid-sized truck terminal across the street, far from the road, and for a moment, he and the ego of the car disappeared from the face of the earth.
  
  
  On Wednesday morning, the two-year-old Buick exited through the truck garage and headed out onto Highway 7 in Leesburg. When it stopped, a man slipped around the car and took a taxi five blocks to the office.
  
  
  No one noticed him as he walked slowly down the busy street, because he wasn't the type of person to look at twice, even though he limped and carried a simple brown walking stick. He could have been a local merchant, or someone's father who had come to get some paper and a can of orange juice. Ego's hair and moustache were gray, his skin was red and ruddy, he had a bad posture and ness too big for Alenka, although ego's body was big. Nen was wearing a dark blue suit and her son was wearing a gray floppy hat.
  
  
  He hired a taxi and ego was taken back along Highway 7 to the airport,
  
  
  where it came out in the charter rental office. The man behind the counter liked him because he was so polite and obviously respectable.
  
  
  Ego documents were in order. Alastair Beadle Williams. It is carefully ih reviewed. "Your secretary reserved an Aero Commander, Mr. Williams, and went to pay in cash." She became very polite herself. "Since you haven't flown with us before, we would like to check you out... personally. If you don't mind..."
  
  
  "I don't blame you. A wise thing to do."
  
  
  Good. I'll go with you myself. If you don't mind a woman..."
  
  
  "You look like a woman who is not a good pilot. I can tell you her intelligence. I assume you have your L. C. and your instrument rating."
  
  
  "Why, yes. How did you know?"
  
  
  "I've always been able to judge the character." And, Nick thought, there's no girl who's trying so hard to put on trousers who's going to let men get ahead of her - and you're old enough to fly for hours.
  
  
  He did two sets - both perfect. She said: "You're very good, Mr. Williams. I'm happy. Are you going to North Carolina?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Map voting. Go to the office and we'll file a flight plan."
  
  
  After he completed the plan, he said, " Depending on the circumstances, I can change this plan for tomorrow. I'll personally call the control room for any deviation. Please don't worry about it."
  
  
  She brightened. "It's so nice to see someone with methodical common sense. So many people just want to impress you. Its been sweating for some around them for days."
  
  
  He gave her a ten-dollar bill "In good time."
  
  
  When he left, she said "No, please" and "Thank you"in the same breath.
  
  
  At noon, Nick landed at the Manassas Municipal Airport and called to cancel the flight plan. AX knew the movements of the punches to the minute, and could control the controllers, but following a routine was less likely to attract attention. After leaving Manassas, he flew northwest in a powerful little plane through the Allegheny Mountain passes, where Union and Confederate cavalry had chased and tried to supply another apu unit centuries before.
  
  
  It was a great day for flying, bright sun and minimal wind. He sang "Dixie" and "Georgia Marcher" when he moved to Pennsylvania and landed to top up the fuel. As he took off again, he switched to a couple of choruses around "British Grenadier", saying the words with an old-fashioned English accent. Alastair Beadle Williams represented Fighting Machines, Ltd., and Nick had precise diction.
  
  
  He used the Altoona lighthouse, then another Omni course, and landed an hour later in a small but busy field. He made a phone call to rent a car, and by 18:42. he was crawling along a narrow road on the northwest slope of the Appalachian smash. It was a single-lane road, but apart from its width, it was a good road: two centuries of use and countless hours of strong men working to guide it and build the stone walls that still bounded it. It was once a busy road to the west because it took a longer route, but with easier descents through the recesses, it was no longer marked on maps as a through road through the mountains.
  
  
  On the map of the Geological Survey of Nika in 1892, it was regarded as a through road, on the map of 1967, the central part was just a dotted line indicating the path. He and Hawk had carefully studied every detail on the maps - he felt like he knew the road even before he rode it. Four miles ahead lay a lick just to the rear of the giant lords ' domain, five hundred and twenty acres in three mountain hollows.
  
  
  Even AX hadn't been able to get up-to-date information on the lords ' manor, although the old geodetic maps were undoubtedly reliable for most of the roads and buildings. Hawke said: "We know there's an airport there, but that's it. Of course, we could have photographed and examined the ego, but there was no reason to do so. Old man Antoine Lord put this place together around 1924. He and Kalgeenny made their fortunes. when iron and steel were kings, and you kept what you produced. No nonsense about feeding people you couldn't exploit. The lord was obviously the most sophisticated person around. After earning another forty million during World War I, he sold most of his industrial stocks and bought many realtors ."
  
  
  Nick was interested in the story. "The old boy is dead, of course?"
  
  
  "He died in 1934. Back then, he even made headlines by telling John Raskob that he was a greedy fool and that Roosevelt was saving the country from socialism, and they should support the ego, not confuse it. The reporters liked it. The estate was inherited by his son Ulysses. and seventy or eighty million people share their sister Martha with the ego."
  
  
  Nick asked: "Are they...?"
  
  
  "March was last reported in California. We're checking it out. Ulysses founded several charities and a ceremonial foundation. Real ones - for example, from 1936 to 1942. It used to be a smart decision as a tax ploy and to provide permanent jobs for their heirs. . He was a captain in the Keystone Division until the beginning of World War II.
  
  
  He received a Silver star and a Bronze star with a bunch of oak leaves. Twice wounded. By the way, he started out as a private. I've never traded my connections."
  
  
  "Sounds like a real guy," Nick said. "Where is he now?"
  
  
  "We don't know. Egos, bankers, real estate agents, and stockbrokers write emus to the Palm Springs mailbox."
  
  
  As Nick drove slowly along the ancient road, he remembered that conversation. The Lords hardly looked like employees of the Bauman Ring or the Shikoms.
  
  
  He stopped at a large space that might be a van stop and examined the map. Half a mile away were two tiny black squares that indicated what was now probably the abandoned foundations of former buildings. Beyond them, a tiny mark pointed to a graveyard, and then, before I could try, the road turned southwest to cross a ravine between two mountains, there would be a path leading through a small hollow to the lords ' domain.
  
  
  Nick turned the car around, crushed a few bushes, locked it, and left it in line. He walked along the road in the dying sunlight, enjoying the lush greenery, the tall hemlocks, and the way the white birches stood out. The surprised chipmunk ran a few yards ahead of him, waving its small tail like an antenna before leaping up the stone wall, pausing for a moment in a tiny bundle of brown and black fur, then blinking its glittering eyes and disappearing. For a moment, Nick wished he'd gone out for an evening walk to keep the world at peace, which was important. But this is not the case, he refuted the reports that appeared in the media with his own words, fell silent and lit a cigarette.
  
  
  The extra Alenka ego special equipment refuted emu's media reports about how peaceful the world was. Since the situation was unknown, he and Hawk agreed that he would arrive well prepared. The white nylon lining that gave the EMU a plump appearance had a dozen pockets with explosives, tools, a wire, a small radio transmitter, and even a gas mask.
  
  
  Hawk said, " Either way, you'll take Wilhelmina, Hugo, and Pierre away. If you get caught, ih will be enough to charge you. So you can carry extra equipment. This may be exactly what you need to survive yourself. or whatever it is, give us a signal around the bottleneck. I'll have her plant Manna Seeds in the vicinity of Billa Rohde's supermarket near the entrance of the estate in a dry cleaning truck.
  
  
  It made sense, but during a long walk, it was hard. Nick moved his elbows under his jacket to dispel the bank that was getting nasty, and kept walking. He came to a clearing where the old foundations were shown on the map and stopped. Funds? He saw a perfect picture of a rustic Gothic farmhouse, at the turn of the century, complete with a wide porch on three sides, rocking chairs and a swinging hammock, a truck garden and an outbuilding next to a flower-lined alley at the back of the house. They were painted in a rich yellow color with white edging on the windows, gutters and railings.
  
  
  A small red shed is also neatly painted behind the house. Two chestnut horses were peeking out from behind the corral, around the posts and rails at the back, and under the awning around two wagons, he saw a cart and some farm equipment.
  
  
  Nick Schell slowly, his attention focused with interest on the charming but outdated scene. They belonged to the Carrier and Ives calendar - "Home Place" or " Little Farm."
  
  
  He reached the stone path that now led to the porch, and his ego cringed as a strong voice behind him, somewhere at the edge of the road, said: "Hold on, mister. An automatic shotgun is pointed at you."
  
  
  
  Chapter V
  
  
  
  Nick stood very, very still. The sun, now only a short distance from the mountains to the west, burned his face. In the forest, a jay screamed loudly in the silence. The man with the gun had everything for him - surprise, cover, and an ego position against the sun.
  
  
  Nick stopped, swinging his brown cane. He kept the ego there, six inches above the ground, without lowering it. The voice said: "You can turn around."
  
  
  The man came out from behind a black walnut tree surrounded by bushes. It was like an observation post set up so that the ego wouldn't be noticed. The gun looked like an expensive Browning, probably a Sweet 16 without a compensator. The man was of medium height, in his mid-fifties, and dressed in a gray cotton shirt and trousers, but nen was wearing a soft tweed hat that could hardly be sold locally. He looked smart. Ego's quick gray eyes roamed over Nick without haste.
  
  
  Nick looked into Rheumatism. The man stood calmly, holding the rifle with his hand near the trigger, muzzle down and straight. A novice might think that the voice of a person who can be captured quickly and unexpectedly. Nick decided otherwise.
  
  
  "I had a little problem here," the man said. "Can you tell me where you're going?"
  
  
  "On the old road and trail," Nick said in his perfect old accent. I'll be happy to show you the number, IDs, and map if you'd like. "
  
  
  "If it pleases you."
  
  
  Wilhelmina was comfortable with her left ribcage next to her ego. She could spit in dolly seconds. Nick's sentence said that they would both finish and die. He carefully took out a map around the side pocket of his blue doublet and a wallet around the inside breast pocket. He took out two cards around his wallet - a Wicker Security Department pass with a photo on it and a universal air travel card.
  
  
  "Could you hold the ih candid in your right hand?"
  
  
  Nick didn't mind. He congratulated himself on his judgment as the man leaned forward and took the ih with his left hand while holding the shotgun with the other. He took two steps back and looked at the maps, noting the area indicated in the corner of the map. Then he went over and returned ih. "I apologize for the reception. I have some really dangerous neighbors. It's not quite like England."
  
  
  "Ah, her name," Nick said, putting the papers away. "I'm familiar with your mountain people, your ih clannishness and dislike of government disclosures - do I pronounce it correctly?"
  
  
  "Yes. You'd better come in for a cup of tea. Stay the night if you want. Her name is John Villon. I live here." He pointed to a house all over the storybooks.
  
  
  "It's a charming place," Nick said. "She would like to join you for a cup of coffee and take a closer look at this beautiful farm. But I want to climb over the mountain and come back. Can I call on you around four o'clock tomorrow?"
  
  
  "Of course. But you start a little late."
  
  
  "I know. I left my car at the exit for her because the road was so narrow. Because of this, I get a delay of half an hour." He was careful, saying "schedule". "Her parts are walking at night. I carry a small lamp with me. There will be a moon tonight, and I can see it really well at night. I won't be going down the trail again tomorrow. This can't be a bad path. This has been the road for almost two centuries ."
  
  
  "It's easy enough to walk, except for a few rocky gullies and a crevasse where a wooden bridge once stood. You will have to climb up and down and wade through the stream. Why are you so determined to follow this path?"
  
  
  "In the last century, my distant relative went through this in stages. I wrote a book about it. In fact, it went all the way to your west coast. Its going to repeat the ego route. It takes me a few years to relax. But then I'm going to write a book about change. This will make for a fascinating story. In fact, this area is more primitive than when he passed it."
  
  
  "Yes, it is. Well, good luck. Come back tomorrow, not when."
  
  
  "Thank you, I will. I'm looking forward to that tea."
  
  
  John Villon stood on the grass in the middle of the road and watched Alastair Williams walk away. A large, plump, limping figure in city clothes, walking purposefully and apparently with indomitable calm. Just as the traveller was out of sight, Villon entered the house, and walked purposefully and quickly.
  
  
  Though Nick took a brisk step, Ego's mind was on caution. John Villon? A romantic name and a strange man in a mysterious place. He couldn't spend twenty-four hours a day in these bushes. How did he know about Nick's approach?
  
  
  If a photocell or television scanner was monitoring the road, it meant a big event, and a big one meant a connection to the lords ' estate. Which meant...?
  
  
  This meant an admissions committee, since Villon had to communicate with the others through a mountain notch crossed by a side path. It made sense. If the operation had been as big as Hawke suspected, or if it had been Bauman's gang, they wouldn't have left the back door unattended. He hoped to be the first to spot the watchers, so he went out and circled the car.
  
  
  He looked around, saw nothing, threw off his limp, and broke into an almost trot that quickly covered the ground. Her mouse. They don't even need cheese, because I'm a devotee. If this is a trap, it will be a good one. People who discover it buy the best.
  
  
  He glanced at the map as he moved, checking the tiny figures he had drawn to it while measuring distances with a scale. Two hundred and forty yards, signs to the left, straight ahead, and a stream. He jumped. Good. on the creek, and ego assumed the location was correct. The 615 yards now rise openly to what was about 300 feet away. Then a sharp turn of signs to the left and along what appeared on the map to be a flat path along the cliff. Yes. And then...
  
  
  I try to make the road turn straight again, but the side path through the notch had to go open before turning left. Ego's sharp eyes spotted a path and an opening in the forest moan, and he turned through a grove of hemlocks that was lit up somewhere by a white birch tree. .
  
  
  He reached the top of the mountain as the sun sank behind Mount egos, and he followed the rocky path in the gathering dusk. Now it was harder to measure distances by checking shaggy's ego, but he stopped when he estimated that the hall was three hundred yards from the bottom of a small valley. Vote, for example, where the trigger of the first trap will be.
  
  
  They are unlikely to value many problems highly enough to try very hard
  
  
  "security guards become careless if they have to make long trips every day, because they think the patrol is useless. The map showed that the next depression on the mountain's surface was in a hall 460 yards to the north. Patiently, Nick worked his way through the trees and bushes all the way to the hotel grounds, not down to a tiny mountain stream. When he took the cool water in his hand to drink, he noticed that the night was completely black. A good time, he decided.
  
  
  Almost every stream has some sort of passage used by the occasional hunter, sometimes only once or twice a year, but most of the time over a thousand years old. Unfortunately, it wasn't one, around the best paths. An hour passed before Nick saw the first glimmer of light from below. Two hours earlier, he had seen the ancient wooden outhouse in the faint moonlight through the trees. When he stopped at the edge of the valley clearing, the ego clock glowed 10: 56.
  
  
  Now-patience. He remembered the old saying about the Chief Worth of Horses, with whom he would occasionally make pack trips to the Rocky Mountains. This has been part of many advices to warriors - those who are moving towards the last life.
  
  
  A quarter of a mile away, at the bottom of the valley, just where the T-shaped black mark on the map indicated, was the giant lord's mansion - or the former lord's mansion. Three stories high, it flickered with lights like a medieval castle when the manor's owner hosted a reception. The twin lights of cars kept moving along the ego's far side, entering the parking lot and exiting the nah.
  
  
  Up the valley, to the right, there were other lights that indicated on the map that they might be former servants ' homes, stables, shops, or greenhouses-just as it was impossible for anyone.
  
  
  Then he will see what he actually observed. For a moment, surrounded by peace, a man and a dog crossed the end of the valley next to him. Something on a person's shoulder can be a weapon. They followed the gravel path that usually ran parallel to the tree line and continued mimmo Tut's way to the buildings behind. The dog was a Doberman or Shepherd dog. The two patrolling figures almost disappeared across the field of vision, leaving the lighted areas, then Nick's sensitive ears picked up another sound. The click, clank, and faint crunch of footsteps on gravel interrupted the ih rhythm, stopped, and then continued.
  
  
  Nick followed the man, Ego and shaggy moving silently through the thick, smooth grass, and in a few minutes he saw and felt what he suspected: the back of the estate was separated from the main house by a high wire fence, the top of which was three strands of taut barbed wire, outlined ominously in the moonlight. He followed the fence across the valley, saw a gate where a gravel path crossed the fence, and found another gate 200 yards away that blocked the black-topped road. He followed the lush vegetation at the edge of the road, slipped out into the parking lot, and hid in the shadows of the limo.
  
  
  People in the valley liked big cars - in the parking lot, or what he could see in the two spotlights, there seemed to be only cars worth more than $ 5,000. When the sleek Lincoln pulled in, Nick followed the two men out of it to the house, keeping a discreet distance behind. As he walked, he straightened his tie, put down his hat carefully, brushed himself, and smoothly pulled his jacket over his large frame. The man who trudged down Leesburg Street had turned into a respectable solid man who casually wore his clothes, and you still knew that they were of the highest quality.
  
  
  The path from here to the house was gentle on the territory. It was lit by water currents at long intervals, and lights at foot level, parts placed on the manicured bushes surrounding it. Nick walked casually, a worthy guest waiting to be seen. He lit a long Churchill cigar, one of three that were in a neat leather case in one of the many inside pockets of his special doublet. It's amazing how few people look suspiciously at a person walking down the street enjoying a cigar or pipe. Run mimmo cop with your underwear under your arm and you might get shot - pass mimmo cop with the crown jewels in the mailbox, blowing up a blue cloud of fragrant Havana, and the officer will nod in respect to you.
  
  
  When he reached the back of the house, Nick jumped through the bushes into the darkness and headed for the back, where lights were visible on wooden palisades under metal shields that were supposed to hide trash cans. He ran out the nearest door, saw the hall and laundry room, and walked down the hall to the center of the house. He saw a huge kitchen, but the activity ended far away from him. The hall ended in a door that opened directly into another corridor, much more ornate and decorated than the service hall. Just outside the door on the service side were four lockers. Nick quickly opened one and saw brooms and cleaning equipment. He entered the main part of the house
  
  
  He went straight to a thin man in a black suit, who looked at him questioningly. His expression changed to one of suspicion, but before he could speak, Nick raised his hand.
  
  
  It was Alastair Williams who - but very quickly - asked:: "My dear fellow, is there a dressing table on this floor? All that wonderful ale, you know, but I'm really embarrassed..."
  
  
  Nick danced from one foot to the other, looking pleadingly at the man.
  
  
  “what? You mean..."
  
  
  "Toilet bowl old man! Kostya Boga, where's the toilet?"
  
  
  The man suddenly understood, and the humor of the situation and the ego's own sadism stole the ego of suspicion. "Water cabinet, eh? Do you want a drink?"
  
  
  "God, no," Nick exploded. "Thank you ..." He turned away, continuing to dance, allowing his face to turn red until he realized that his ego's ruddy features should glow.
  
  
  "Here, Mac," the man said. "Follow me."
  
  
  He led Nick to a corner, at the end of a huge room paneled in oak and hung with tapestries, in a shallow alcove with a door at the end. "There." He pointed, grinned , and then, realizing that important guests might need him, left quickly.
  
  
  Nick washed his face, groomed himself carefully, checked his makeup, and sauntered back to the big room, enjoying a long black cigar. The sounds came from a large archway at the far end. He walked up to it and saw a fascinating picture.
  
  
  The room was huge and oblong, with tall French windows at one end and another archway at the other. On the polished floor by the windows, seven couples danced to the soft music playing on the stereo. Near the center of the far wall was a small oval crossbar, around which a dozen men were gathered, and in the conversation centers formed by colorful groups of U-shaped sofas, other men were chatting, some relaxed, some with their heads together. There was the click of billiard balls in the far archway.
  
  
  In addition to the dancing women, who all looked sophisticated around them - whether they were the wives of the rich or the more intelligent and expensive Zhirinovsky whores - there were only four women in the room. Almost all the men had a rich appearance. There were a few tuxedos, but the impression was much deeper.
  
  
  Nick descended the five wide steps to the room with stately dignity, unobtrusively studying everyone in the room. Give up tuxedos, imagine these people dressed as hidden Englishmen gathered at the royal court in feudal England, or gathered after a Bourbon dinner at Versailles. Plump bodies, soft hands, too-quick smiles, calculating eyes, and a constant buzz of conversation. Discreet questions, veiled suggestions, complex plans, and threads of intrigue were shown in turn and intertwined as far as the circumstances allowed.
  
  
  He saw several congressmen, two plainclothes generals, Robert Quitlock, Harry Cushing, and a dozen other men that his egotistical mind was cataloguing from recent events in Washington. He walked over to the bar, picked up a large whiskey and soda - "No ice, please" - and turned to meet Akito Tsogu Moto's questioning gaze.
  
  
  
  Chapter VI.
  
  
  
  Nick looked through Akito, smiled, nodded into the imaginary friend's eyes, and turned away. The older Motto, as always, was expressionless - it was impossible to guess what thoughts were swirling behind those serene but implacable features.
  
  
  Akito's voice was at Ego's elbow. "We've met, I think. I find it so hard to remember Western traits, just like you confuse us Asians with her personality. Her Akito Moto..."
  
  
  Akito chuckled politely, but when Nick looked back at him, there was no trace of humor on those chiseled brown planes.
  
  
  "I don't remember ancient times." Nick just smiled and held out his hand. "Alastair Williams by Vickers".
  
  
  "Vickers?" Akito looked surprised. Nick thought quickly, cataloging the men he'd seen here. He continued, " The Oil and Drilling Division."
  
  
  "Goal! Its met some by meet your people in Saudi Arabia. Yes, yes, I think Kirk, Miglione, and Robbins. Do you know...?"
  
  
  Nick doubted he could come up with all the names so quickly. He was playing. "In the dell itself? Some time ago, her, I believe, before ... Eh, changes?"
  
  
  "Yes. Before the change." He sighed. "You had a great situation there." Akito lowered his eyes for a moment, as if paying tribute to the lost profit. Then he smiled only with his lips. "But you recovered. It's not as bad as it could be."
  
  
  “no. Half a loaf and all that."
  
  
  "I represent the Confederation. Can you discuss...?"
  
  
  "Not personally. Quentin Smithfield does everything you need to see in London. He couldn't come."
  
  
  "Ah! Is it affordable?"
  
  
  "Quite."
  
  
  "I didn't know. It's so hard to organize around Aramco."
  
  
  "Quite." Nick took out the cases around the beautifully engraved Alastair Beadle Williams Vickers cards, with Vickers ' address and London phone number, but on the AX agent's desk. With a pen, he wrote on the back: "Met Mr. Moto, Pennsylvania, July 14, A. B. Williams."
  
  
  "This should help, antiquities."
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  Akito Han gave Nick one of his ego cards. "We are very much in the market. I assume you know her?" Her plan is to come to London next month. I'll see Mr. Smithfield."
  
  
  Nick nodded and turned away. Akito watched him carefully put the map away. Then I made a tent with my hands and thought about it. It was perplexing. Maybe Ruth will remember. He went to look for his "daughter".
  
  
  Nick felt a drop of pot on his neck and carefully wiped it away with a handkerchief. Now it's easy-ego control was better than that. The ego disguise was excellent, but there was suspicion about the Japanese patriarch. Nick moved slowly, limping on his cane. Sometimes they could tell more from your gait than your appearance, and he could feel the bright brown eyes on his back.
  
  
  He was standing on the dance floor, a ruddy-faced, white-haired British businessman admiring the girls. He saw Ann Ve Lin flashing her white teeth in front of the young executive. She was resplendent in a sequined split skirt.
  
  
  He remembered Ruth's remark; Papa was supposed to be in Cairo. Oh, right? He walked across the room, picking up snatches of conversation. This meeting was definitely oil - related. Hawke was a little baffled by what Barney and Bill had learned about wiretapping. Perhaps the other side used steel as a code word for oil. Stopping by one group, he heard: "... $ 850,000 a year for us, and about the same amount for the government. But an investment of 200,000 dollars, you can't complain..."
  
  
  A British accent that said, " ... we really deserve more, but..."
  
  
  Nick left there.
  
  
  He remembered Ginny's comment. "We will fly mostly or in air-conditioned conference rooms..."
  
  
  Where was she? The entire place was air-conditioned. He ducked into the buffet, passed through more people in the music hall, looked into the magnificent library, found the front door, and left. No sign of any other girls, Hans Geist, or a German who might be Bauman.
  
  
  He walked down the driveway and headed for the parking lot. A stern young man standing in the corner of the house looked at him thoughtfully. Nick nodded. "A charming evening, isn't it, antiquities?"
  
  
  "Yes, supposedly."
  
  
  A real Brit would never have stahl tac parts use the word "old man" or strangers, but it was great for making a quick impression on you. Nick blew out a cloud of smoke and walked on. He walked past several pairs of men and nodded politely. In the parking lot, he wandered through a line of cars, saw no one in them - and suddenly the ego was gone.
  
  
  He followed the black-topped road in the dark until he reached the barrier gate. It was locked with an ordinary, high-quality lock. Three minutes later, he opened it with one of the main lock picks around his choice and locked it behind him. It would take Emu at least a minute to do it again, and he hoped he wouldn't leave in a hurry.
  
  
  The road should wind gently for half a mile and end where the buildings were shown on the old map, and where he saw the lights from above. He was silent, alert, his feet making no sound. Twice he pulled off the road when cars passed at night, one around the main house, the other coming back. He turned and saw the lights of buildings-a smaller version of the main mansion.
  
  
  The dog barked, and he froze. The sound was ahead of him. He chose a high point and watched until a line passed from right to left between him and the lights. Odin's group of guards followed the gravel path to the other side of the valley. At this distance, the barking was not for him - perhaps not for a guard dog.
  
  
  He waited for a long time, until he heard the gate crack and clank and was sure that the guard was leaving him. He walked slowly around the large building, ignoring the ten-stall garage that was in darkness, and another shed with no lights on.
  
  
  It won't be much. There was a man sitting at each of the three doors; only the South Korean side went unnoticed. He crept through the lush landscape on the other side and reached the first window, a tall and wide opening that was undoubtedly custom-built. Cautiously, he peered into the lavishly furnished, empty bedroom, beautifully decorated in an exotic, modern style. He checked the window. Double thermal paste and lockable. Damn the air conditioner!
  
  
  He sat down and looked around his backyard. Next to the house, he was sheltering neat plantations, but ego's closest shelter from the buildings was a fifty-foot lawn, over which he approached. If they maintain a patrol with dogs, he may have problems, otherwise he will move carefully, staying away from the window lights as much as possible.
  
  
  You never knew - ego is the entrance to the valley, and investigating a luxury conference in a big house can be part of a big trap. Perhaps "John Villon" was alerted. He gave himself the benefit of the doubt. Illegal groups had the same personnel problems as corporations and the bureaucracy. The leaders-Akito, Baumann, Geist, Villon, or anyone else-could control a dense ship, giving clear orders and excellent plans. But the army is always
  
  
  they also showed weaknesses - laziness, carelessness, and lack of imagination for the unexpected.
  
  
  It was unexpected, he assured himself. He looked in the next window. It was partially covered by curtains, but through the interior swirls he could see a large room with five-person couches arranged around a stone fireplace large enough to cook a goby and leave room for several skewers of poultry.
  
  
  Sitting on the couches, looking as relaxed as a night out at the Hunter Mountain Resort, he saw men and girls; in all the photos, he noted Ginny, Ruth, Susie, Lily's Pong Pong, and Sonya Ranez; Akito, Hans Geist, Sammy, and a thin Chinese man who, judging by his ego movements, might have been a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more than a little more being the masked man during the Demings raid in Maryland.
  
  
  Ruth and her father must have been in the car that had just passed Ego on the way. He wondered if they had come here because Akito had met "Alastair Williams".
  
  
  One of the girls was pouring drinks around them. Nick noticed how quickly Pong Pong Lily picked up the table lighter and held it up for Gans Geist to light. Nah looked like that when she was watching the big blond guy-Nick had written it down for reference. Heyst walked slowly back and forth, talking, while the others listened intently and sometimes laughed at his words.
  
  
  Nick watched thoughtfully. What, how, and why? Company executives, and some girls? Not quite. Whores and pimps? Net-the atmosphere was right, but the relationship didn't fit; and it wasn't a normal social gathering.
  
  
  He took out a tiny stethoscope with a short tube and tried on the ego on the double glass, frowning when he didn't hear anything. He had to get to the right room or point where he could hear. And if he could record some of this conversation in a small machine no bigger than a deck of cards, which sometimes annoyed his right thigh bone - he should talk to Stewart about it - he would have some answers. Hawke's eyebrows would surely rise when he lost the sl.
  
  
  If he went in like Alastair Beadle Williams, the ego reception would last ten seconds, and he would live for about thirty - there were brains in that pile. Nick frowned and crept through the plantations.
  
  
  The next window opened into the same room, and the one behind it. The next one was a changing room and a hall, with what looked like toilets opening out of it. The last windows looked out on the trophy room and library, all dark-paneled and covered with a rich brown carpet, where two stern-looking executives sat and talked. "I'd love to hear that deal, too," Nick muttered.
  
  
  He peeked around the corner of the building.
  
  
  The guard didn't look like much. He was a sporty type in a dark suit who obviously took his duties seriously. He put the camp chair in the bushes, but didn't stay in nen. He walked up and down, looking at the three lanterns that illuminated the portico, looking out into the night. He never turned his back on Nick for more than a few moments.
  
  
  Nick watched him through the bushes. He mentally checked the dozens of offensive and defensive items in the mage's cloak provided by the resourceful Stewart and the AXE technicians. Ah, well-they couldn't have thought it all out. It was an ego thing, and the odds were slim.
  
  
  A more circumspect person than Nick would have weighed the situation and probably shut up. The idea hadn't even occurred to the Axe agent, whom the Hawks thought was "our best." Nick did remember what Harry Demarcin had once said:"I always push because we don't have to pay to lose."
  
  
  Harry was pushing too hard. Maybe now it was Nick's turn.
  
  
  He tried something else. He looked at his mind for a moment, then brought out the darkness at the road gate. As if his ego thoughts were a silent film, he constructed a figure approaching the barrier, got out the tool, and picked the lock. He could even imagine the sounds, the clang as the man pulled on the chain.
  
  
  With the picture in mind, he looked at the guard's head. The man started to turn toward Nick, but he seemed to be listening. He took a few steps and looked worried. Nick is concentrating, and I know I'm helpless if someone comes up behind him. Sweat trickled down his neck. The man turned. He looked toward the gate. I went out for a walk, looking out into the night.
  
  
  Nick took ten silent steps and jumped. A thrust, a prick with the fingers that formed the rounded blade of a spear, and then an arm around his neck for safety as he dragged the man back to the corner of the house and into the bushes. That was twenty seconds later.
  
  
  Like a cowboy holding down a bull after driving a rodeo ego, Nick plucked two short lengths of fishing line from his coat and threw carnation cocks and square knots around the man's wrists and ankles. The thin nylon served as stronger handcuffs than handcuffs. The finished gag jumped into Nick's hand - an emu didn't need to think or search his pockets any more than a cowboy who had to hunt for ego with pig ropes - and was secured in the man's open mouth. Nick dragged Ego into the thickest of the bushes.
  
  
  He won't wake up for an hour or two.
  
  
  As Nick straightened up, the car lights on the gate came on, stopped, and came on. He fell down next to his victim. A black limousine pulled up to the portico and two well-dressed men, both in their late fifties, got out. The driver bustled around the car, seemingly surprised by the absence of a security doorman, and stood in the light for a while after the ego passengers entered the house.
  
  
  If he's still a security guard, he'll be fine, Nick reassured himself. I hope he was watching. The driver lit a short cigar, looked around, shrugged, got into the car, and drove back to the main house. He wasn't going to scold his friend, who probably left his post for a good and entertaining reason. Nick breathed a sigh of relief. HR issues have their own advantages.
  
  
  He quickly walked over to the door and looked through the small glass. The men were gone. He opened the door, slipped inside, and ducked into what looked like a walk-in closet with washbasins.
  
  
  The room was empty. He looked down the hall again. It's time, if ever - when newcomers were the center of attention.
  
  
  He took a step forward, and a voice behind him said questioningly, " Hello...?
  
  
  He turned around. Odin circled the men around the trophy room and looked at him suspiciously. Nick smiled. "I want you!" he said with an enthusiasm he didn't feel. "Can we talk there?" He walked over to the trophy room door.
  
  
  "I do not know you. What...?"
  
  
  The man automatically followed, his face hard.
  
  
  "Look at this." Conspiratorially, Nick took out a black notebook and hid the ego in his hand. "Come out by sight. We don't want Geist to see this."
  
  
  The man followed, frowning. The other man was still in the room. Nick smiled broadly and called out, " Hello. Take a look at this."
  
  
  The seated man stepped forward to join them, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Nick pushed open the door. The second man reached under his coat. Nick was moving fast. He wrapped his strong arms around ih's necks and slammed their heads together. They descended, one silent, the other groaning.
  
  
  When he gagged them and tied them up, and then dropped the .38 S&W Terrier and .32 Spanish Galesi on a chair, he was glad he'd shown some restraint. They were elderly people, most likely visitors, not security guards or Geist's boys. He took off their wallets with papers and cards and stuffed ih into the pocket of his trousers. Now there is no time to study ih.
  
  
  He checked the lobby. It was still deserted. He glided along it in silence, saw the group by the fireplace, engaged in a cheerful conversation, and crawled behind the sofa. He was too far away - but he was inside.
  
  
  He thought: the real Alistair would say, " For a penny to the pound." ALL RIGHT.! All the way!
  
  
  Halfway up the room was another meeting point , a group of furniture near the windows. He crawled over to it and found shelter between the tables at the back of the sofa. They had lamps, magazines, ashtrays, and packs of cigarettes. He rearranged some items to create a barrier through which to look out.
  
  
  Ruth Moto served the newcomers drinks. They remained standing, as if they had come for some purpose. When Gini got up and walked on past the men-the banker type with the constant meaningless smile-the goal was clear. She said, " I'm so glad I gave you the pleasure, Mr. Carrington. And I'm awfully glad you're back."
  
  
  "I like your brand," the man said sincerely, but the ego-happy attitude looked fake. He was still a righteous daddy with an ego-driven provincial mentality, too confused to ever feel at ease with a beautiful girl - especially a top-notch whore. Ginny took Ego's hand and they walked through an archway at the far end of the room.
  
  
  Another man said, " Her... her hotel would... to meet... go with Miss... Oh, Miss Lily." Nick chuckled. He was so tense that he couldn't speak. A first-class family home in Paris, Copenhagen, or Hamburg would politely point them out the door.
  
  
  Pong Pong Lily got up and walked over to him, dreaming of liquid beauty in a pink cocktail dress. "You flatter me, Mr. O'Brien."
  
  
  "You look good... the most beautiful for me." Nick saw Ruth's eyebrows rise at the boorish comment, and Suzy Quong's face harden a little.
  
  
  Pong Pong gracefully put an emu hand on your shoulder. "Don't we___..."
  
  
  "We will definitely do it." O'Brien took a long swig around his glass and walked with her, carrying the drink. Nick had hoped to have an early date with his confessor.
  
  
  When the two couples left, Hans Geist said: "No offense, Suzy. He's just a fellow countryman who's had a lot to drink. I'm sure you made her ego happy last night. Her, I'm sure you're the one around the most beautiful girls he's ever seen."
  
  
  "Thank you, Hans," said Susie. "He's not that wouldnt and strong. A real rabbit, and oh, so intense. I didn't feel comfortable with him all the time."
  
  
  "He just went openly?"
  
  
  "Ah, yes. He even asked me to pay off the saint when we were half-naked." They all laughed.
  
  
  Akito said affectionately ," A beautiful girl like you can't expect every man to appreciate her, Suzy. But remember - every man who really knew
  
  
  what has beauty will delight you. Everyone around you, girls, is an outstanding beauty. We men know this, and you suspect it. But beauty is not uncommon. Finding girls like you with beauty and intelligence, ah, is a rare combination ."
  
  
  "Besides," Hans added, " you are politically informed. In the vanguard of society. How many girls in the world are like that? Not very much. Ann, your glass is wasted. Another one?"
  
  
  "Not now," the beauty cooed.
  
  
  Nick frowned. What was that? Let's talk about treating the duchess like a whore and the whore like a duchess! It was a whore's paradise. The men played the role of pimps, but they behaved like the houses of a high school graduation meal or tea party. Still, he thought thoughtfully, it was an excellent tactic. Effective with women. Madame Bergeron built one of the most famous houses in Paris and saved up a fortune on nen.
  
  
  A small Chinese man in a white lab coat came in through the far archway, carrying a tray with what looked like a sofa on it. Nick barely managed to dodge.
  
  
  The waiter handed the tray over, set it on the coffee table, and left. Nick wondered how much farther into the house. He considered his weapons thoughtfully. He had Wilhelmina and an extra magazine, two deadly gas bombs - "Pierre" - in the pockets of ego jockey shorts, which were the same magician's equipment as ego coat, and various explosive charges.
  
  
  He heard Hans Geist say, " ... and we will meet Commander One on the ship in a week, starting on Thursday. Let's make a good impression. I know he's proud of us and happy with the way things are going."
  
  
  "Are your negotiations with this group going well?" Ruth Moto asked.
  
  
  "Great. Its never thought it could be any other way. They are merchants, and we want to buy. Things usually go smoothly in this situation."
  
  
  Akito asked: "Who is Alastair Williams? Briton around Vickers oil division. Her, I'm sure I've met ego somewhere before, but I can't ego who."
  
  
  After a moment's silence Heyst answered: "I do not know. I don't know the name. And Vickers doesn't have a subsidiary that they call the oil division. What exactly does he do? Where did you meet him?"
  
  
  "The voice. He's with the guests."
  
  
  Nick looked up for a moment and saw Heyst pick up the phone and dial a number. "Fred? Look at your guest list. Did you add Alastair Williams? No... When did he arrive?" Have you never accepted the ego? Akito - what does he look like?"
  
  
  "Big. Chubby. Red face. Gray hair. Very English."
  
  
  "Was he with the others?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  Hans repeat the description to your phone. "Tell Kamil and Ali. Find a man who fits that description, or there's something wrong here. Rate all guests with an English accent. I'll be there in a few minutes." He replaced the phone. "This is either a simple matter or a very serious one. You and I better go..."
  
  
  Nick lost the rest when his sharp ears picked up a sound from outside. One or more cars arrived. If the room fills up, he will be caught between groups. He crawled to the entrance of the hall, keeping the furniture between him and the people by the fireplace. When he reached the corner, he got up and walked to the door, which opened slowly to admit five men.
  
  
  They were having fun talking - one was high, the other was keeping up the giggles. Nick smiled broadly and waved his hand in the direction of the large room. "Come in ..."
  
  
  He turned and walked quickly up the wide staircase.
  
  
  On the second floor, there was a long corridor. He went to the windows that faced the road. Two large cars were parked under floodlights. The last group seemed to be riding by itself.
  
  
  He walked to the rear, mimmo luxury living room and three luxury bedrooms with open doors. He went to the closed door and listened with his little stethoscope, but he didn't hear anything. It was a bedroom with some articles showing that it was occupied. He quickly searched - a chair, a table, two expensive suitcases. Nothing. We need a piece of paper. It was the room of a large man in the size of suits in the toilet. Probably a Geist.
  
  
  The next room was more interesting - and almost disastrous.
  
  
  He heard heavy, heavy breathing and a groan. When he put the stethoscope back in a minute, the next door in the hallway opened and po nah walked out alone around the first men to arrive and Pong Pong Lily.
  
  
  Nick straightened up and smiled. "Hello there. Have a good time?"
  
  
  The man stared. Pong Pong exclaimed, " Who are you?"
  
  
  "Yes," a hard and loud male voice said from behind him. "Who are you?"
  
  
  Nick turned to see a thin Chinese man-tota, who he suspected was behind the mask in Maryland - approaching from the stairs, ego shaggy noiseless on the thick carpet. The thin arm disappeared under the ego jacket to where a cot holster might be.
  
  
  "I'm team two," Nick said. He tried to open the door he'd been listening for. He was exposed. "Good night."
  
  
  He jumped through the door and slammed it behind him, found the latch and locked it.
  
  
  There was a sigh and a growl from the big bed, where the other one who had arrived earlier and Ginny were
  
  
  They were naked.
  
  
  Fists pounded on the door. Ginny shouted. The naked man hit the floor and lunged at Nick with the great determination of someone who had been playing soccer for a long time.
  
  
  
  Chapter VII.
  
  
  
  Nick dodged with the graceful ease of a matador. Carrington hit the wall with a thud, adding to the noise of the day. Nick used a kick and a chopping hand, both delivered with surgical precision, to gasp as he fell to the floor.
  
  
  "Who are you?" Ginny almost screamed.
  
  
  "Everyone is interested in the little me," Nick said. "I am a team, three, four and five characters."
  
  
  He was looking at the door. Like everything else in the room, everything was top notch. To break through, they will need a battering ram or strong furniture.
  
  
  "You what?"
  
  
  "Her son Bauman."
  
  
  "Identify!" she shouted. Then she thought for a moment. "Who are you?"
  
  
  "Bauman's son. He has three ihs. It's a secret."
  
  
  She slid to the floor and stood up. Nick's gaze slid over the long, beautiful body, and the ego of remembering what it was capable of ignited it for a moment. Someone kicked at the door. He was proud of himself - her ferret still retained that old carelessness. "Get dressed," he snapped. "Quickly. I have to get you out of here."
  
  
  "You have to get me out of here? You're crazy..."
  
  
  "Hans and Sammy are planning to kill all of you girls after this meeting. Do you want to die?"
  
  
  "You're angry. Identify!"
  
  
  "Everyone except Ruth. Akito fixed it. And Pong Pong. Hans fixed it."
  
  
  She grabbed her thin bra from the chair and wrapped it around her. What he said deceived the woman in her. If she thought about it for a few minutes, she would know that he was lying. Something heavier than a foot hit the door. He pulled Wilhelmina out with one practiced slash of his wrist and fired it through the exquisite paneling at twelve o'clock. The noise stopped.
  
  
  Ginny put on her high-heeled ballet slippers and stared at the Luger . Her expression was a mixture of fright and an execution flag as she looked at the gun. "This is what we saw on Bauman..."
  
  
  "Of course," Nick snapped. "Go to the window."
  
  
  But ego feels spiked. The first initial leader. This gang, the girls and, of course, Baumann! With a flick of his finger, he switched on his tiny voice recorder.
  
  
  When he opened the window and removed the aluminum screen from the spring clips, he said: "Baumann sent me to get you out. We'll save the others later if we can. We have a small army at the entrance of this place..."
  
  
  "It's a mess," Jenny wailed. "I don't understand ..."
  
  
  "Baumann will explain," Nick said loudly, and turned off the recorder. Sometimes the tapes will survive, but you won't.
  
  
  He stared out into the night. This was the east side. There was a security guard for the day, but he was apparently caught up in the commotion. They haven't worked out their internal raid tactics yet. They'll think about the window in a minute.
  
  
  In the sunlight around the lower-floor windows, the smooth lawn was empty. He turned and held out two hands to Ginny. "The handle." It was a long way to earth.
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "Hold on. How you do the work on the crossbar. Remember?"
  
  
  "Of course I remember her, but..." She paused, looking at the plump, elderly, but so oddly athletic man who leaned in front of the window and held out hey, hands twisted to keep her locked. He even pulled up his sleeves and cuffs. A tiny detail convinced further. She grabbed her hands and gasped - they were leather over steel, as powerful as any professional's. "Are you serious..."
  
  
  She forgot about the question as she was dragged headfirst through the window, imagined herself falling to the ground to break her neck, and tried to curl up to fall. She recovered a little, but it wasn't necessary. Strong hands took her in a tight forward somersault, then turned her to the side as she turned back toward the moaning buildings. Instead of hitting the ship's white-painted hull, she hit it lightly with her hip, which was being held by a strange, powerful man who was now hanging over her, grabbing the windowsill with his knees.
  
  
  "It's a short fall," he said, his face a strange blob of inverted features in the darkness above her. "Bend your knees. Voila-oh-daisy."
  
  
  She landed half, half around the hydrangea, scratching her leg but bouncing effortlessly on her strong legs. The high-heeled ballet slippers went further into the night, getting lost during the outward spin.
  
  
  She looked around with the helpless, panicked look of a rabbit bursting out of a bush into the open air where dogs were barking, and then she ran.
  
  
  As soon as he let go of her, Nick clambered up the side of the building, grabbed the ledge, and hung there for a moment until she was under him, then turned sideways to let hydrangea pass, landing just as easily. like a thirty-four-foot skydiver. He was doing somersaults to keep from falling, and he rolled right sideways against Ginny.
  
  
  How can this girl leave! He caught a glimpse of her disappearing into the meadow beyond the reach of the lights. He ran after her and ran openly
  
  
  into the darkness, thinking that in a panic she might not turn and walk sideways for at least a few dozen yards. Nick could cover any distance up to half a mile in the time that would be acceptable in an average college running competition. He didn't know that Ginny Ahling, in addition to her family's acrobatics, had once been the fastest girl in Blagoveshchensk. They ran long distances, and she helped every team from Harbin to the Amur River.
  
  
  Nick stopped walking. He heard the sound of footsteps far ahead. He ran. She was walking openly toward a high wire fence. If she had hit it at full speed, she would have fallen, if not worse. He mentally calculated the distance to the end of the valley, estimated his time and the distance shaggy had traveled, and guessed how far ahead of him she was. Then he counted twenty-eight steps, stopped, and put his hands to his mouth, shouting, " Ginny! Stop, danger. Hold on. Watch this."
  
  
  He listened. I'm sorry, it's stopped. It ran forward, heard or sensed movement from the front to the right, and changed its course to match. A moment later, he heard her move.
  
  
  "Don't run," he said softly. "You were heading straight for the fence. Maybe it's electrified. Either way, you'll be hurting yourself."
  
  
  He found her in the night and hugged her. She wasn't crying, just shaking. She felt just as delicious and smelled just as delicious as she had in Washington - perhaps even more so, given the zest of her arousal and the wet sweat on his cheek.
  
  
  "Take it easy now," he soothed. "Breathe."
  
  
  The house was noisy. The men ran to the sides, put them on the window, searched the bushes. Inside the garage, a light came on, and several people came out, half-dressed and carrying long objects that Nick decided weren't shovels. A car raced along the road and spewed out four men, and another Sergey flashed on them near the main house. Dogs barked. In a patch of light, he saw a guard with a dog join the men under the window.
  
  
  He examined the fence. It didn't look electric, just tall and topped with barbed wire, like the handrails of an industrial plant. The three gates in the valley were too far away to lead anywhere, and they would soon be watched. He looked around. The men organized themselves-and not badly. A car pulled up to the gate. Four patrols dispersed. He, with the dog, went straight to them, in the ih trail.
  
  
  Nick quickly dug out the base of the steel fence post and found three explosive plaques that looked like black tobacco corks. He added two more energy bombs that looked like thick ballpoint pens, and an eyeglass case filled with a special blend of nitroglycerin and Stewart's diatomaceous earth. It was ego's supply of explosives, but without the ability to contain a force that could easily require anything to break a wire. He found a miniature thirty-second safety lock and dragged Ginny away, counting as he went.
  
  
  "Twenty-two," he said. He pulled Ginny to the ground with him. "Lie Rivnenskaya. Put your face on the ground."
  
  
  He rotated ih to the charges so that the surface was as small as possible. The wire can shatter like shrapnel from a grenade. He didn't use his two grenades, built like lighters, because the nu charges weren't worth risking an ih shower of razor-sharp metal. The dog patrol was only a hundred yards away. What's wrong with..
  
  
  VAMO-OH-OH-OH!
  
  
  Reliable old Stuart. He dragged Ginny to the point of the explosion, probing the ragged hole in the darkness. You could drive a Volkswagen along it. If the girl's logic started working now, and she refused to move, he would have it.
  
  
  "Are you all right?" "What is it?" he asked sympathetically, squeezing her shoulder.
  
  
  "Me... I think so."
  
  
  They ran to where Ego estimated there might be a path through the mountain. After walking a hundred yards, he said: "Stop."
  
  
  He looked around. Flashlights probed the hole in the wire. The dog barked. More dogs answered - oni ih led from somewhere. They must have several breeds. A car was racing across the lawn, ee, the lights going out as a broken wire glowed in the ih light. The men tumbled out.
  
  
  Nick took out a hand grenade and threw it with all his might in the direction of the streetlights. I can't reach it, but it might be a depressant. He counted fifteen. Said, " Down again." Compared to the other, the explosion was like a firework display. A submachine gun went off, two short bursts of six or seven each, and when it stopped, the man roared: "Hold it!"
  
  
  Nick pulled Ginny out and headed for the edge of the valley. A couple of bullets flew in their true direction, ricocheting off the ground, flying through the night with a vicious whoosh-r-r-r-r that intrigues the first time you hear it - and scares you every time you hear it forever. Nick had heard it many times.
  
  
  He looked around. IH slowed down the grenade. They were approaching the split wire chasm like an infantry school exercise group. There were now twenty or more people chasing them. Two powerful flashlights stabbed into the darkness, but she didn't reach them.
  
  
  If the clouds had revealed the moon, he and Ginny would have taken a bullet each.
  
  
  He was running, holding the girl's hand. She said, " Where are we..."
  
  
  "Don't talk," he interrupted her. "We live or die together, so rely on me."
  
  
  Ego's knees hit a bush and he stopped. In what direction was after? Logically, it should be straight, parallel to the course he followed around the main house. He turned in that direction.
  
  
  The bright saint flashed around the gathering wire and crawled across the lawn, reaching the woods to their left and feeling the bushes with a pale touch. Someone brought a more powerful light, probably a six-volt athlete's hand-held lantern. He dragged Jenny into the bushes and pinned her to the ground. Attached! He bowed his head to the ground as Sergey touched ih shelter and moved on, exploring the trees. Many soldiers died because ih's face lit up.
  
  
  Ginny whispered: "Let's get out of here."
  
  
  "Right now, I don't want to get shot." He couldn't tell hey that there was no way out. For ih, his back was a forest and a cliff, and he didn't know where in the hall the trails were. If they move, the noise will be deadly. If they walk across the lawn, the saint will find ih.
  
  
  He experimentally probed the bushes, trying to find a place where he could be after. Low hemlock branches and minor growths make a crackling sound. Sergey deflected, missed ih again, and moved in the other direction.
  
  
  They began to pass through the wires one at a time, in neatly arranged jerks. Whoever was commanding them had now destroyed all but those who were advancing. They knew their business. Nick pulled Wilhelmina out, pressing her with his inner hand to the only spare clip that was fastened inside her ego belt where her ego appendix used to be. It was a small consolation. These short bursts were aimed at a good man with a gun - and there was probably more ih.
  
  
  The three men passed through the gap and spread out. The other ran toward him, a good target in the traffic light. It was useless to wait. He might as well have moved as long as the wire was at his command, holding back the ih-matched pressure. With the precision of a master, he learned to fall, the speed of a man, and with one shot knocked down a running figure. He put a second bullet in the one around the car's headlights, and it suddenly became one-eyed. He coolly aimed at the bright holy hand lantern as the submachine gun opened again, and he, another one joined in, and two or three guns started flashing with flames. He hit the dirt.
  
  
  Everywhere there were ominous roar-R-R-R-R. Bullets skittered across the grass, clattering on dry branches. They watered the landscape, and he didn't dare move. Let this Brylev catch the phosphorescence of the skin's ego, the occasional glint on his wristwatch, and he and Gini will turn into corpses, riddled and torn by lead, copper, and steel. She tried to raise her head. He gave it a gentle push. "Don't look. Stay put."
  
  
  The shooting stopped. The submachine gun was the last to stop, methodically stitching together short bursts along the forest strip. Nick resisted the temptation to peek. This is a good infantryman.
  
  
  The man Nick had shot groaned as the agonizing pain ripped through his throat. A strong voice shouted: "Hold your fire. John Number Two drags Angelo back to the car. Then don't touch it. Barry-take three of your men, take a car, circle the street and crash into these trees. Ram the car and get out and move towards us. Keep that brylev there, on the edge. Vince, do you have any ammo left? "
  
  
  "Thirty-five to forty." Nick wondered if he was a good shot.
  
  
  "Look at the holy one."
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  "Watch and listen. We pinned ih down."
  
  
  So, General. Nick pulled his dark jacket over his face, reached into it, and risked a glance. Most of the people around them have to watch each other for a moment. In the cyclops ' eye of a car's headlight, another man was dragging a wounded man who was breathing heavily. The lantern moved through the woods far to the left. The three men ran toward the house.
  
  
  An order was uttered that Nick didn't hear. The men began to crawl in behind the car, like a patrol behind a tank. Nick was worried about the three men who had passed through the wire. If there was a doer in this group, it would slowly advance like a deadly reptile.
  
  
  Ginny gurgled. Nick patted her on the head. "Be very quiet, "he whispered. He held his breath and listened, trying to see or feel anything that moved in the near darkness.
  
  
  Another murmur of voices and a flickering flashlight. The web beacon in the car went off. Nick frowned. Now the mastermind will promote his gunners without lights. Meanwhile, where were the three of them he had last seen lying prone somewhere in the sea of darkness ahead?
  
  
  The car started and roared down the road, stopped at the gate, then turned and sped across the meadow. And the voice and flankers! If I had the chance
  
  
  it would be reported by radio for artillery, mortar fire, and support troops. Better yet, send me a tank or armored car if you have one to spare.
  
  
  
  Chapter VIII.
  
  
  
  The engine of a car with only one headlight roared. The day in nen slammed shut. Nick's fantasies were interrupted. Frontal attack too! Pretty damn efficient. He shoved the remaining grenade into his left hand and held Wilhelmina against his right. The flanking car turned on its headlights, moving along the stream, bouncing and crossing the nearby gravel path.
  
  
  The wire truck's beacon lit up, and it accelerated toward the chasm. The hand-held lantern came on again, probing the trees. It pierced the line of bushes with its radiance. There was a crack as a submachine gun rattled. I started shaking again. Nick thought about it: "He's probably shooting one through his men, one through the three who came through here.
  
  
  "Hey ... her." It ended in a gasp.
  
  
  Maybe he did, too. Nick's eyes narrowed. Ego's night vision was as excellent as carotene and 20/15 vision, but he couldn't find the other two.
  
  
  Then the car hit the fence. For a moment, Nick saw a dark figure forty feet in front of him as the holy machine swung in ego's direction. He fired twice, and was sure that he had fallen. But now the ball begins!
  
  
  He fired into the headlight and squeezed lead into the car, drawing a candid pattern in the lower part of the windshield, and the last shots were fired at the handlight before it was turned off.
  
  
  The car's engine whined, and there was another thunderous boom. Nick guessed that he might have picked up the driver, and the car slid back up the fence.
  
  
  "It's him!" a strong voice shouted. "Straight. Up and on them."
  
  
  "Come on."Nick pulled Ginny out. "Make ih run."
  
  
  He led her forward to the grass and along the nah, away from the attackers, but to another car that was usually a few yards away from the tree line, like any yard away from them.
  
  
  And then the moon came out from behind the clouds. Nick crouched down and turned to, as they said, insert a spare magazine into Wilhelmina and peer out into the darkness, which was now suddenly less sheltering. He had a few seconds. Ego and Ginny were harder to see against the backdrop of the forest than the attackers on the artificial horizon. The man with the flashlight foolishly turned it on. Nick noted that he was holding the bullet in his left hand, as he advertises the bullet where the belt buckle should be. The man crumpled, and beams of light flooded the ground, adding to Nick's view of the dozen figures approaching him. The leader was about two hundred yards away. Nick shot him. I thought, and Stewart wonders why I stick to it Wilhelmina! Hand over the ammo, Stuart, and we'll get around to it." But Stuart Ego didn't hear.
  
  
  Moon shooting! He missed one, caught the ego on the second. A few more shots and it would all be over. The emu's guns winked, and he heard the whirr-r-r-r-r again. He nudged Ginny. "Run."
  
  
  He pulled out a small oval ball, pressed a lever on the side, and threw ego into the paint line. Stewart's smoke bomb, fast-spreading, dense camouflage, but dissipating in a few short minutes. The device grinned, and for a moment they were hidden.
  
  
  He ran after Ginny. The car stopped at the edge of the forest. Three men flew around the car, guns raised, vague threats visible in the darkness. The car's headlights were left on. Guns on his back and guns in his face; Nick winced. And two more cartridges in mine!
  
  
  He looked around. A dim shape appeared in the gray-white fog. To save the bullet, Nick threw his second and final smoke grenade, and its shape disappeared. He turned back to the car. The three men were going their separate ways, either not wanting to kill Ginny or saving all their fire for him. How important can you become? Nick walked over to them, crouching down - two of you, around you are coming with me, and this is a thread. Her podoidu licks for working with a target in the moonlight.
  
  
  B-WUM! Around the woods, halfway between Ginny, Nick, and the three approaching men, heavy weapons thundered - the hoarse roar of a decent-caliber rifle. One of the dark figures fell. B-WUM! B-WUM! The other two figures fell to the ground. Nick couldn't tell if one or both of them were hurt - the first one was screaming, which hurt.
  
  
  "Come here," Nick said, grabbing Ginny's arm from behind. The man with the rifle might be for or against, but he was the only hope in sight that didn't make the ego an automatic ally. He dragged Ginny into the bushes and collapsed on top of the gun emplacement.
  
  
  CRACK, BAM-BAM B-WUM! The same weapon with a muzzle shot, and showed them the way! Nick was holding Lowland's luger . CRACK, BAM-BAM B-WUM! Ginny sighed and screamed. The shot around the muzzle was so close that it hit them like a gust of wind, but no wind could shake your eardrums like that. He fired a mimmo shot at them, toward the smoke screen.
  
  
  "Hello," Nick called. "Do you need help?"
  
  
  "Well, damn her, "a voice said. Come and save me." It was John Villon.
  
  
  A moment later, they were at his side. Nick said -
  
  
  "Many thanks, antiquities. A small request. Wouldn't you have nine million Luger rounds on you?"
  
  
  “no. You?"
  
  
  "There is only one cartridge left.
  
  
  "The voice. Colt 45. Do you know that?"
  
  
  He picked up the heavy pistol. "Shall we go?"
  
  
  "Follow me."
  
  
  Villon moved through the trees, twisting and turning. A few moments later they came to the trail, the trees above showing an open cut against the sky, the moon a broken gold coin on the rim.
  
  
  Nick said, " I don't have time to ask you why. Will you guide us back through the mountain?"
  
  
  "Of course. But the dogs will find us."
  
  
  "I know. Suppose you go with a girl. I'll catch you, or wait for me no more than ten minutes on the old road."
  
  
  "My Jeep is there. But we'd better stick together. You will only get..."
  
  
  "Come on," Nick said. "You bought me time. It's my turn to work."
  
  
  He ran down the path to the meadow without waiting for an answer. They drove around the tree circle, and he was on the opposite side from where the ego passengers had fallen to the ground. Judging by the quality of the people he saw tonight, if anyone around them was unharmed then he was shooting guns, then they were crawling through the trees in search of ego. He ran to the car and looked inside. It was deserted, the headlights on, the engine purring.
  
  
  Automatic transmission. He made a half-turn back, used lowland to push forward at full throttle - immediately moved the lever up to move.
  
  
  The man swore, and a gun went off fifty feet away. Gawk hit the metal of the car. Another shot smashed through the glass a foot from his head. He cringed, made a twisting double sign, crossed the gravel path, and headed down and up the creek.
  
  
  He followed the fence, reached the road, and turned toward the main house. He drove a quarter of a mile, Sergey turned off and clicked on bullying. He sprang out and took from his doublet a small pipe, an inch long and scarcely as thick as a pencil. He carried four around them, the usual incendiary fuses. He grabbed the small cylinders at both ends with his fingers, turned the ih, and threw them into the gas tank. The twist broke the seal, and acid flowed down the thin metal wall. The wall held for about a minute, and then the device burst into flame, hot and piercing like phosphorus.
  
  
  Not as much as emu would have liked. He wished he'd found a rock to steady the accelerator, but there were car lights racing past him at the gate. The speed was about forty when he shifted the gear selector to neutral, tilted the heavy car to one side, and then jumped out.
  
  
  The fall shocked him, even with all the throws he could make. He ran into the meadow, heading for the trail, around the valley, then fell to the ground as the headlights flashed in pursuit.
  
  
  The car he'd left rolled between rows of parked cars for a considerable distance, scraping the front ends of various cars as it lurched around from side to side. The sounds were interesting. He turned on the recorder as he ran toward the woods.
  
  
  He listened to the whoosh of a gas tank exploding. You never knew about the incendiary plug in a closed tank. He hadn't removed the tank cap, of course, and although there should be plenty of oxygen, especially if the first explosion had ripped through the tank. But if the tank was plugged to capacity or was built specifically for or made of durable bulletproof metal, all you had was a small fire.
  
  
  Guided by the lights of the house, he found the exit to the path. He listened carefully, moved cautiously, but there was no sign of the three men who were riding with the flanking car. He went up the mountain quietly and quickly, but not recklessly, fearing an ambush.
  
  
  The tank exploded with a satisfying roar - an explosion wrapped in porridge. He looked back and saw flames surging into the sky.
  
  
  "Play around with this for a bit," he muttered. He caught Ginny and John Villon just before they reached the old road on the other side of the notch.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They drove to the restored farmhouse in Villon's four-wheel-drive Jeep. He parked the car in the back and they went into the kitchen. It has been as exquisitely restored as the exterior, all the wide counters, rich wood, and shiny copper - just the ego of the views makes you smell apple pie, imagine a bath with fresh milk, and imagine curvy, rosy, and rounded girls with long skirts but no underwear.
  
  
  Villon slid the M1 rifle between two brass hooks above the door, poured water into the kettle, and said as he put Ego on the stove, " I think you need a bathroom, miss. It's open there. First door on the left. you will find towels. There are cosmetics in the closet. "
  
  
  "Thank you," Ginny said-Nick thought a little badly-and disappeared.
  
  
  Willon filled the electric kettle and plugged Ego in. The restoration did not do without modern va-the stove was gas, and in the large open pantry Nick saw a large refrigerator and freezer. He said, " They'll be here. Dogs".
  
  
  "Yes," said Villon. "We'll know when they're coming. At least twenty minutes."
  
  
  "Sam
  
  
  How did you know I was coming down the road? "
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  The gray eyes were staring openly at you when Willon spoke, but the man had great restraint. The ego expression on their faces seemed to say, " I won't lie to you, but I'll tell you quickly if it's none of your business." Nick was suddenly very glad that he had decided not to try to jump off a Browning shotgun when he first came out on the old road. Thinking back on Willon's work with the rifle, he was particularly pleased with this decision. The last thing he could get was his leg being torn off. Nick asked: "TELEVISION scanner?"
  
  
  "Nothing too complicated. For example, in 1895, a railroad worker invented a device called the "iron microphone". Have you ever heard of nen?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "The first one was something like a carbon telephone handset installed along the rails. When the train passed mimmo, you heard the sound and knew where it was in the hall."
  
  
  "Early error".
  
  
  "That's right, mine are certainly improved." Willon pointed to a box around a walnut moaning tree that Nick assumed was a Hi-Fi speaker system. "My iron microphones are much more sensitive than others. They transmit the signal wirelessly and only activate when the sound level rises, but otherwise the credit goes to this unknown telegraph operator on the Connecticut River Railroad."
  
  
  "How do I know if someone is walking on a road or on a mountain path?"
  
  
  Willon opened the front of the small cabinet and found six indicator lights and switches. "When you hear sounds, you look. Holy is the Lord prompting. If more than one is lit, you turn off the others for a moment or increase the sensitivity of the receiver with a rheostat."
  
  
  "Great." Nick pulled a .45-caliber pistol from his belt and carefully set Ego down on a wide chair. "Thank you very much. Do you mind if someone tells me?" What? Why not?"
  
  
  "If you do the same. British intelligence? You have the wrong accent if you haven't lived in this country for a long time."
  
  
  "Most people don't notice it. No, not the British. Do you have any Luger ammo?"
  
  
  I'll get you some in a minute. Let's just say her antisocial boyfriend doesn't want people to get hurt and is crazy enough to get involved."
  
  
  "I'd rather say you're Ulysses the Lord." Nick dropped his English accent. "You had a hell of a record in the 28th Division, Captain. You started with the old 103rd Cavalry. They were wounded twice. You can still control the M-1. You kept this piece of property when the estates were sold, possibly to a hunting camp. You later rebuilt this old farm."
  
  
  "Villon" put the tea bags in cups and filled them with hot water. "Which ones are yours?"
  
  
  "I can't tell you, but you were close. I'll give you a phone number in Washington that I can call. They will partially support me if you introduce yourself carefully in the army archives. Or you can visit ih there and you'll" be sure ".
  
  
  "I honestly understand people. I think you're all right. But write down this number. The voice..."
  
  
  Nick wrote down the number where the caller would go through the verification process, which would then-if the caller was legitimate - eventually link Ego to Hawk's assistant. "If you take us to my car, we'll get out of your way. How long do we have before they block the thread of the road?"
  
  
  "It's a twenty-five-mile circle on narrow roads. We have time."
  
  
  "Will you be okay?"
  
  
  "They know me - and they know enough to leave me alone. They don't know that I helped you."
  
  
  "They'll figure it out."
  
  
  "To hell with ih."
  
  
  Ginny walked into the kitchen, her face restored and composed. Nick resumed his accent. "You two introduced yourselves? We've been so busy..."
  
  
  "We chatted as we crossed the hill," Villon said dryly. He handed them cups with switches.. The screams of lazy punches came over the walnut tree speaker. Willon was busy with the Stag. You'll get to tell all the animals after a while."
  
  
  Nick noticed that Ginny had not only regained her composure, but also had a hard expression on her face that Em didn't like. Nah had time to think - emu was wondering how close to the truth her conclusions were. Nick asked: "How are your legs? Most girls aren't used to traveling in stockings. Gentle?"
  
  
  "Its not for delicate people." She tried to put it casually, but her black eyes lit up with resentment. "You've gotten me into a terrible mess."
  
  
  "You can say so. Most people around us blame others for their difficulties. But it seems to me that you are in trouble-completely without my help."
  
  
  "You said Bauman's son? I think..."
  
  
  The wall-mounted speaker hummed to the rousing music of a dog's lai. Another joined him. They seemed to have entered a room. Villon raised one hand and turned down the volume with the other. My feet were pounding. They heard one man grunt and gasp, the other panting like a long-distance runner. The sounds grew louder, then faded , like a march in a movie. "The voice of oni," Villon said. "Four or five people and three or four dogs, I'd say."
  
  
  "They weren't Dobermans,"Nick said.
  
  
  "They also have Rhodesian Ridgebacks and German Shepherds. Ridgebacks can track like bloodhounds and attack like tigers. A magnificent breed."
  
  
  "I'm sure," Nick said rawly. "I can't wait."
  
  
  "What is it?" Jenny exclaimed.
  
  
  "A listening device," Nick explained. "Mr. Villon has installed microphones in the approaches. Like TV scanners without video. They just listen. It's a wonderful device, really."
  
  
  Willon drained his cup and set it carefully in the sink. "I don't think you're really going to wait for ih." He crossed the rooms for a moment and returned with a box of nine-millimeter parabellum cartridges. Nick filled Wilhelmina's magazine again, and put in another twenty or so rounds a minute.
  
  
  He inserted the clip, raised the bolt with his thumb and forefinger, and watched the round fly into the cartridge. He put the gun back on the seat belts. It fit under his arm as comfortably as an old boot. "You're right. Let's go."
  
  
  Villon drove ih in a Jeep to Strelka, where Nick left his rental car. Nick stopped as he got out of the jeep. "Are you going back to the house?"
  
  
  "Yes. Don't tell me to wash the glasses and put the ih away. I'll do it."
  
  
  "Look at yourself. You can't fool this group. They can take your M-1 and pick up the bullets."
  
  
  "They won't."
  
  
  "I think you should leave for a while. They'll be hot."
  
  
  "I'm in these mountains because I won't do what other people think I should."
  
  
  "What have you heard from Martha lately?"
  
  
  It was a random test. Nick was surprised by the direct hit. Villon swallowed, frowned, and said, " Good luck." He hit the Jeep in the bushes, turned around and left.
  
  
  Nick quickly drove the rental car down the old road. When he reached the highway, he turned left, away from the Lord's domain. He remembered the map of the area and used a circular route towards the airport. At the top of the hill, he stopped, held out the small antenna wire of the transceiver, and called out to the two AXEmen in the dry cleaning truck. He ignored the FCC's demands. "Plunger calls office B. Plunger calls office B. Come in."
  
  
  Barney Manun's voice came almost immediately, loud and clear. "Office B. Let's go."
  
  
  "I'm leaving. See any measures?"
  
  
  "Very much. Five cars in the last hour."
  
  
  "The operation is complete. Leave if you have no other orders. Tell the bird. You'll use the phone before you use hers."
  
  
  "No other orders here. Are we needed?"
  
  
  “no. Go home."
  
  
  "Okay, done."
  
  
  "Done, and go ahead."
  
  
  Nick got back in the car. Barney Manun and Bill Rohde will return the truck to the AX office in Pittsburgh and fly to Washington. They were good people. They probably didn't just park the truck at the entrance of the manor, but hid the ego and set up a viewing platform in the woods. Which, "Emu Bill said later," is exactly what they did.
  
  
  He headed for the airport. Ginny said: "All right, Jerry, you can drop the English accent. Where do you think you're taking me, and what the hell is this?"
  
  
  
  Chapter IX.
  
  
  
  A wry smile curved Nick's lips for a moment. "Tailor, Ginny. I thought my old school tie accent was pretty good."
  
  
  "I think so. But you're one of the few people who knows about my acrobatic training. I talked too much in your apartment, but it helped once. As we were walking around that window, you said," Hold on." The same as when working with a barbell." I didn't have time to think about it until she was cleaning up at Villon's. Then I watched you go. I know those shoulders, Jerry. I would never have guessed it from looking at you. You were invented by experts. Who are you, Jerry Deming? Or who is Jerry Deming? "
  
  
  "A guy who thinks a lot about you, Ginny." He had to silence her until he could get her on the plane. She was a great kitty. You couldn't tell from her voice that she'd almost been killed several times that night. "Hans Stahl is too big for his collar. As I told you in the room, he pulls on a big double cross. All the girls had to be destroyed, except Ruth, and Pong Pong."
  
  
  "I can't believe it," she said, her composure shaking. She swallowed the words and fell silent.
  
  
  I hope you can, he thought, and I wonder if you have a weapon I'm not aware of. He'd seen her undressed. She'd lost her ballet slippers and purse, and yet... It was possible to strip the ego almost to the skin and not find Pierre's deadly gas bomb in the special pocket of the ego short.
  
  
  She suddenly said, " Tell me what a Leader looks like. Who do you know? Where do we go? Her... Its just can't believe you, Jerry."
  
  
  He parked the car at the hangar, " just a few steps away from where the Aero Commander was tied up. There was a hint of dawn in the east. He put his arm around her and patted her hand. "Jenny, you're the greatest. I need a woman like you, and then last night I think you realize that you need a man like her. A man inside who weighs more than Hans. Stay with me and you'll be fine. We'll go back and talk to Odin's Command, and then you can make a decision." Ok? "
  
  
  "I do not know..."
  
  
  He slowly turned her chin and kissed her. Her lips were cold and hard, then softer, then warmer and more welcoming. He knew she was making emu believe. But this strange Asian girl has seen too much in her life to be fooled easily or permanently. He said: "I meant it when I suggested that we take a little vacation there together.
  
  
  I know a small place near the mountain. Tremper, over New York. The foliage will soon be colored. If you like it, we can come back at least for a weekend in the fall. Trust me until we talk to the Leader."
  
  
  She just shook her head. He felt a tear on her cheek. So, the beautiful Chinese woman, for all her achievements, was not made of steel. He said: "Wait here. I won't be waiting for us. All right?"
  
  
  She nodded, and he walked quickly across the hangar, stared at the car for a moment, then ran to the phone booth near the airport office. If she had decided to run, he would have seen her as she walked down the road or out into the field.
  
  
  He called the number and said: "It's A Plunger. At nine o'clock, call the Avis office and tell them that the car is in the lounge at the airport. The keys are stuck under the back seat."
  
  
  The man replied, " I see."
  
  
  Nick ran back to the corner of the hangar, then casually walked over to the car. Ginny sat in silence, looking out at the new dawn.
  
  
  He watched as the plane's engine warmed up. No one came out around the small office. Although some lights were on, the airport seemed deserted. He let the plane fly away, helped her through the light turbulence over the morning mountains, and leveled off at seven thousand feet, heading 120 degrees.
  
  
  He glanced at Ginny. She looked candid in front of her, her beautiful face combining concentration and suspicion. He said: "Have a good breakfast when we land. I'll keep the money, you're hungry."
  
  
  "I've been hungry before. What does a Leader look like?"
  
  
  "He's not my type. Have you ever flown an airplane? Put your hands on the wheel. I'll give you a lesson. It might come in handy."
  
  
  "Who else do you know? Stop procrastinating, Jerry."
  
  
  "We could spend a lot of time in the stalls. Hers, I think they've killed more airmen than anything else besides the ice in the carburetors. Look, and I'll show her..."
  
  
  "You'd better tell me who you are, Jerry," she said sharply. "It's gone far enough."
  
  
  He sighed. It warmed up for real resistance. "Don't you like me enough to trust me at all, Ginny?"
  
  
  "I like you as much as any man she's ever met. But that's not what we're talking about. Tell me about Bauman."
  
  
  "Have you ever heard ego called Judas?"
  
  
  She was thinking. He looked around. She frowned. “no. So?"
  
  
  "It fits."
  
  
  "And you called yourself an ego son. You lie as fast as you talk."
  
  
  "You lied to me with them ferret like we met, honey. But I understand it, because you played your part, and you didn't know me. Now be honest with you."
  
  
  It lost a bit of steepness. "Stop trying to turn the tables and say something sensible."
  
  
  "I love you."
  
  
  "If that's what you mean, save it for later. I can't believe what you're saying."
  
  
  Nah's voice was hard. The gloves were removed. Nick said, " Remember Lebanon?"
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Do You Remember Harry Demarcin?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "And they took a picture of you with Tyson the Wheel. I'll keep the money, you didn't know that." It shocked her. "Yes," he continued, " a live performance. "Hans is so stupid. He's trying to get you to the other side. Using an image. Imagine if you spoke up."
  
  
  He never used a smaller version of the master, designed for general aviation and small aircraft, but the ego was tested on nen. He set a course-locked the ship. It seemed effective. He lit a cigarette and sold it. Jenny declined one. She said: "Everything you said is a lie."
  
  
  "You said yourself that I'm too strong for an oil merchant."
  
  
  "You know too much."
  
  
  She was strikingly beautiful, with low-arched dark brows, a tight mouth, and focused eyes. She was pushing too hard. She decided to solve it alone, in case he wasn't a gang member, and then ih landing nah would have double trouble. Nah must have a gun. Which one? Where?
  
  
  Finally she said: "You're some kind of cop. Maybe you actually took a picture of me with Tyson. That's where your remark started."
  
  
  "Don't be ridiculous."
  
  
  "Interpol, Jerry?"
  
  
  "The United States has twenty-eight intelligence services. Make your way through them. Everyone around them is looking for me."
  
  
  "You may be British then, but you're not alone, all around us. Silence." Good... Her voice was low and hard now, as sharp and sharp as Hugo had been when he had sharpened the shining blade in the beautiful stone. You mentioned Harry Demarcin. This makes you, AX more than likely. "
  
  
  "Of course. Both the CIA and the FBI." Both sets of gloves slipped off. A moment later, you threw ih in each other's faces and went to get your Derringers or Pepperbox Boxes.
  
  
  Nick felt a pang of regret. She was so gorgeous, and he hadn't started researching her talents yet. This spine was made around a flexible steel cable covered with dense foam rubber. Could you... She moved her hand suddenly, and he was alert. She flicked a drop of water from the neat hollow under her lips.
  
  
  "No," she said bitterly. "You're not a fan of entertainment or a clerk wasting time until he makes a connection."
  
  
  Nick's brows rose. He had to tell Hawke. "You did a great job on Demarcin. Dad approved."
  
  
  "Stop this shit."
  
  
  "Now you're mad at me."
  
  
  "You fascist bastard."
  
  
  "You were awfully quick to jump on the idea. He saved you.
  
  
  We were ... Very close in Washington, I thought. You know that I could ... "
  
  
  "Bullshit," she interrupted. "Hers was soft for a few hours. Like everything else in my life, it's gone bad. You're a lawyer. But it would be interesting to know who and what."
  
  
  Good. Tell me how it went with Tyson. Did you have any problems?"
  
  
  She sat sullenly in an attitude of seething rage, her arms crossed over her chest. He tried a few more comments. She refused to answer. He checked the course, admired the new autopilot, sighed, and slumped in his seat. He stubbed out his cigarette.
  
  
  After a few minutes, he muttered, " What a night. I'm melting it." He relaxed. He sighed. It was a cloudless day. He looked down at the forested mountains, rolling up like waves of green, uneven rising bread. He glanced at his watch, checked course and speed, estimated wind and drift. He mentally calculated the plane's position. He lowered his eyelids and pretended to doze off.
  
  
  The next time he risked a glance through her narrowed eyes, her hands were open. Her right hand was out of sight, and that bothered ego, but he didn't dare move and stop what she was doing. He could sense the tension and threat of her intent. Sometimes it seemed to emu that because of the ego of training, he felt danger, like a horse or a dog.
  
  
  He'd lost sight of her other hand.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and muttered: "Don't try anything, Ginny, unless you're an experienced pilot yourself. This thing is on a new autopilot, which I'll bet you haven't been tested on yet." He sank lower in the seat. "Flying through these mountains is difficult anyway..."
  
  
  He took a deep breath, his aim thrown back from nah. He could hear tiny movements. What was that? Maybe her bra was 1000-1b. sturdy nylon and easy to make garrotte. Even if it had a self-locking clip, it could handle this explosive? Not on the plane. A blade? Where? The sense of danger and anger became so strong that the emu had to make an effort not to move, not to look, not to act in self-defense. He stared with narrowed eyes.
  
  
  Something moved at the top of the ego's small field of vision and fell. Instinctively, he stopped breathing on the inhale, as a film of some sort landed headfirst on ego, and he heard a tiny " Foot." I held my breath, Gaza thought. Or some kind of steam. Vote like they did! With the hood of death! It should be an instant kill with a fantastic expansion that will allow the girl to defeat men like Harry Demarcin and Tyson. He exhaled several cubic centimeters to keep the substance out of the emu's nasal tissues. He pulled in his pelvis to keep the pressure on his lungs.
  
  
  He did the math. One, two, three... she threw the ego around her neck... she held him with a strange tenderness. 120, 121, 122, 123...
  
  
  It allowed all the muscles and tissues to relax except the lungs and pelvis. As a yogi, he ordered his body to be completely relaxed and lifeless. He allowed his eyes to open a little. 160, 161, 162...
  
  
  She held up one of her ego hands. The hand lay lifeless and lifeless, like a wet pulp of paper. She dropped her ego , again with a strange tenderness. She was talking. "Goodbye, baby. You were something else. Please forgive me. You're a rat bastard like everyone else, but I think you're the nicest rat bastard I've ever met. She wishes things were different, her natural self a failure. Someday the world will be different. If I ever get to them Catskills, I'll remember her as you. Maybe I'll still remember you ... for a long time ." She sobbed softly.
  
  
  He didn't have much time now. Ego senses quickly dulled, blood flow slowed. She opened the window. The hood around the thin plastic was removed from ego's head. She held the Catalan ego between her palms and watched it shrink and disappear like a magician's scarf. Then she held up the ego between her thumb and forefinger. At the bottom of it was a colorless capsule no bigger than a clay marble.
  
  
  She swung the little ball back and forth. It was attached to the postage stamp-sized bundle in her hand with a tiny tube that looked like an umbilical cord. "Disgusting," she said bitterly.
  
  
  "Of course," Nick agreed. He blew out the rest of the air abruptly, leaning over her so that he could only breathe in the fresh stream through her windows. As he took his seat, she screamed. "You!..."
  
  
  "Yes, her. Just like your voice, Harry and Tyson died."
  
  
  She crawled towards the small hut like a newly trapped chipmunk in a box trap, avoiding her grip while looking for a way out.
  
  
  "Relax," Nick said. He didn't try to grab her. "Tell me all about Geist, Akito, and Bauman." Maybe I can help you."
  
  
  She opened the door despite the wind. Nick turned off the autopilot and slowed down. She turned around the cab with her feet first. She looked at him openly, with an expression of horror, hatred, and a strange weariness.
  
  
  "Come back," he said, with authority, loud and clear. "Don't be a fool. I won't hurt you. Its not dead. I held my breath."
  
  
  It flew halfway across the plane. He could have grabbed her wrist, and with his strength and the tilt of the ship to the left, he probably knocked her down, whether she wanted it or not. Should it do this?
  
  
  It would be as valuable to him as it was alive, according to the plan he was building. If she had survived, she would have spent dreary years in a secret Texas resort complex that few people guess, few people see or mention. Years? She mistletoe the right to choose. Ego's jaw tightened. He glanced at the roll indicator and held the ship level. "Come back, Ginny."
  
  
  "Goodbye Jerry."
  
  
  Her two words seemed softer and sadder; without warmth and hatred - or was it an ego illusion? She's gone.
  
  
  He calculated his position again, then descended several hundred feet. Near a narrow country road, he saw a sign on the OAKS HOLLOW shed, found it on the oil company's map, and marked it on his map.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  When it landed, two charter planes were on duty. They can talk about flight plans and business difficulties. Nick said: "Good ship. A wonderful journey. Thank you very much. Goodbye."
  
  
  Either Gianni's body hasn't been found, or the airport checks haven't reached that point yet. He called a taxi from the phone booths on the side of the road. He then named the current Hawke floating number, a scheme that could be arbitrarily modified for use when scramblers were unavailable. He reached it in less than a minute. Hawk said, " Yes, Plunger."
  
  
  "Suspect number twelve committed suicide approximately fifteen miles, 290 degrees from Bull Hollow, which is approximately eighty-five miles from the last fighting point."
  
  
  "Okay, find it."
  
  
  "There is no communication with the firm or with me. Better communication and cool. We were in my transport. She's gone."
  
  
  "I see."
  
  
  "We have to meet. I have some interesting moments."
  
  
  "Will you be able to do it in the first Fox? Item five?"
  
  
  "I'll see you there."
  
  
  Nick hung up the phone and stood for a moment with his hand on his chin. AX will provide authorities in Acs Hollow with an acceptable explanation for Jeanyee's death. He wondered if anyone would take her body. He should check it out. She was on a different team, but who has the chance to choose?
  
  
  Fox Time and Point Five were simple time and place codes, in this case a private meeting room at the Army and Navy Club.
  
  
  Nick took a taxi within three blocks of the bus station near Highway 7. He got out and walked the rest of the way until the cab was out of sight. It was a sunny, hot day, and the traffic was noisy. Mr. Williams was gone.
  
  
  Three hours later, "Jerry Deming" rolled the Thunderbird into traffic, and mentally marked himself as "real" in today's society. He stopped at a stationery store and bought a regular black marking pencil and a block of notepaper, along with a stack of white envelopes.
  
  
  In his apartment, he went through all the mail, opened a bottle of Saratoga water, and wrote five notes. Everyone was the same - and then ih was five.
  
  
  Around the data that Hawk gave em, he took the likely addresses of Ruth, Susie, Anna, Pong Pong, and Sonny. Probably, since Anna and Sonny have a designation in their files, you can only use this address for mail." He addressed the letter to the envelopes, opening them and securing them with a rubber band.
  
  
  He carefully examined the cards and papers he had taken from the two men in the lobby of the house in Pennsylvania - he thought of it as a " private sports annex." They seemed legitimate members of a cartel that controlled an eagle's share of Middle Eastern oil.
  
  
  Then he turned on the alarm and bench press to sleep until 18: 00. He had one drink at the Washington Hilton, dined on steak, salad, and nut pie at DuBarry's, and went to the Army and Navy Club at ten minutes past seven. Hawk waited for Ego in a comfortably furnished private room - a room that had only been used and used for one month, and then they'd moved to another location.
  
  
  The ego boss was standing by a small unlit fireplace, and he and Nick exchanged a firm handshake and a long look. Nick knew that the indefatigable AX executive must have been doing his usual long day's work - he usually arrived at the office by eight. But he seemed as calm and fresh as a man who'd had a good night's sleep before noon. There were huge reserves in that lean, wiry body.
  
  
  Hawke's brilliant, leathery face focused on Nicky as he made his assessment. The fact that he was holding back his usual banter was a sign of ego perception. "I'm glad you came out all right, Nicholas. Barney and Bill said they heard faint sounds that... uh, target practice. Miss Ahling is with the county coroner.
  
  
  "She chose death. But you can say that I let you choose."
  
  
  "So it wasn't technically a Killmaster kill. I'll let her know. Have you written your report?"
  
  
  “no. Its dead tired. I'll do it tonight. Voting as it was. He was driving along the road that we marked on the map..."
  
  
  He told Hawke exactly what had happened, using rare phrases. When he was done, he handed Hawke the cards and papers he'd taken from the oilmen's wallets.
  
  
  Hawk looked at them bitterly. "It seems that the name of the game is always money. The information that Judas-Bormann is in the hall somewhere in the dirty web is priceless. Can he and Odin's Commander be the same person? "
  
  
  "It's possible. I wonder what they'll do now. They will be puzzled and concerned about Mr. Williams. Will they go looking for ego? "
  
  
  "It's possible. But I think they can blame the British and go on. They're doing something too serious to dismantle their machine. They will ask if Williams was a thief or Ginia's lover. They'll think about stopping anything. they planned it, and then they didn't."
  
  
  Nick nodded. Hawke was logical, as always. He accepted the small brandy Hawk poured from the decanter. The elder then said, " I have some bad news. John Villon had a strange accident. Ego's rifle is unloaded in Ego's jeep and he has an accident. Gawking, of course, went right through him. He's dead."
  
  
  "Those devils!" Nick imagined a neat farmhouse. Leaving a society that has become a trap. "He thought he could handle them. But these listening devices were a gift. They must have grabbed it, thoroughly searched the place, and decided to destroy it."
  
  
  "This is the best rheumatism treatment. Ego sister Martha is associated with the most right-wing outfit in California. She is the queen of the squires of the White Camellia. Have you heard about it?"
  
  
  "No, but I understand her."
  
  
  "We are watching her. Do you have any suggestions for our next step? Do you want to continue playing Deming?"
  
  
  "I would object if you told me not to." It was Hawke's way. He had planned ih following shaggy, but he always asked for advice.
  
  
  Nick took out a stack of letters addressed to the girls and told them, ih. "With your permission, sir, I'll mail it to ih. There must be a weak link between them. I think it will make a strong impression. Let them wonder-who's next?"
  
  
  Hawk dostal, two cigars. Nick took one. Oni ih was lit. The fragrance was strong. Hawk studied him thoughtfully. "Worth the needle, Nick. I'd like her to think about it. You'd better write four more."
  
  
  "More girls?"
  
  
  "No, additional copies of these addresses are for Pong Pong and Anna. We're not entirely sure where they get their mail from." He checked his notebook and wrote quickly, then tore out a page and handed it to Nick. "There won't be any harm if a girl gets more than one. This will weaken the threat if no one gets anything."
  
  
  "You're right."
  
  
  "And now something else. I detect a certain sadness in your usual cheerful attitude. Watch this." He laid out a unique aerial journey over a five-by-seven desert in front of Nick. "Taken at the South Gate Motel.
  
  
  The picture was of Tyson and Ginny Ahling. It was a bad side shot in low light, but the faces were visible. Nick got his ego back. "So she killed Tyson. I was pretty sure."
  
  
  "Feel better?"
  
  
  “yeah. And happy to avenge Tyson. He would have been happy."
  
  
  "I'm glad you did so much research, Nicholas."
  
  
  "This hood trick works fast. The gas must have amazing expansion and deadly properties. Then it seems to quickly dissipate or collapse."
  
  
  "Do a good job on this. Of course, it will be easier when you return the master."
  
  
  "Where will I find her Odin?"
  
  
  "You have her there, and I know you know it." Hawk frowned. Nick said nothing. "We must keep under surveillance anyone who has anything to do with Akito, girls or men in Pennsylvania. You know how hopeless that would be with our employees. But I have a little clue. Many around our friends will go there. to the Chu Dai restaurant. On the shore near Baltimore. You know what? "
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "Eda is great. They are open for four years and make a big profit. It's one around the place with a dozen large banquet halls that cater to weddings, business yahoo's, and the like. The owners are two Chinese, and they leave cleanly. Especially since Congressman Apenninsky has a part of the property."
  
  
  "Chinese again. As part of it, I can smell Chicom's capabilities."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. But why? And where is Judas-Bormann?"
  
  
  "We don't know the ego." Nick listed them slowly: "Selfish, greedy, cruel, ruthless, cunning - and, in my opinion, insane."
  
  
  "But every now and then we look in the mirror and there he is," Hawke added thoughtfully. "What a combination it can be. Posh people use it because they need Caucasian fronts, connections, God knows what."
  
  
  "Do we have a man in Chu Dai?"
  
  
  "We had him there. We let him go out because he didn't find anything. And again, this shortage of staff. It was Colle. He introduced himself as a slightly ragged parking attendant. He didn't find anything, but he said it didn't smell like that."
  
  
  "It was the kitchen." Hawk didn't smile his usual light smile. He was really worried about it. "Colle is a good person. There must be something in it."
  
  
  Hawk said, " The domestic staff is almost entirely Chinese. But we were telephone operators and helped sand and wax the floors. Our boys didn't find anything either."
  
  
  "Should I check it out?"
  
  
  "Whenever you want, Mr. Deming. It's expensive, but we want you to live well."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  For four days and four nights, Nick was Jerry Deming, a nice young man at the right parties. He wrote additional letters and went ih all in the mail. Barney Manun glanced at the former lords ' manor, introducing himself as a callous security guard. It was guarded and deserted.
  
  
  He went to a party in an Annapolis Manger hosted by one of the seven thousand Arab princes who love to rock in the city where the money comes from.
  
  
  Watching the fat smiles and fixed eyes, he decided that if he really was Jerry Deming, he would turn down the offer and get as far away from Washington as possible. After eight weeks, it was boring.
  
  
  Everyone played their part. You weren't really Jerry or John at the dell... you were the oil, the state, or the White House. You never talked about life or interesting things, you chatted about them in the background. Ego's frown changed to a warm and good-natured one when he noticed Suzy Quong.
  
  
  About time! It was ego's first look at one of the girls after Ginny's death. Oni Akito and the others stayed out of sight, or were busy doing other things that Nick Carter as N3 might have learned a lot about. Suzy was part of the cluster around Prince.
  
  
  The guy was a bore. My hobby was blue movies, and staying away from the big rich peninsula between Africa and India for as long as possible. The ego translator explained twice that the snacks for this small celebration were specially flown around Paris. Nick tried ih. They were excellent.
  
  
  Nick walked over to Susie. Caught her eye by a planned accident and introduced himself again. They were dancing. After a small talk, he isolated a posh Chinese woman, caught a couple of drinks, and made it clear the key to a corkscrew. "Susie, I had dates with Ruth Moto and Ginny Aling. I haven't seen her in ages. Oni is abroad, you know?"
  
  
  Of course I remember her, you're the Jerry Ruth who will try to help her connect with her father. "It was too fast." She thinks a lot about you. Her face clouded." But you didn't. Have you heard of Jenny? "
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  "She's dead. She died in an accident in the village."
  
  
  "No way! Not Jenny."
  
  
  “yeah. Last week."
  
  
  "Such a young, sweet girl..."
  
  
  "It was a car or a plane or something like that."
  
  
  Then, after a pause, Nick raised his glass and said softly,"For Jenny."
  
  
  They drank. This is business, the connection of intimacy. He spent the rest of the evening twisting the first rail on a cable. The connecting cable was secured so quickly and easily that he knew the emu had helped at the ee end of the wire. Why not? With Ginia gone, if the other party was still interested in "Jerry Deming's" services, they would instruct the other girls to strengthen the contact.
  
  
  When the doors opened to another large private room with a sideboard, Nick escorted Susie to the observation cell. Although the prince had hired several conference rooms, banquets, and parties, his name must have made it onto the list of idlers. The rooms were crowded, and the drinks and sumptuous buffet were happily devoured by many around Washington whom Nick recognized as outlaws. Good luck to them, he thought, as he watched the neatly dressed couple fill their trays with beef and turkey and serve treats.
  
  
  Shortly after midnight, he discovered that Suzy was planning to take a taxi home... I live near Columbia Heights."
  
  
  She said her cousin had brought her, so she had to leave.
  
  
  Nick wondered if five other girls were attending events today. Each one was brought in by a cousin so that she could contact Jerry Deming. "Let me take you home," he said. "I'm still going to take a little spin. It would be nice to go through mimmo park."
  
  
  "That's nice of you..."
  
  
  And it was nice. She was quite willing to stay in Ego's apartment for a late night. She was glad to take off her ballet slippers and" briefly " settle on a couch with a view of the river.
  
  
  Suzy was as cute and cuddly as one of those cute Chinese dolls you can find in the best stores in San Francisco. All the charm and smooth skin, and shiny black hair, and care. Then the conversation was smooth.
  
  
  And that gave Nick an advantage. Smooth; smooth! He remembered the way Ginny had looked at him and the way the girls had talked while he'd been eavesdropping in the mountains of Pennsylvania. All the girls fit the pattern - they behaved as if they were studying and polishing for a specific purpose, just as the best madams taught their courtesans.
  
  
  It was more subtle than just providing a group of excellent playmates for games like the one at the former lord's house. Hans Geist could handle it, but it went even deeper. Ruth, Gina, Susie, and the others were there... experts? Yes, but the best teachers can be specialists in everything. He thought about it while Suzy exhaled ego chin. Loyal. That's what He decided to push.
  
  
  "Susie, her hotel would like to contact Ginny's cousin. I think I can find her ego somehow. She said he might have a very interesting offer for the oilman."
  
  
  "I think I can contact him. Do you want him to call you?"
  
  
  "Please do it. Or do you think it might be too soon after what happened to her?"
  
  
  "Maybe better. You would be... hema is someone she could help. Almost like one around her last wishes."
  
  
  It was an interesting day. He said: "But are you sure you know the right one? Nah can have many cousins. Its heard about meet your Chinese families. I think he lives in Baltimore."
  
  
  "Yes, that's the one..." She stopped. He hoped it was Susie
  
  
  a good actress knows that she'll catch her cue too quickly and the truth will slip away. "At least, I think so. I can contact him through another person who knows the family well."
  
  
  "I'd really appreciate it," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.
  
  
  He kissed her a lot more, because Suzy made good use of all the evil eye. Having received the task to captivate, she gave her best. Nah didn't have Ginny's skills, but her smaller, bouncy body gave off rapturous vibes, especially her own. Nick fed her compliments like syrup, and she swallowed hard. The agent was a woman.
  
  
  They slept until seven, when he made coffee and brought her to bed, and that was the only time she'd been given the proper tender love. She'd tried to insist on calling a taxi, but he hadn't agreed - protesting that if she insisted, he'd be mad at her.
  
  
  He drove her home and wrote down the address on 13th Street. This is not the address specified in the TOPOR records. He called the information center. At six - thirty, just as he was about to get dressed for what he feared would be a boring evening - Jerry Deming wasn't fun anymore-Hawk called em. Nick turned on the scrambler and said, " Yes, sir."
  
  
  "I wrote down Susie's new address. There are only three girls left. I mean, it's an extracurricular activity."
  
  
  "We played Chinese checkers."
  
  
  "Imagine that. So interesting that you kept this up all night?" Nick refused the bait. Hawk knew that he would call the address immediately, since he assumed that he had left Susie's house in the morning. "I have some news," Hawke continued. "We called the contact number that you gave to Li Villon. God knows why they bothered to check the ego at such a late date, unless we encounter Prussian thoroughness or bureaucratic fallacy. We didn't say anything, and the caller hung up, but not before our counter-call was through the three-on-one area code."
  
  
  "Baltimore."
  
  
  "Very likely. Add that to something else. Ruth and her father went to Baltimore last night. Our man lost ih in the city, but they were heading south of the city. Notice the connection?"
  
  
  "The Restaurant Heard Dai."
  
  
  “yeah. Why don't you go there and have dinner? We think this place is pretty innocent, which is another reason why N3 might find out otherwise. Strange things have happened in the past."
  
  
  "All right. I'll leave immediately, sir."
  
  
  There was more suspicion or intuition in Baltimore than Hawke would have said. The way he put it - we think this place is innocent - was a warning signal if you knew the logical workings of this complex mind.
  
  
  Nick hung up his tuxedo, put on shorts with Pierre in a special pocket and two incendiary caps forming a V at the junction of the ego leg and pelvis, and put on a dark suit. Hugo had a stiletto on his left forearm, and Wilhelmina was tucked under one arm in a specially tailored slant sling. He had four ballpoint pens around which only one could write. The other three were Stewart grenades. He had two lighters, the heavier one with an identification pen on it, which was something he appreciated. Without them, he would still be in the mountains of Pennsylvania, probably buried.
  
  
  At 8: 55, he handed the " Bird "to the attendant in the parking lot of the Chu Dai restaurant, which gave the impression of being much more impressive than the ego of the name. It was a cluster of interconnected buildings on the beach, with giant parking lots and bright neon lights. A large and obsequious Chinese maitre d ' met Ego in a lobby that could have been used for a Broadway theater. "Good evening. Do you have a backup system?"
  
  
  Nick handed Em a five-dollar bill folded in the palm of his hand. "Open here."
  
  
  "Yes, indeed. For one?"
  
  
  "Unless you see someone who could make it two."
  
  
  The Chinese man chuckled. "Not here. An oasis in the city center for this. But first, have lunch with us. Just wait three or four minutes. Please wait here." He gestured grandly at the room, which was decorated in the carnival style of a North African harem with oriental touches. Amid red plush, satin curtains, bold gold tassels, and sumptuous sofas, the color TV glowed and bleated.
  
  
  Nick grimaced. "I'll get some air and smoke."
  
  
  "Sorry, there's nowhere to go for a walk. We had to use all this for parking lots. You can smoke here."
  
  
  "I can rent a couple of meet your private meeting rooms for a business conference and a full-day banquet. Can someone show me around?"
  
  
  "Our conference office closes at five. Meeting for how many people?"
  
  
  Nick picked up a respectable figure in the air.
  
  
  "Wait here, it's open." The Chinese factotum held out a velvet string that caught people behind Nick like fish on a dam. He hurried away. Odin around potential customers, caught by a rope, a hunk with a beautiful woman in a red dress grinned at Nick.
  
  
  "Hey, how did you enter so easily? Need to book a table?"
  
  
  “yeah. Or give the emu an engraved image of Lincoln. He's a collector."
  
  
  "Thanks, buddy."
  
  
  The Chinese came back with another, thinner Chinese, and Nick got the impression that this larger man was made for fat - you wouldn't find hard flesh underneath that plumpness.
  
  
  The big guy said: "This is our Mr. Shinn, Mr...."
  
  
  "Deming. Jerry Deming. The voice is my business card."
  
  
  Shin pulled Nick aside while the maitre d ' continued to guide the fish. A man with a woman in red got candid inside.
  
  
  Mr. Shin showed Nick three beautiful conference rooms that were empty, and four even more impressive ones with ih decorations and parties.
  
  
  Nick asked. He asked to see kitchens (ih was seven), restrooms, cafes, meeting facilities, a cinema room, copiers and looms. Mr. Shin was friendly and attentive, a good salesperson.
  
  
  "Do you have a wine keg, or will we send around Washington...?" Nick left the corkscrew. He could see the damned place both ways - the only place left was the basement.
  
  
  "Sincerely on this path."
  
  
  Shin led Ego down the wide staircase near the kitchen and took out a large key. The basement was large, well-lit, and built around solid concrete blocks. The wine barrel was cool, clean, and full, as if champagne had gone out of style. Nick sighed. 'Wonderful. We just specify what we want in the contract."
  
  
  They went back up the stairs. "Are you satisfied?" Shin asked.
  
  
  "That's fine. Mr. Gold-will call you in a day or two."
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  "Mr. Polly."
  
  
  He led Nick back to the lobby and handed him over to Mr. Big. "Please make sure that Mr. Deming has everything he wants-compliments about your house."
  
  
  "Thank you, Mr. Shinn," Nick said. How about this! If you try to get a free lunch with a job offer, you'll get scammed every time. Play quietly, and buy oni in adobe illustrator. He saw colored pamphlets on a rack in the hall and picked one up. It was a great job in the vicinity of the Bill Bard's supermarket. The photos were amazing. As soon as he opened it, the man he had christened Mr. Big said:: "Come on, please."
  
  
  The meal was sumptuous. He settled on a simple meal of butterfly prawns and Cove steak with tea and a bottle of rose, although there were plenty of continental and Chinese dishes on the menu.
  
  
  Just comfortably stuffed, for his last cup of tea, he read the color booklet, noting every word in it, because Nick Carter was a well-trained and thorough man. He went back and read one paragraph again. Free credit card parking for 1000 cars-Valet parking - Relax marina for guests arriving by boat.
  
  
  He read it again. He didn't notice the panel. He asked for a check. The waiter said, " make it free, sir."
  
  
  Nick tipped em and left. He thanked Mr. Big, boasted about the home cooking, and stepped out into the gentle night.
  
  
  When the attendant came to get the ticket, he said, " I was told I could come in my own boat. Where's the dock? "
  
  
  "No one else uses it. They stopped it."
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "Like I said. Not for that , I think. Thunderbird. Really?"
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  Nick drove slowly down the highway. Chu Dai was built almost above the water, and he couldn't see the marina behind it. He turned around and headed south again. About three hundred yards below the restaurant was a small marina, odina, with a wide bay opening around it. There was only one light on the beach, and all the boats he could see were dark. He parked and walked back.
  
  
  The sign read: MAY-LUNA, MARINA.
  
  
  A wire gate blocked the dock from the shore. Nick took a quick look around, jumped over, and stepped out onto the hull, trying to keep shaggy's egos from sounding like the muffled sound of a drum.
  
  
  Halfway to the pier, he stopped, out of reach of the dim world. There were different types of boats - the kind that can be found where the service in the marina is minimal, but the price is reasonable. There were only three, more than thirty feet long, and one at the end of the panel that didn't look any bigger in the dark ... maybe fifty feet. . Most of the people around them were hidden under tarpaulins. Only one around them showed the saint Nick had quietly approached, thirty-six foot Evinrud, neat but of indeterminate age. The yellow glow of ego docked, and the hatch barely reached the panel.
  
  
  In the middle of the night, he heard a voice saying, " Can I help you?"
  
  
  Nick looked down. The deck light came on, and he saw a thin man in his fifties sitting on a chaise longue. Nen was wearing old brown khaki pants that blended in with the background until Sergey made the ego stand out. Nick waved a hand casually. "I'm looking for a place for an embedded element. Hers, I heard it's a reasonable price here."
  
  
  "Come on in, they have seats. What kind of boat do you have?"
  
  
  Nick walked down the wooden ramp to the floating planks and climbed aboard. The man pointed to the padded seat. "Welcome aboard. Don't always make a big company."
  
  
  "I have a 28-meter Ranger."
  
  
  "Do your job? There is no service here. The saint and the waters are everything."
  
  
  "That's all I want."
  
  
  "Then it could be this place. Its getting a free spot for being his night watch. They have a man in no way when. You can see the ego, from nine to five."
  
  
  "An Italian boy? Her, I thought someone said..."
  
  
  “no. It is owned by a Chinese restaurant on the street. They never bother us. Would you like a beer?"
  
  
  Nick didn't do it, but he wanted to talk. "I love it, it's my turn when I tie her up."
  
  
  An elderly man entered the cabin and returned with a tin can. Nick thanked Ego and flipped the bottle opener, and they raised their ale in greeting and drank.
  
  
  The old man turned off the holy light: "It's good here in the dark. Listen up."
  
  
  The city was suddenly far away. The noise of traffic was drowned out by the slamming of water and the whoosh of a large vessel. Colored lights flickered in the bay. The man sighed. "My name is Boyd. Retired Navy. Do you work in the city?"
  
  
  "Yes, the oil business. Jerry Deming." They touched hands. "Do the owners even use the dock?"
  
  
  "We were once. There was an idea that people could come on their own boats to eat. A hell of a few did. It's much easier to jump in the car." "They own this cruiser after all, but I assume you know a lot about ropes. Don't pay to see too much here."
  
  
  "Its blind and dumb," Nick said. 'So what's the racket? "
  
  
  "A small puntang and maybe a pipe or two. I don't know. Almost every night, some around them go out or come in on a cruiser."
  
  
  "Maybe spies or something?"
  
  
  “no. Her, talked to a friend of mine in naval intelligence. He said they were fine."
  
  
  So much for my competitors, Nick thought. However, as Hawk explained, Shvedov's Daya looked clean. "Do they know that you are a former Navy sailor?"
  
  
  “no. He told them that he worked on a fishing boat in Boston. They swallowed it. They offered me the Night's Watch when I was haggling over the price."
  
  
  Nick gave Boyd a cigar. Boyd let out two more beers. They sat in comfortable silence for a long time. The cruiser and Boyd's comments were interesting. When the second can was over, Nick stood up and shook hands. "Thank you very much. I'll go down and see her, but I can't wait to see her."
  
  
  "I hope you know. Her I can say is a good fellow swimmer. You, Naval?"
  
  
  “no. He served in the army. But I was on & nb a little bit."
  
  
  "The best place."
  
  
  Nick drove the Bird down the road and parked it between two warehouses about a quarter of a mile from the port of Mae Moon Yacht Bar. He walked back and found the cement company dock, from which, hidden in the darkness, he had a perfect view of Boyd's boat and the big cruiser. For example, an hour later, a car stopped at the port of bar, around which three people got out. Nick's excellent eyesight identified ih even in the dim light-Suzy, Pong Pong, and the thin Chinese man he'd seen on the stairs in Pennsylvania, who might have been the man behind the mask in Maryland.
  
  
  They walked down the dock, exchanged words with Boyd, whom he couldn't hear, and boarded the fifty-foot passenger yacht. Nick thought quickly. It was a good lead that he could get. What should I do with it? Get help and learn about your cruise habits? If everyone thought that the team Dai Heard was so legit, they'd probably cover it up. A great idea would be to put a beeper on the ship and track the ego with a copter. He took off his shoes, slid into the water, and swam around the cruiser for a while. The lights were on on nen now, but the engines wouldn't start. He groped for a slot where he could insert a pager. Nothing. She was healthy and clean.
  
  
  He swam to the nearest small boat in the marina, and cut a three-quarter Manila mooring line. He would have preferred nylon, but the manila was solid and didn't look too old. Wrapping the rope around his waist, he climbed the panel ramp and silently climbed aboard the cruiser, in front of the ego cabin windows. He walked around the bay and looked inside. He saw the empty head, the empty master cabin, and then he went to the living room porthole. The three people on board sat quietly, looking like people waiting for someone or something. A thin Chinese man went into the galley and returned with a tray of teapots and cups. Nick grimaced. Opponents who served drinks were always easier to deal with.
  
  
  Ego was alerted by the sounds from the port of bar. Another car pulled up, and four people approached the cruiser. He crawled forward. There was no place to hide in the bow. The ship looked fast, with neat lines. There was only a low hatch in the bow. Nick secured his line to the anchor's spike with a tight knot, and went down the port side into the water. They would never have noticed the line if they hadn't used an anchor or tied up the port side.
  
  
  The water was warm. He was debating whether to swim in the dark. He didn't put the beeper on. In wet clothes, and in weapons, he is not adept at swimming fast. He didn't take pictures, well, because he looked like Arsenal in the nude, and he didn't want to leave anything of value - especially Wilhelmina - on the dark dock.
  
  
  Engines rumbled. He checked the line thoughtfully, got up on two legs, and threw two bows into the bays - on the boatswain's chair. He has done many strange and dangerous things, but this may be too much. Should I buy an EMU by helicopter?
  
  
  Feet stamp on the deck. They let out their sails. They didn't really believe in warming up the engines. Ego the decision was made for him - they were on their way.
  
  
  . The cruiser's engines were running fast, and the water was lashing at the emu's back. He became even more attached overboard,
  
  
  as the speedboat roared across the bay. Every time she sank into the swell, the water lashed at her legs like a rough massage therapist's punches.
  
  
  In the open sea, the cruise ship's throttle was opened even more. It rammed through the night. Nick felt like a fly straddling the nose of a torpedo. What the hell am I doing here, tailor? Jump off? The boat ball and propellers will turn the ego into a hamburger.
  
  
  Every time the boat bounced, the egos were in the bow. He learned to make V-shaped springs of his arms and legs to soften the blows, but it was a constant struggle not to knock out the emu's teeth.
  
  
  He swore. The ego situation was deadly and ridiculous. I'm risking it here! AXE s N3. The roar of a motor down the Chesapeake Bay!
  
  
  
  Chapter X
  
  
  
  The cruiser could actually travel. Nick wondered what the powerful motors in nen were like. Whoever was on the bridge could control the wheel, even if the emu couldn't properly warm up the engines. The boat bounced off the Patapsco River with a clatter, still on course. If an amateur had been at the helm, bobbing his nose from side to side, Nick wasn't sure he could have kept out some of the waves that slammed into him.
  
  
  Somewhere off Pinehurst, they passed a large cargo ship, and as the cruiser crossed after the ship, Nick realized that the ant would feel trapped in an automatic washing machine. Ego drenched and raised high, were and were. The water slammed up on him with such force that some around them hit the emu in the nose, even in the ego's powerful lungs. He choked and gagged, and when he tried to control the water with his breath, he bounced off the fall and the wind blew out of him again.
  
  
  He decided that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was no way out. The blows on ego's back as he hit the hard salt water felt like they could emasculate ego. What equipment-neutered in the line of duty! He tried to climb higher, but the bouncing, vibrating rope threw him off every time he went up a few inches. They passed the wake of the big ship, and he could breathe again. He wanted them to arrive where they were going. He thought, / / they are going out to sea, and there is some weather, it was already there.
  
  
  He tried to evaluate the ih position. It seemed like egos like yo-yos were stuck in the surf, for hours. They should be at the Magoti River by now. He turned his head, trying to see Love Point, or Sandy Point, or the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. All he could see was the rushing water.
  
  
  Ego's hands hurt. Ego chest will be black and blue. It was hell on & nb. He realized that in another hour the emu would have to concentrate to stay conscious - and then the roar of the engines turned to a comfortable hum. Relaxing, he hung from two bays like a drowned otter lifted above a trap.
  
  
  What now? He pushed his hair out of his eyes and turned his neck. A two-masted schooner came idling down the bay, lighting up the running lights, masthead lights, and cabin lights, making a picture that could be painted in the night. No plywood toy, he decided, but a child made for money and the depths of the sea.
  
  
  They were heading to pass mimmo schooner port red, red on red. He clung to the right edge of the drop, hiding out of sight. It wasn't so bad. The rope tied to the left clip struggled with him. The cruiser began to turn slowly and sharply to the left. In a few moments, Nick will appear before the eyes of the big ship, like a roach riding on a pie on a rotating stand by the window.
  
  
  He pulled Hugo out, stretched the line as high as possible, and Stahl waited, watching. Just as the schooner's stern came into view, he cut the line with the sharp blade of his stiletto.
  
  
  He hit the water and took one hard hit on the moving boat as he swam down and out, delivering powerful punches with powerful hands and scissors like never before. He called out to his gorgeous body with intense strength. Down and out, away from the meat grinder propellers moving toward you-sucking you in, reaching for you.
  
  
  He cursed his stupidity for wearing clothes, even if they protected his ego from some of the waves. He fought the weight of his hands and Stewart's devices, which were the thunder of engines and roars, the liquid rumble of propellers hitting ego's eardrums as if to break ih. The water suddenly felt like glue, holding him, fighting him. He felt a pull upward and a pull as the boat's propellers reached for the big gulps of water and unwittingly took the ego along with the liquid, like an ant sucked into the shredders of a garbage chute. He wrestled, throwing punches at the & nb in short, jerky movements, using all the skills-to lean his hands on lunges forward, without wasting energy on tail strokes. Ego's hands ached from the power and speed of ego's punches.
  
  
  The pressure has changed. Thunder echoed behind him, invisible in the dark depths. Instead, the undercurrent suddenly threw Ego aside, pushing away the screws that were behind him!
  
  
  He straightened up and swam upward. Even the ego-trained mighty lungs were exhausted from the strain. He floated up cautiously. He sighed gratefully. The schooner was camouflaged by a cruiser, and he was sure that everyone on both ships should be looking at each other, and not a lump of darkness on the surface that was slowly moving towards the schooner's bow, keeping away from the world. .
  
  
  The larger vessel shut down its engines to stop. He decided it was part of the noise he had heard. Now the cruiser turned, touched down gently. He could hear people talking in Chinese. People were climbing from the smaller ship to the larger one. Obviously, they were going to lie in the drift for a while. Good! They could leave the ego defenseless, perfectly able to swim home, but feeling completely stupid.
  
  
  Nick swam in a wide loop until he was in the bow of the big schooner, then dived under the water and swam toward her, listening to the roar of her big engines. He would have been in trouble if she suddenly moved forward, but he was counting on greetings, conversations, maybe even a meeting time with both ships for conversations or... what? He had to find out what.
  
  
  There were no tarpaulins on the schooner. She used assistive devices. Ego's quick glances only noticed four or five men on her, which would have been enough to deal with her in a pinch, but nah might have a small army on board.
  
  
  He peered over her port side. The cruiser was under guard. In the dim light of the schooner's deck, a man who looked like a sailor lounged on a low metal rail and looked out at the smaller vessel.
  
  
  Noiselessly, Nick rounded the starboard promontory in search of a stray anchor line. Nothing. He stepped back a few yards and looked at the rigging and the breaking of the bowsprit. They were high above him. He could no longer reach them, whereas a cockroach floating in the tub could reach the shower head. He swam to starboard, skirted the widest corner, and found nothing but a smooth, well-groomed hull. He continued aft - and had what he thought was the biggest break of the evening. A yard above ego's head, an aluminum ladder was neatly tied to the schooner with slings. The type is used for many purposes - docking, getting into small boats, swimming, fishing. Obviously, the ship was docked or anchored in a bay, and they didn't feel it necessary to protect the ego to go out to sea. This indicated that meetings between the cruiser and the schooner could be frequent.
  
  
  He dived, jumped up like a porpoise in an aqua show jumping for fish, grabbed the ladder and climbed up, leaning against the side of the ship so that at least some of the water drained from his soaking clothes.
  
  
  Everyone seemed to have gone down, except for the sailor on the other side. Nick boarded. It squelched like a wet sail and spilled water on both sides. Regretfully, he took off his jacket and pants, put his wallet and a few things in the pockets of his special shorts, and threw the clothes into the sea, buttoning them into a dark ball.
  
  
  I stand like a modern-day Tarzan, in shirt, shorts, and socks, with a shoulder holster and a thin knife strapped to his forearm, feeling more exposed - but somehow free. He crept aft across the deck to the cockpit. Near the port, which was locked open but with a screen and drapery blocking his view, he could hear voices. English, Chinese and German! He was only able to catch a few words from the multilingual conversation. He cut the screen and very carefully pulled back the curtain with the tip of Hugo's needle.
  
  
  In the large main cabin or saloon, Akito, Hans Geist, a gnarled body with white hair and a bandaged face, and a thin Chinese man sat at a table set with glasses, bottles, and cups. Nick was studying Chinese. This ego was the first really good look at it. There was a glimmer in Maryland, when Geist called ego Chick, and in Pennsylvania. The man had wary eyes, and sat confidently, like a man who thought he could handle what had happened.
  
  
  Nick listened to the strange chatter until Heyst said, " ... girls are cowardly babies. There can be no connection between the Englishman Williams and the silly notes. Her, I say that we continue our plan."
  
  
  "I saw Williams," Akito said thoughtfully. "He denied the reports that appeared in the media about someone else. But who?"
  
  
  A man with a bandaged face, speaking with a guttural accent. "What do you say, Sun? You're the buyer. Most of all, you win or lose because you need oil."
  
  
  The thin Chinese man smiled briefly. "Don't believe that we are in desperate need of oil. Global markets are saturated with it. In three months, we'll be paying less than seventy dollars a barrel in the Persian Gulf. Which, by the way, gives the imperialists a profit of fifty dollars. . The one around them alone pumps three million barrels a day. You can predict surpluses ."
  
  
  "We know the picture of the world," the bandaged man said softly. "The corkscrew is, do you want oil now?".
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then only one person's cooperation will be required. We will take the ego."
  
  
  "I hope so," Chik Sun replied. "Your plan to achieve cooperation through fear, force, and adultery has not yet worked."
  
  
  "I've been here much longer than you, my other. I've seen what makes men move... or don't move."
  
  
  "I recognize that your experience is huge." Nick got the impression that Sung had big doubts; as a good quarterback, he would have played his part in the play, but he had connections in the office, so watch out. "When will you apply pressure?"
  
  
  "Tomorrow," Heyst said.
  
  
  "Very good. We need to quickly find out if this is effective or not. Will we meet the day after tomorrow in Shenandoah?"
  
  
  "Good idea. More tea?" Heyst poured, looking like a weightlifter caught at a girls ' party. He drank the whiskey himself.
  
  
  Nick thought. Today you can learn more about Windows than about all the bugs and problems in the world. On the phone, no one else reveals anything.
  
  
  The conversation was boring. He let the drapery close and crawled past the two portholes that opened into the same room. He went to the other main cabin, which was open and closed with a chintz screen and curtain. Girls ' voices could be heard through it. He cut the screen and cut a tiny hole in the curtain. Oh, he thought, how mischievous.
  
  
  Fully dressed and prim, Ruth, Moto, Suzy Quong, and Ann Ve Lin sat there. Sitting on the bed, completely naked, were Pong Pong, Lily, Sonya Raniez, and a man named Sammy.
  
  
  Nick noticed that Sammy looked fit and lifeless. The girls were juicy. He scanned the deck from both sides for a moment, so that he could spare a few seconds for scientific observations. Oh, Sonya! You can just flip the camera around any position and you'll have a Playboy clamshell.
  
  
  What she did couldn't be passed on to Playboy. You can't use the ego anywhere except in the steel core of pornography. Sonya focused her attention on Sammy, who was lying with his knees up and a contented expression on his face as Pong Pong watched. Every time Pong Pong said something to Sonya in a low tone that Nick couldn't catch, Sammy's reaction took a few seconds. He smiled with pleasure, jumped, twitched, moaned or gurgled.
  
  
  Training sessions, Nick decided. My mouth felt a little dry. He swallowed hard. Ugh! Who came up with this idea? He told himself not to be so surprised. A true connoisseur always had to learn somewhere. And Pong-Pong was a great teacher - she did Sonny expert lessons.
  
  
  Sammy arched his back and exhaled with pleasure.
  
  
  Pong Pong smiled at emu like a mentor proud of her student. Sonya didn't look up and couldn't speak. She was a capable student.
  
  
  Nick was alerted by the chatter of the Chinese on the deck aft. He looked away from the curtain regretfully. You can always learn. Two sailors were on his side of the ship, probing the water with a long hook. Nick retreated to the spacious cabin. The tailor! They picked up a limp black bundle. Ego thrown away by the Swedes! In the end, Alenka of the ih water did not sink. One of the sailors took the bundle and disappeared down the hatch.
  
  
  He was thinking fast. They can search. A sailor on deck was feeling the water with a hook, hoping to find another find. Nick crossed and climbed the ridges of the mainmast. The schooner was also a crimson cable. Once above the main truck, it gained considerable cover. He curled up around the topmast like a lizard around a tree trunk and watched.
  
  
  It has received its action. Hans Geist and Chick Sun went on deck, accompanied by five sailors. They went in and out of manholes. They examined the cockpit, checked the infirmary lock, gathered at the bow and fought their way to the stern like bush hunters fighting for game. They switched on flashlights and searched the water around the schooner, then around the cruiser, and then searched the smaller vessel. Once or twice the odin around them looked up, but like many seekers, they couldn't believe that ih loot could go up.
  
  
  Ih the comments rang out loud and clear in the still night. "This Swedish team was just junk... Command 1 says no... what about these special pockets?... He sailed away or had a boat... anyway, he's not here right now."
  
  
  Soon Ruth, Susie, Sonya, Ann, Akito, Sammy, and Chick started playing cruiser and flew away. Soon the schooner's engines managed to gather momentum, she turned around and moved down the bay. One man was on watch at the wheel, the other at the bow. Nick looked at the sailor carefully. When his target was above the binnacle, Nick descended the rat trail like a hurrying monkey. When the man looked up, Nick said, "Hi," and knocked him out before the surprise was revealed.
  
  
  He was tempted to throw his ego overboard to save time and reduce the likelihood, but even a Killmaster rating wouldn't justify it. With Hugo, he cut two lengths of fishing line, secured the prisoner, and gagged him with his own shirt.
  
  
  The helmsman might have seen or sensed something wrong. Nick met Ego in the ship's belt, and in three minutes he was bound, as was Ego's mate. Nick thought of Pong Pong. Everything goes so well when you're fully prepared.
  
  
  Things went wrong in the engine room. He descended the iron ladder, pinned Wilhelmina to the astonished Chinaman who was standing at the control panel, and then another man came running down the tiny storage room behind him and grabbed ego by the neck.
  
  
  Nick flipped him over like a rodeo Bronc bouncing on a light rider, but the big man held on tight to the gun arm. Nick was hit in the skull, not the neck, and another mechanic bumped into the deck plates, clutching a large iron tool.
  
  
  Wilhelmina roared. Gawk's eyes bounced off the steel plates fatally. The man swung the tool, and Nick's lightning-fast reflexes caught the man who was clinging to it. It hit the emu in the shoulder, and it screamed and let go.
  
  
  Nick parried the next blow and slapped Wilhelmina across the squire's ear. A moment later, the other one was lying on the floor, where he was moaning.
  
  
  "Hello there!" Hans Geist's voice shouted down the stairs.
  
  
  Nick tossed Wilhelmina up and fired a warning into the dark hole. He jumped into the farthest thread of the compartment, out of reach, and investigated the situation. There are seven or eight people there. He stepped back to the control panel and switched off the engines. The silence was a momentary surprise.
  
  
  He looked up the stairs. I can't get up and they can't get down, but they can drag me out with gas or even burning rags. They'll figure something out. He hurried through the / storeroom cabin, found a watertight door, and locked it. The schooner was built for a small crew and with internal passages for bad weather. If he was moving fast, before they organized...
  
  
  He crept forward and saw the room where he had seen the girls and Sammy. It was empty. As soon as he entered the main cabin, Heyst disappeared through the main hatch, pushing the figure of a bandaged man in front of him. Judas? Bormann?
  
  
  Nick started to follow him, then jumped back as pistol Little appeared and spat bullets up the beautiful wooden staircase. They tore up a lot of fine pieces around the wood and varnish. Nick ran back to the watertight door. No one followed. He went into the engine room and called out, " Hello, up there."
  
  
  Tommy's pistol clattered, and the engine room became a shooting gallery, where steel-jacketed bullets ricocheted like shot in a metal vase. As he lay on the forward side of the barrier, protected by a high top at deck level, he heard several bullets hit the nearest wall. One came down on him with a familiar, deadly whirl-r-r-r-r.
  
  
  Someone shouted. The pistol in front and the submachine gun at the engine room hatch stopped firing. Silence. Water gushed down the hull. Feet pounded on the decks. The ship creaked and echoed with the dozens of sonic sounds that every ship makes when moving in a light sea. He heard more screams, thuds of wood, and kicks. He guessed that they had put the boat on board, either a powered cutter that was slung over the stern, or even on the superstructure. He found the hacksaw, the broken engine wires.
  
  
  He explored his prison below deck. Apparently, the schooner was built on a Dutch or Baltic basis. It was well depicted. The metal was in metric dimensions. The engines were German diesels. At sea, he thought, she combined the reliability of a Gloucester fishing boat with extra speed and comfort. Some around these vessels were designed with a loading hatch near warehouses and engine rooms. He explored amidships for a watertight bulkhead. He found two small cabins that could serve two sailors, and even aft of them he found a cargo hatch on the side, beautifully equipped and secured with six large metal dogs.
  
  
  He went back and locked the engine room hatch. Vote and that's it. He crept up the ramp to the main cabin. Two shots were fired around the gun, which was turned in the ego direction. He quickly went back to the side hatch, undid the lock, and slowly pushed open the metal door.
  
  
  If they put the little one even on this side, or if the one around the people above was an engineer with his head on his shoulders, and they had already put a lock on the side hatch, it would mean that he was still trapped. He looked out. Nothing could be seen but the dark purple water and the lights glowing from above. All the activity was coming from the boat aft. He saw the tip of the ego steering wheel. Oni ego was omitted.
  
  
  Nick reached out, grabbed the gunwale, then the railing, and slid down to the deck like water moccasins sliding over a log. He crept aft, and Hans Geist helped Pong-Pong Lily over the side and down the ladder. He said to someone Nick couldn't see, "Stand back fifty feet and make a circle."
  
  
  Nick had a grudging admiration for the big German. He was sheltering his girlfriend in case Nick opened the kingstons or the schooners blew up. He wondered, hema oni ego, consider yourself. He went to the wheelhouse at dusk and stretched out between them, even the two U-rafts.
  
  
  Heyst returned to the deck, passing within ten feet of Nick. He said something to whoever was watching the hatch in the engine room, and then disappeared in the direction of the main hatch.
  
  
  The guy had the guts. He went down to the ship to scare off the intruder. Surprise!
  
  
  Nick walked noiselessly, barefoot, to the stern. The two Chinese sailors he had tied up were now untied, and they were staring at the exit like cats in a mouse hole. Instead of risking more blows to Vulhelmina's shaft, Nick took out a stiletto around the ego hole. The two of them fell like leaden soldiers being touched by a child's hand.
  
  
  Nick rushed forward, walking over to the man who was guarding the bow. Nick paused as the man silently pressed down on the deck under the stiletto's impact. This success didn't last long. Nick cautioned himself to walk cautiously aft, scanning every passageway and corner of the wheelhouse. It was empty. The other three men were making their way through the interior of the ship with Heyst.
  
  
  Nick realized that he hadn't heard the launch engine. He peeked out from behind the mast. The launch moved thirty feet away from the larger ship. A small sailor cursed and fiddled with the engine while Pong-Pong watched. Nick crouched down, stiletto in one hand and luger in the other. Who had that Tommy gun just now?
  
  
  "Hello!" a voice called from behind him. His feet rattled companionably.
  
  
  Blam! The gun roared, and he was sure he heard the r-r of the bullet as he fell headfirst into the water. He dropped the stiletto, returned Wilhelmina to her holster, and swam back to the launch. He could hear and feel explosions and liquid splashes as bullets tore through the sea above him. He felt surprisingly safe and protected as he swam deep and then rose up towards the bottom of the small boat.
  
  
  He missed it, estimated to be fifty feet away, and surfaced as easily as a frog peeking around a pond. Against the lights of the schooner, three men stood in the stern and watched the water. He realized Heyst's ego was gigantic in size. A crewman on the launch was standing, looking toward the larger ship. Then he turned to stare out into the night, and his gaze settled on Nike. He reached for his waist. Nick realized that he couldn't get to the boat before the man could shoot his ego four times. Wilhelmina came up, righted herself, and the sailor flew back at the sound of the gunshot. Tommy Alexander scribbled a pistol. Nick dived in and put the boat between himself and the men on the schooner.
  
  
  I swam up to the boat and looked sudden death squarely in the face. Pong Pong stuck the small car almost in his teeth, grabbing the gunwale to get up. She was muttering and pulling wildly at the gun with both hands. He reached for his weapon, missed, and fell. He stared openly into her beautiful, angry face.
  
  
  I've got this, he thought, she'll find the safety catch instantly, or she should know enough to cock it if the chamber is empty.
  
  
  Tommy's submachine gun thundered. Pong pong froze and then collapsed on top of Nick, landing a glancing blow on the emu as it fell into the water. Hans Geist roared: "Stop it!" A stream of German curses followed.
  
  
  The night suddenly became very quiet.
  
  
  Nick slid into the water, keeping the boat between him and the schooner. Hans called out excitedly, almost plaintively, " Pong-pong?"
  
  
  Silence. "Pong pong!"
  
  
  Nick swam to the bow of the boat, reached out and grabbed the rope. He fastened the cord around his waist and slowly began to tow the boat, hitting the ego dead weight with all his might. He turned slowly toward the schooner and followed him like a swampy snail.
  
  
  "He's towing a boat," Hans shouted. "There..."
  
  
  Nick dived to the surface to the clatter of the gun, then carefully climbed back up, hidden by the launch pad. The gun thundered again, gnawing at the stern of the small boat, splashing water on either side of Nick.
  
  
  He towed the boat out into the night. I climbed in and turned on my pager-hopefully-and after five minutes of fast work, the engine started up.
  
  
  The boat was slow, designed for heavy work and rough seas, not speed. Nick plugged the five holes he could reach, and sometimes popped out when the water rose in it. As he rounded the headland to the Patapsco River, the dawn broke clear and bright. Hawk, who is piloting a Bell helicopter, reached it as it was heading to the marina of the Riviera Beach yacht bar. They exchanged waves. Forty minutes later, he handed the boat over to a surprised escort and joined Hawk, who had landed in an abandoned parking lot. Hawk said: "It's a wonderful morning for a boat ride."
  
  
  "Okay, I'll ask her," Nick said. "How did you find me?"
  
  
  "Did you use Stewart's last beep? The signal was excellent."
  
  
  “yeah. This thing is effective. Hers, I suppose, especially in & nb. But you don't fly every morning."
  
  
  Hawk took out two strong cigars and handed one to Nick. "From time to time, you meet a very smart city dweller. You've met one. By the name of Boyd. Former warrant officer of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He called the Navy. We called the FBI. They called me. She got a call from Boyd, who described Jerry Deming, an oilman who worked at the doc Hotel in the area. I thought I should look for you if you want to see me."
  
  
  "And Boyd mentioned the mysterious cruiser that sails from the port of Bar Chu Dai, huh?"
  
  
  "Well, yes," Hawk admitted cheerfully. "I couldn't imagine you missing out on the chance to sail her."
  
  
  "It was some kind of journey. They'll be cleaning up the wreckage for a long time yet. We're out..."
  
  
  He detailed the events Hawke had fueled at Mountain Road Airport, and on a clear morning they had taken off for the TOPOR hangars over Annapolis. When Nick finished speaking, Hawk asked, " What's the matter?": "Any ideas, Nicholas?"
  
  
  "I'll try one. The territory of China, the territory that needs more oil. Top quality and now. They can usually buy whatever they want, but that's not the same as the Saudis or someone around others being willing to load ih as fast as they ship tankers. Maybe it's a thin Chinese key. Let's say he created an organization in Washington using people like Judas and Geist, who are experts in relentless pressure. They have girls for information agents and to reward men who go for it. Once notification of the death hood is dispensed with, the man doesn't have much choice. Fun and games or a quick death, and they don't cheat."
  
  
  "You've hit the target, Nick. Adam Reed at Saudico was told to load Chinese tankers in the Gulf or something."
  
  
  "We have enough weight to stop it."
  
  
  "Yes, although some of them are acting rebelliously through the Arabs. Whatever it is for us, we call the turns there. But that doesn't help Adam Reed when he was told to sell or die."
  
  
  "Did he impress you?"
  
  
  "He's impressed. They explained in detail. He knows about Tyson, and while he's not an earthquake, you can't blame ego for making a fuss about clothes that engage kills almost as examples."
  
  
  "Do we have enough to get close?"
  
  
  "Where is Judas? What about Chick Sun and Geist? They will tell the emu that even if the people we know disappear, other egos will catch on."
  
  
  "Orders?" Nick asked softly.
  
  
  Hawk spoke to Rivnenskaya for about five minutes.
  
  
  The AX driver dropped off Jerry Deming, dressed in borrowed mechanic's overalls, outside Ego's apartment at eleven. He wrote notes to three girls - well, there were four of them. And then there were three ihs. He sent the first set by special delivery, and the second - by regular mail. Bill, Rod, and Barney Manun were supposed to pick up any two girls other than Ruth, not when or in the evening, depending on the time.
  
  
  Nick came back and slept for eight hours. The phone is the only ego transmission in twilight. He put on his scrambler. Hawk said, " We have Susie and Ann. Her, I hope they had the opportunity to disturb the other other."
  
  
  "Is Sonya the last?"
  
  
  "We didn't have a chance to win, but she was watching. Okay, pick her up tomorrow. But no sign of Geist, Sung, or Judas. The schooner returned to the dock. Allegedly owned by a Taiwanese. British citizen. Leaving for Europe. Next week."
  
  
  "Continue as ordered?"
  
  
  "Yes. Good luck."
  
  
  Nick wrote another note - and another. He went to Ruth Moto's ego.
  
  
  Shortly before noon the next day, he called Ay, contacting her after she was transferred to Akito's office. She seemed tense as she declined his happy invitation to lunch. " I'm... very busy, Jerry. Please call me again."
  
  
  "It's not all fun," he said, " though according to Washington her most hotel would be with you to have lunch with you. He decided to quit his job. There must be a way to make money faster and easier. Is your father still interested? "
  
  
  There was a pause. She said: "Please wait." When she returned to the phone, she still looked worried, almost scared. "He wants to see you. In a day or two."
  
  
  "Well, I have a couple other points of view, Ruth. Don't forget, I know where to get the oil. And how to buy it without restrictions, I had a feeling that he might be interested."
  
  
  A long pause. Finally, she came back. "In that case, can you meet us for a cocktail around five?"
  
  
  "I'm looking for a job, honey. Meet me anytime, anywhere."
  
  
  "In Remarco. You know?"
  
  
  "Of course. I'll be there."
  
  
  When Nick met Ruth on Remarco, looking jovial in an Italian-cut gray shark skin and a guardsman's tie, she was alone. Yes, the harsh partner who acts as a greeter has taken the ego to his odin around the many small alcoves of this hidden, popular date. She looked worried.
  
  
  Nick grinned broadly, then walked over to her and put his arm around her. It was tough. "Hello, Ruthie. Its missed you. Ready for a new adventure tonight?"
  
  
  He felt her shudder. "Hi there... Jerry. It's good to see you." She took a sip of water. "No, its tired."
  
  
  "Oh..." He held up a finger. "I know the cure." He talked to the waiter. "Two martinis. Usual. He's like ih invented Mr. Martini."
  
  
  Ruth pulled out a cigarette. Nick pulled out one of the packs and lit it. "Dad couldn't. We have... we have an important matter to attend to."
  
  
  "Problems?"
  
  
  “yeah. Unexpected."
  
  
  He looked at nah. It was a great dish! Royal-sized sweets imported from Norway and hand-crafted materials from Japan. He chuckled. She looked at him. "What is it?"
  
  
  "I was just thinking how beautiful you are." He spoke slowly and softly. "I've been watching a lot of girls lately - to see if there's even one with your wonderful body and exotic coloring. We have one. You know you can be hema anywhere,
  
  
  I believe her. Model. Movie or television actress. You really do look like the best woman in the world can look. The best from the East and West ".
  
  
  She blushed a little. He thought: "There is nothing better than a series of warm compliments to distract a woman from trouble."
  
  
  "Thank you. You're a real man yourself, Jerry. Papal is really interesting. He wants you to come to him tomorrow."
  
  
  Nick looked very disappointed.
  
  
  "Don't look so sad. I think he really has an idea for you."
  
  
  I'll bet there is one, Nick mused. I wonder if he's really her father. And did he know anything about Jerry Deming?
  
  
  The martinis arrived. Nick continued the affectionate conversation, full of heartfelt flattery and great opportunities for Ruth. He ordered two more glasses. Then two more. She protested , " but drank." Her stiffness eased. She laughed at his jokes. As time went on, they picked out a pair of excellent Remarko club steaks. They had cognac and coffee. They were dancing. As he laid the beautiful body out on the floor, Nick thought: "I do not know how she feels right now, but my mood has improved. He pulled her to him. She's relaxed. The eyes followed them. A bright pair formed around them.
  
  
  Nick glanced at his watch. 9:52. Now, he thought, there were several ways to deal with it. If I do it the way I like it, then most Bonellis will understand this and make an odin around their snarky comments. Ruth's long, warm side was pressed against Ego's, and her slender fingers were tracing exciting patterns on his palm under the table. My way, he decided. Hawk still likes to tease me
  
  
  They entered "Jerry Deming's" apartment at 10: 46 a.m., drinking whiskey and watching the river lights while Billy Fair's music provided the backdrop. He said hey, how easy it is for him to fall in love with a girl so beautiful, so exotic, so intriguing. Playfulness turned to passion, and he noted that it was already midnight when he hung up her dress and his suit "to keep them neat."
  
  
  Her ability to make love electrified him. Call it a stress reliever, pay tribute to Martini by remembering that she was thoroughly trained to charm men - it was still the greatest. He told me about it at 2am.
  
  
  Her lips were wet against the ego of her ear, and her breath was a rich, hot combination of sweet passion, alcohol, and a fleshy aphrodisiac feminine scent. She replied: "Thank you, dear. You make me very happy. And - you haven't liked it all yet. I know her a lot better" - she chuckled - " deliciously strange things."
  
  
  "A vote that upsets me," he replied. "I really found you, and I won't see you again for a few weeks. Maybe for months."
  
  
  "What is it?" She lifted her face, and her skin shone with a moist, hot, ruddy glow in the dim lamplight. "Where are you going? You'll see your dad tomorrow."
  
  
  “no. I didn't want to tell you. I'm leaving for New York at ten. I'll get on a plane to London, and then maybe to Riyadh."
  
  
  "The oil business?"
  
  
  “yeah. It's something he should go to the hotel and talk to Akito about, but I don't think that's what he's talking about right now. When they pressed me that time, Saudico and the Japanese concession - you're familiar with the deal - didn't get all that. Saudi Arabia is three times the size of Texas, with reserves of maybe 170 billion barrels. Floating on oil. The big wheels block Feisal, but there are five thousand princes. I have connections. I don't know where to extract a few million barrels a month. The profit on it is said to be three million dollars. A third for me. I can't miss this deal... "
  
  
  The glittering black eyes opened wide against their own egos. "You didn't tell me all that."
  
  
  "You didn't ask."
  
  
  "Maybe... maybe Dad could have made a better deal with you than the one you're going for." He wants oil."
  
  
  "He can buy whatever he wants on the Japanese concession. Unless-it sells to the reds?"
  
  
  She nodded slowly. "Do you mind?"
  
  
  He laughed. "Why not? Everyone does that."
  
  
  "Can I call her Papski?"
  
  
  "Let's go. I'd rather leave it in the family, dear." He kissed her. Three minutes passed. To hell with the hood of ego death and work-it would have been a lot more fun just - " he carefully passed out. "Make a call. We don't have much time."
  
  
  He dressed, his sharp ears catching up on her side of the conversation. She told the pope all about Jerry Deming's wonderful connections and those millions. Nick put two bottles of good whiskey in a leather bag.
  
  
  An hour later, she led Ego down an alley near Rockville. The lights were on in a medium-sized industrial and commercial building. The sign above the entrance read MARVIN IMPORT-EXPORT. As Nick went down the hall, he saw another small sign that was usually very unobtrusive: Walter's. Ving, Vice President of Confederation Oil. He was carrying a leather bag.
  
  
  Akito was waiting for ih in his personal account. He looked like an overworked businessman, now partially unmasked. Nick thought he knew why. Then hello and summarizing Ruth's explanation Akito said: "I know I don't have much time, but maybe I can make your trip to the Middle East unnecessary. We have tankers. We're in favor of a return at seventy-four dollars a barrel. anything that can be downloaded for at least a year ."
  
  
  "Cash?"
  
  
  "Of course. Any currency.
  
  
  Any split or composition you want. You'll see what I'm suggesting, Mr. Deming. You have full control over your profits. And thus your fate ."
  
  
  Nick picked up the whiskey bag and set two bottles on a chair. Akito smiled broadly. "We'll seal the deal with a drink, huh?"
  
  
  Nick leaned back and unbuttoned his coat. "If you still don't want to try Adam of the Apennines again."
  
  
  Akito's hard, dry face froze. He looked like a Buddha below zero.
  
  
  Ruth gasped, stared at Nick in horror, then turned to Akito. "I swear I didn't know..."
  
  
  Akito was silent, slapping her hand away. "So it was you. In Pennsylvania. By boat. Notes for girls".
  
  
  "It was hers. Don't move that hand over your legs again. Stay perfectly still. I can execute you in an instant. And your daughter might get hurt. By the way, is she your daughter?"
  
  
  “no. Girls... participants".
  
  
  "Recruited for a long-term plan. I can vouch for ih training."
  
  
  "Don't feel sorry for ih. Where they came from, they may never have had a full meal. Are we their..."
  
  
  Wilhelmina appeared, flicking Nick's wrist, and Akito fell silent. The frozen expression didn't change. Nick said, " As you say, her guess is that you pressed the button under your foot. I hope this is for Sung, Geist, and others. I want her too, ih."
  
  
  "You want ih. You said execute. Who are you?"
  
  
  "As you might have guessed. Љ3 by AX. One of the three murderers."
  
  
  "Barbarian".
  
  
  "Like stabbing a helpless prisoner in the neck with a sword?"
  
  
  Akito's features faded for the first time. The door opened. Chik Sung was a step into the room, looking at Akito before he saw the Luger. He fell forward with the quick grace of a judo expert as Akito's hands disappeared from view under the table.
  
  
  Nick advertises the first bullet in the exact spot where the Luger was aimed - just below the triangle of white handkerchief in Akito's breast pocket. Ego's second shot caught Sung in midair, four feet from the muzzle. The Chinaman had a blue revolver raised in his hand when Wilhelmina's shot hit him open in the fold dollar. As he fell, his target hit Nick's leg. He rolled onto his back. Nick took the revolver and pushed Akito out of the chair.
  
  
  The elderly man's body fell sideways from the chair. Nick pointed out that there is no longer a threat here, but you are still alive, not taking anything for granted. Ruth screamed in a high-pitched crash of glass that cut her eardrums like a cold knife in the small room. She ran out the door, still screaming.
  
  
  He grabbed two bottles of whiskey and explosives from a chair and followed her. She ran down the hallway to the back of the building and into the storage area, where Nick was twelve feet away.
  
  
  "Hold on," he bellowed. She ran down the hall between the stacked boxes. He holstered Wilhelmina and grabbed her as she burst into the open. A shirtless man jumped down from the back of a road train. The man shouted, "What...?" as the three collided.
  
  
  It was Hans Geist, and the ego and mind and body reacted quickly. He pushed Ruth away and punched Nick in the chest. The person on AX could not escape the crushing hi-ego impulse of joining the ego openly in him. Bottles of scotch tape burst on the concrete in the rain around the glass and liquid.
  
  
  "No smoking," Nick said, swinging Geist's gun up and down, then falling to the floor as the big man opened his arms and closed ih around him. Nick knew what it was like to surprise a grizzly bear. He was crushed, crushed, and smashed against the cement. He couldn't get in touch with Wilhelmina or Hugo. Geist was there. Nick turned to block a knee to the ego balls. I slammed my skull into a man's face when I felt the teeth bite the ego's neck. This guy played fair.
  
  
  They rolled up the glass and whiskey, turning the ih into a greasier brown substance that quickly covered the floor. Nick pushed at his elbows, squared his chest and shoulders, and finally locked his hands together and shot through them-pushing, curious, moving all the tendons and muscles and revealing the full power of his great strength.
  
  
  Geist was a powerful man, but when the muscles of the torso and shoulders fight against the strength of the arms, there is no competition. Ego's hands flew up, and Nick's clasped hands flew up. Before he could close ih again, Nick's lightning-fast reflexes solved the problem. He sliced the side of his iron fist through Heyst's Adam's apple, a clean blow that barely touched the man's chin. Heyst collapsed.
  
  
  Nick quickly searched the rest of the small warehouse, found it deserted, and cautiously approached the office area. Ruth was gone - he hoped she didn't pull the gun out from under Akito's chair and try. Ego's keen ears picked up movement outside the door in the hallway. Sammy entered the large room, accompanied by a special medium-sized box with an rta cigarette tucked in the corner. Nick wondered if he was a slave to nicotine or if he watched old gangster movies on TV. Sammy went down the hall with the boxes, bent over the groaning Heyst, smelling of broken glass and whiskey.
  
  
  Staying as far away as he could, Nick called softly in the hallway.:
  
  
  "Sammy. Drop the machine gun or you're dead."
  
  
  Sammy didn't do it. Sammy fired wildly at the automatic pistol and dropped the cigarette into the brown mass on the floor, and Sammy died. Nick retreated twenty feet along the cardboard boxes, blown away by the force of the explosion, holding his mouth to protect his eardrums. The warehouse was a mass of brownish smoke.
  
  
  Nick staggered down the office corridor for a moment. Ugh! This Stewart! Heads were ringing. He wasn't too overwhelmed to carefully check every room on the way to Akito's office. He entered the room cautiously, and Wilhelmina focused her attention on Ruth, who was sitting quietly at the table, both of her hands visible and empty. She was crying.
  
  
  Even with shock and horror smearing her bold features, with tears streaming down her cheeks, shaking and gasping as if she might throw up at any moment-Nick thought, " She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
  
  
  He said: "Relax, Ruth. He wasn't your father anyway. And it's not a thread of peace."
  
  
  She gasped for breath. Her target nodded furiously. Hey, there wasn't enough air sampling. "I don't care. We... you..."
  
  
  Ee the target fell on a hard tree and then tilted to one side. The beautiful body turned into a rag doll on soft cloth.
  
  
  Nick leaned forward, sniffed, and swore. Cyanide, most likely. He holstered Wilhelmina and ran a hand through her smooth, smooth hair. And then, there was nothing.
  
  
  We're such fools. All of us. He picks up the phone and dials Hawke's number.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Amsterdam
  
  
  
  
  
  NICK CARTER
  
  
  Amsterdam
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original name: Amsterdam
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  Nick enjoyed watching Helmi de Boer. Her appearance was stimulating. She really attracted attention, one of the "beauties". All eyes were on her as she passed through John F. Kennedy International Airport, NY and continued to follow her as she made her way to the KLM DC-9. Nothing but admiration for her exuberance, white linen suit, and shiny leather briefcase.
  
  
  As he followed her, Nick heard the man who had almost turned his neck to see her short skirt mutter, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.": "Who is it?"
  
  
  "A Swedish movie star?" the flight attendant suggested. She checked Nick's ticket. "Mr. Norman Kent." First class. Thanks Helmi sat down exactly where Nick was waiting for her. So he sat down next to her and fiddled with the flight attendant for a bit so it wouldn't seem too random. When he reached his seat, he gave Helmy a boyish grin. It was normal for a tall, tanned young man to enjoy such happiness. He said softly: "Good afternoon."
  
  
  A smile of soft pink lips was the answer. Her long, slender fingers twined nervously. From the moment he'd followed her out of Manson's house, she'd been tense, anxious, but not wary either. Nerves, Nick thought.
  
  
  He shoved his Mark Cross suitcase under the seat and got in, very light and very neat for such a tall man, without bumping into the girl.
  
  
  She showed emu three-quarters of her luscious, glossy bamboo-colored hair, pretending to be interested in the view from the porthole. He had a special flair for such moods - she was not hostile, but simply overwhelmed with concern.
  
  
  The seats were taken. The door slammed shut with a soft aluminum thud. The speakers began to chatter in three languages. Nick deftly buckled her seat belt without disturbing her. She fiddled with hers a little. The jet engines whined menacingly. The big plane shuddered as it waddled toward the runway, and it laughed and grunted as the crew went through a list of security checks.
  
  
  Helmy's knuckles were white on the armrests. She turned her head slowly: blue, clear, frightened eyes appeared next to Nick's wide-open serre-steel eyes. He saw creamy skin, reddened lips, disbelief and fear.
  
  
  He chuckled, knowing how innocent he might look. "In the dell itself," he said. "I won't hurt you. Of course, I could wait until the drinks are served - this is the usual time to approach you. But I can see by your hands that you're not very comfortable." Her slender fingers relaxed and linked guiltily as she clasped her hands tightly together.
  
  
  "Is this your first flight?"
  
  
  'No, no. Its ok, but thanks. She added a gentle sweet smile.
  
  
  Still in the soft, hopeful tone of a confessor, Nick continued: "I wish she knew you well enough to hold your hands..." The blue eyes widened-a warning twinkle.'... to calm you down. But also for my own enjoyment. My mother told me not to do this until you were introduced. My mother was very fond of etiquette. In Boston, we're usually very precise about this...
  
  
  The blue glare was gone. She listened. Now there was a shadow of interest. Nick sighed and shook his head sadly. "Then Dad fell overboard during a visit to the Kohasset Sailing Club. Close to the finish line. Be honest with the club ."
  
  
  Her perfect brows drew together over her worried eyes , making them look a little less anxious. But this is also possible. I have the records; I saw them on the boats. Was he injured? she asked.
  
  
  'Oh no. But Dad is a stubborn man. He was still holding his bottle when he surfaced and tried to throw it back on board."
  
  
  She laughed. Her hands relaxed with that smile.
  
  
  Dejected, Nick laughed with her. "And he missed."
  
  
  She took a deep breath and let it out again. Nick smelled sweet milk mixed with gin and other intriguing perfumes. He lifted his shoulders. "That's why I can't hold your hand until we're introduced. My name is Norman Kent.
  
  
  Her smile took center stage in the Sunday edition of the New York Times. "My name is Helmi de Boer. You don't have to hold my hand anymore. I feel better now. Anyway, thank you, Mr. Kent. Are you a psychologist?
  
  
  "A simple businessman". Jet engines roared. Nick imagined the four throttles now moving slowly forward, remembered the complex procedure before and during takeoff, thought about the statistics-and felt himself grabbing the seat backs. Helmy's knuckles are white again.
  
  
  "There is a story about two men in a similar airliner," he said. " The man is completely relaxed and takes a little nap. He's just a regular passenger. Nothing bothers the ego. The other is sweating, clutching the chair and trying to breathe, but he can't. Do you know who it is?
  
  
  The plane was shaking. Throughout the hotel, and raced mimmo windows next to Helmi. Nick's life was pinned to the ego's spine. She looked at him. 'I do not know.'
  
  
  "This man is a pilot."
  
  
  She thought for a moment, then burst out laughing happily. In a moment of delicious intimacy, the blonde target touched ego's shoulder. The plane lurched, hit, and lifted off the ground with a slow climb that seemed to stop for a moment and then continue.
  
  
  The forbidding lights went out. The passengers unbuckled their seat belts. "Mr. Kent," Helmy said, " did you know that an airliner is a machine that, in theory, can't fly?"
  
  
  "No," Nick lied. He admired her response. He wondered how much she was aware that she was in trouble. "Let's take a sip of the cocktail."
  
  
  In Helmy, Nick found delightful company. She served the cocktails like Mr. Kent, and after three of them, her nervousness disappeared. They ate delicious Dutch food, talked, read, and dreamed. When they turned off the reading lights and were about to take a nap, as an example of the children of a profligate welfare society, she leaned her head against him and whispered: "Now I want to hold your hand."
  
  
  It was a time of mutual warmth, a period of recuperation, two hours later, of pretending that the world wasn't what it was.
  
  
  What did she know? Nick thought. And was what she knew the reason for her initial nervousness? Working for Manson's, a prestigious jewelry house that constantly flies between its offices in New York and Amsterdam, AX was pretty sure that many of the couriers around them were part of an extraordinarily effective spy device. Some were carefully examined, but nothing was found on them. How would Helmy's nerves react if she knew that Nick Carter, N3 by AX, aka Norman Kent, Almazov's buyer for Bard Galleries, hadn't met her by accident?
  
  
  Her warm hand tingled with ego. Was it dangerous? It took AX agent Herb Whitlock several years to eventually establish the Manson location as the main center of the spy apparatus. Soon after, this ego was fished out of the canals of Amsterdam. It was reported as an accident. Herb repeatedly claimed that Manson's had developed a system so reliable and simple that the company was essentially an intelligence broker: a go-between for a professional spy. Herb bought photocopies-for $ 2,000-of the U.S. Navy's ballistic weapons system, which displayed a diagram of the new geoballistic computer.
  
  
  Nick sniffed Helmi's delicious scent. In rheumatism ee muttered corkscrew he said: "I'm just a fan of Almazov. There will probably be some doubt ."
  
  
  "When a person says that, they are building one of the best defenses for business in the world. Do you know the four-K rule?
  
  
  "Color, purity, cracks and carats. I need connections, as well as tips on canyons, rare stones, and reliable wholesalers. We have several rich clients because we adhere to very high ethical standards. You can put our trading under the biggest microscope, and it will prove reliable and flawless when we say so ."
  
  
  "Well, her, I work for Manson. Its something I know about trading ." She was chatting about the jewelry mail business being revealed. Ego's wonderful memory remembered everything she said. Norman Street's Dead was the first Nick Carter, a detective who introduced many new techniques to what he called law enforcement. The transmitter in an olive martini glass would have pleased him, but it didn't surprise him. He developed the telex in a pocket watch. You turned it on by pressing the sensor in the heel of your shoe to the ground.
  
  
  Nicholas Huntington III Carter Stahl number three, in AX-the" unknown service " of the United States, so secret that the CIA was frightened when this name was mentioned again in the newspaper. He was one of the four Killmasters with the right to kill, and his ego was unquestioningly supportive. Egos could be fired, but not prosecuted. For some, this was a rather burdensome burden, but Nick maintained the physical form of a professional athlete. Em liked that.
  
  
  He thought a lot about Manson's spy ring. It turned out beautifully. A diagram of the guidance of a PEAPOD missile with six nuclear warheads, "sold" to a well-known amateur spy in Huntsville, Alabama, reached Moscow nine days later. An AX agent bought a copy of it, and it was perfect to the last detail, complete, at eight pages. This happened despite the fact that 16 US agencies were warned about the need to monitor, monitor and prevent. As a security test, it was a failure. Three Manson couriers who traveled back and forth during those nine days "coincidentally" had to go through a thorough background check, but nothing was found.
  
  
  Now for Helmy, he thought sleepily. Involved or innocent? And if she's involved, how does it happen?
  
  
  "...the entire diamond market is artificial, " Helmi said. "So if they have to survive a huge find, it's impossible to control it. Then all prices will plummet."
  
  
  Nick sighed. "That's exactly what scares me right now. You can not only lose face in trading, but also go broke for a moment of illness. If you have invested a lot in diamonds, then pfft. Then what you paid a million for will only be worth half."
  
  
  'Or a third. The market can fall so far in one go. Then it falls lower and lower, just as it once did with silver ."
  
  
  "I understand that you will have to buy carefully."
  
  
  "Do you have any performances?"
  
  
  "Yes, several houses."
  
  
  "And for the Mansons, kids?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Its just as I thought. We are not really wholesalers on the dell, although like all larger houses, we do sell in large batches at the same time. You should meet our director, Philip van der Laan. He knows more than anyone outside the cartels."
  
  
  "Is he in Amsterdam?"
  
  
  'Yes. Today, to. He practically commutes back and forth between Amsterdam and New York."
  
  
  "Just introduce me to him once, Helmy. Maybe we can still do business. Also, I could use you as the receipts I should save to show me a little bit of the city. How about you join me today, not when? Then I'll buy you lunch."
  
  
  "With pleasure. Have you also thought about sex?
  
  
  Nick blinked. This startling remark took the ego momentarily out of balance. He wasn't used to it. Your ego reflexes should be on edge. "Not until you say so. But it's still worth a try ."
  
  
  "If all goes well. With common sense and experience ."
  
  
  "And, of course, talent. It's like a nice drink or a bottle of good wine. You have to start somewhere. After that, you need to make sure that you don't mess up the ego again. And if you don't know everything, ask or read it in a book."
  
  
  "I think a lot of people would be much happier if they were completely honest with each other. I mean - you can count on a good day or a good job, but it seems like you still can't count on good sex these days. Although things are different in Amsterdam these days. Could it be because of our Puritanical upbringing, or is it still part of the Victorian heritage? I don't know.'
  
  
  "Well, over the last few years, we've become a little more free with each other. I love life a little bit myself, and since sex is a part of life, I like it too. Just like you love skiing, Dutch beer or Picasso etching." Listening to this, he kindly kept his eyes on nah, wondering if she was joking with him. Her bright blue eyes shone with innocence. Her pretty face looked innocent, like an angel on a Christmas card.
  
  
  She nodded. "I thought you thought so. You're a man. Many around these Americans are quiet misers. They eat, throw back the glass, get excited and caress. Yes, and they wonder why American women are so repulsed by sex. By sex, I don't just mean jumping in the trash. I mean a good relationship. You are good friends and you can talk to each other. When you finally feel the need to do it in a certain way, you can at least talk about it. When the time finally comes, then at least you'll have something else to do with your friend."
  
  
  'Where will we meet?'
  
  
  'Oi.' She took out a Manson's house business card around her purse and wrote something on the back. 'At three o'clock. I won't be home until after lunch. As soon as we land, I'll visit her with Philippe van der Laan. Do you have anyone who can meet you?
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "Then come with me." With it, you can start with additional contacts. He will definitely help you. This is an interesting person. Look, this is the new Schiphol airfield. Big, isn't it?
  
  
  Nick obediently looked out the window and agreed that it was big and impressive.
  
  
  In the distance, he saw four large runways, a control tower, and buildings about ten stories high. Another human pasture for winged steeds.
  
  
  "It's four meters below sea level," Helmi said. "Thirty-two regular services use ego. You should see the ih information system and Tapis roulant, roller tracks. Look over there, lye. Farmers here are very concerned about this. Well, not just farmers. They call this track there a "bulldozer". It's because of the terrible noise that all these people have to make." In her enthusiasm as a storyteller, she leaned over him. Her breasts were hard. Her hair smelled. "Ah, forgive me. Maybe you already know all this. Have you ever been to new Schiphol?
  
  
  "No, it was only old Schiphol. Many years ago. It's the first time I've deviated from my usual route through London and Paris ."
  
  
  "The old Schiphol hall is three kilometers away. Today it is a cargo airport.
  
  
  "You're the perfect guy, Helmy. I also noticed that you are very fond of Holland."
  
  
  She gave a small laugh. "Mr. van der Laan says I'm still such a stubborn Dutchman. My parents came from Hilversum, which is thirty kilometers from Amsterdam ."
  
  
  "So you've found the right job. One that allows you to visit your old homeland from time to time."
  
  
  'Yes. It wasn't that hard because I already knew the language."
  
  
  "Are you happy with this?"
  
  
  She raised her head until her beautiful lips reached Ego's ear. "You were well-equipped for me. I didn't feel well. I think I'm overworked. I feel much better now. If you fly a lot, you suffer from a time difference. Sometimes we have two full ten-hour workdays tied together. She'd like you to meet Phil. It can help you bypass many traps."
  
  
  It was nice. She probably really believed it. Nick patted her hand. "I was lucky enough to be sitting here with you. You're awfully beautiful, Helmy. You are beyond human. Or am I saying something wrong? You're also smart. This means that you really feel something for people. This is the opposite, for example, of a scientist who has chosen only nuclear bombs for his career."
  
  
  "That's the sweetest and most complex compliment I've ever received, Norman. I think we should go now."
  
  
  They went through the formalities and found their luggage. Helmy led Ego over to a stocky young math major who was pulling the Mercedes into the driveway of a building under construction. "Our secret credit card," Helmy said. "Hello, Cobus."
  
  
  "Hello," the young man said. He walked over to them and picked up ih's heavy luggage.
  
  
  Then this happened. A heart-rending, harsh sound that Nick knew all too well. He pushed Helmy into the backseat of the car. 'What was that?'What is it?' she asked.
  
  
  If you've never heard the crackle of a rattlesnake, the hissing burst of an artillery shell, or the nasty whoosh of a passing mimmo bullet, you'll just get scared the first time. But if you know what such a sound means, you are immediately alert and start acting. Gawk just passed mimmo ih value attack skill. Nick didn't hear the shot. The weapons were well muffled, possibly by non-automatic weapons. Maybe the sniper was just reloading his weapon.
  
  
  "It was gawking," he told Helmy and Cobus. They probably already knew or guessed. "Get out of here. Stop and wait for her to come back. In any case, don't stay here."
  
  
  He turned and ran toward the gray stone moan of a house under construction. He jumped over the obstacle and took the stairs two or three steps at a time. In front of the long building, groups of workers were installing windows. They didn't even look at him as he ducked through the doorway into the building. The room was huge, full of dust, smelling of lime and hardening concrete. Far to the right, two men were working with plaster trowels against a wall. Not them, Nick decided. Ih hands were white with wet dust.
  
  
  With long, light strides, he ran up the stairs. There were four stationary escalators nearby. Assassins and tall empty buildings. Maybe the killer hasn't seen the ego yet. If he had seen it, he would have run now. So we are looking for a running person. On the floor above, something fell with a crash. When Nick reached both ends of the stairs - it was actually two flights of stairs in Della Street, since the first-floor ceiling was so high - a cascade of gray cement planks fell through a crack in the floor. Two men were standing nearby, gesturing with dirty hands and shouting in Italian. On, on, the bulky figure of a man - a stocky, almost ape - like figure-descended and disappeared from view.
  
  
  Nick ran to the window in front of the building. He looked at the spot where the Mercedes was parked. He would have liked to look for the shell casing, but that didn't outweigh any interference from the construction workers or the police. The Italian masons started shouting in ego's direction. He ran quickly down the stairs and saw the Mercedes parked in the driveway, where Cobus was pretending to be waiting for someone.
  
  
  He climbed in and said to Helmy, who was pale, " I think I saw her, ego. Heavy, bent type ". A hand was pressed to Nah's lips. "Shot at us-me-you, right?" I do not know... "
  
  
  She almost panicked. "You never know," he said. "Maybe it was a gawk that was engaged in flying out by an air rifle. Who wants to shoot you now? "
  
  
  She didn't answer. After a while, the palm came down again. Nick patted her hand. "Maybe it's best if you tell Kobus to forget about this incident. Do you know the ego well enough?
  
  
  She said something to the driver in Dutch. He shrugged, then pointed at the low-flying helicopter. It was a new Russian giant, a bus carrying what looked like a giant crab's claws in a cargo structure.
  
  
  "You can take a bus to the city," Helmi said. "In two shifts. Odin around the central Netherlands. The other service is operated by KLM itself. It costs about three guilders, although these days you can't tell for sure.
  
  
  Is this Dutch thrift? They're stubborn. But I didn't think they could be dangerous."
  
  
  "Maybe it was a shotgun blast after all."
  
  
  He didn't get the impression that she believed it herself. At her special request, he looked at Vondelpark, where they were passing. They drove towards the Dams through the Vigelstraat and Rokin, the city center. "There is something that sets Amsterdam apart from other cities I know," he thought.
  
  
  - Should we tell your boss about this event in Schiphol?
  
  
  'Well, no. We won't do that. I'll see her at Philip's at the Krasnopolskaya Hotel. Be sure to try ih pancakes. The company's founder launched ih in 1865, and they haven't disappeared from the menu since. He started out as a small cafe, but now it's a giant complex. Still, it's very nice.
  
  
  He saw that she had regained control of herself. It's possible that you might need it. He was sure his ego's cover hadn't been blown - especially now, so soon. She would have wondered if this gawk was meant for nah.
  
  
  Co promised to take Nick's luggage to the ego hotel Die Port van Cleve, nearby, somewhere on the Nieuwe Zijds Voorburgwal, next to the post office. He also brought Helmi's toiletries to the hotel. Nick saw that she kept her leather briefcase inside, and she even went to the bathroom with it on the plane. The ego content may be interesting, but it may have only contained sketches or samples. I shouldn't have checked anything - not yet.
  
  
  Helmi took Ego around the picturesque Krasnopol hotel. Philippe van der Laan made it very easy for himself. He was having breakfast with another man in a beautiful private room full of wood paneling. Helmy set the suitcase down next to Van der Laan, greeting him. Then she introduced Nick. Mr. Kent is very interested in jewelry."
  
  
  The man stood up for a formal greeting, a handshake, bows, and an invitation to join them for breakfast. The other man from Van der Laane was Constant Drayer. "Van Manson's" was pronounced like it was an honor to be there.
  
  
  Van der Laan was of medium height, slim and strong. He had sharp, restless brown eyes. Although he looked calm, there was something restless about nen, an excess of energy that was either attributed to business or ego by his own snobbery. Nen was wearing a gray velvet suit in an Italian style that wasn't too modern; a black gillette with small flat buttons that looked like gold, a red and black tie, and a ring with a blue and white diamond about three carats-everything looked absolutely flawless.
  
  
  Turner was a slightly smaller version of his boss, a man who first had to work up the courage for each next step, but at the same time was smart enough not to contradict his boss. His vest had the usual gray buttons, and the ego diamond weighed about one carat. But the ego's eyes have learned to move and record. They had nothing to do with the ego smile. Nick said he'd love to talk to them, and they'd play that game.
  
  
  "Do you work for a wholesaler, Mr. Kent?" asked van der Laan. "Manson's does business with them sometimes."
  
  
  'No. I work for Bard Galleries."
  
  
  "Mr. Kent says he knows almost nothing about diamonds," Helmy said.
  
  
  Van der Laan smiled, his teeth neatly folded under his brown mustache. "That's what all smart buyers say. Mr. Street might have a magnifying glass and know how to use it. Are you staying at this hotel?
  
  
  'No. "Die Port van Cleve," Nick said.
  
  
  "It's a nice hotel," Van der Laan said. He pointed at the waiter in front, and only said "Breakfast". Then he turned to Helmy, and Nick noticed more warmth than a director should show to a subordinate.
  
  
  Ah, Helmy, Nick thought, you got this job with a seemingly solid company. But still, it's not life insurance. "Have a good trip," Van der Laan asked her.
  
  
  "Thank you to Mr. Kent, I mean Norman. Can we use American names here?
  
  
  'Of course. Van der Laan exclaimed decisively, not asking Drayer any more questions. "Restless flight?"
  
  
  'No. A little worried about the weather. We were sitting next to each other, and Norman cheered me up a little."
  
  
  Van der Laan's brown eyes congratulated Nick on his good taste. There was no jealousy in nen, just something contemplative. We thought that Van der Laan would become a director of any industry. He had the undistorted sincerity of a born lawyer. He believed in his own nonsense.
  
  
  "Simple," Van der Laan said. "I have to leave for a while."
  
  
  He returned five minutes later. He'd been gone long enough to go to the bathroom or do something else.
  
  
  Breakfast consisted around a variety of bread, Gorky's golden butter, three types of cheese, slices of roast beef, boiled eggs, coffee, and beer. Van der Laan gave Nick a brief overview of the diamond trade in Amsterdam, naming people he might want to talk to, and also mentioning the most interesting aspects of ee. "... and if you come to my office tomorrow, Norman, I'll show you what we have."
  
  
  Nick said he would, then thanked Ego for breakfast, shook his hand, and disappeared. After he left, Philippe van der Laan lit a short, aromatic cigar. He tapped on the leather briefcase Helmi had brought and looked at nah. "You didn't open this on the plane?"
  
  
  'Of course not. Her tone wasn't exactly calm.
  
  
  "Did you leave the ego to it?"
  
  
  "Phil, her, I know my job."
  
  
  "Didn't you find it strange that he sat down next to you?"
  
  
  Her brilliant blue eyes widened even more. 'Why? There were probably more diamond dealers on that plane. It may face a competitor instead of the intended buyer. Maybe you can sell emu something."
  
  
  Van der Laan patted her hand. "Don't worry. Constantly check your ego. If necessary, call the banks in New York."
  
  
  The other nodded. Van der Laan's very calm face was filled with doubt. He thought Helmy had turned into a dangerous, frightened woman who didn't know too much. Now, at this moment, he wasn't so sure. At first he had thought that "Norman Kent" was a policeman - now he doubted his too-hasty thought. He wondered if he should have called Paul. It was too late to stop him now. But at least Paul and his friends will know the truth about this Kent.
  
  
  Helmy frowned: "Do you really think that maybe..."
  
  
  "I don't think so, child. But as you say, we could sell emu something good. Just to test your ego's creditworthiness."
  
  
  Nick crossed the dam. The spring breeze was beautiful. He tried to get his bearings a little. He was looking at the picturesque Kalverstraat Street, where a dense stream of people moved along the sidewalk without cars between buildings that looked as clean as the people themselves. "Are these people really that pure too?" Nick thought. He shuddered. Now is not the time to worry about it.
  
  
  He decided to walk to the Keysersgracht , a tribute to the drowned man, not to the drunken Herbert Whitlock. Herbert Whitlock was a high-ranking U.S. government official, owned a travel agency, and probably drank too much gin that day. Probably. But Herbert Whitlock was an AH agent, and he didn't really like alcohol. Nick had worked with him twice, and they both laughed when Nick noticed: "Imagine a person who makes you drink - for work." Herb was in Europe for almost a year, looking for leaks that became known when data from the military electronics and aerospace industries began to leak. Herb reached the letter M in the archive at the time of his death. And the middle name was Manson.
  
  
  David Hawke, at his command post in AX, put it very simply. "Take your time, Nicholas. If you need help, ask for help. We can't afford such jokes anymore." For a moment, the thin lips tightened over the jutting jaw. "And if you can, if you get any closer to the results, enlist my help."
  
  
  Nick reached the Keysersgracht and walked back along the Herengracht section. The air was smooth and silky. He's got her now, he thought. Shoot me again. Shoot, and if you miss, at least I'll take the lead." Isn't that sporty enough? He stopped to admire a flower cart and eat a herring at the corner of Herengracht-Palaeisstraat. A tall, carefree man who loved the sun. Nothing happened. He frowned and walked back to his hotel.
  
  
  In a large, comfortable room without the selfless layers of varnish or the quick, brittle, plastic effects of cutting-edge hotels, Nick unpacked his things. Ego "Luger" Wilhelmina passed customs clearance under his arm. The ego wasn't tested. In addition, if necessary, he would have the documents to do so. Hugo, a razor-sharp stiletto, ended up in the letter box as a letter opener. He stripped down to his underwear, and decided there wasn't much he could do until he met Helmy at three o'clock. He worked out for fifteen minutes and then slept for an hour.
  
  
  There was a soft knock on the door. 'Hello? Nick exclaimed. 'Room service.'
  
  
  He opened the door. The fat waiter was smiling in his white lab coat, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of Four Roses partially hidden behind a white napkin. "Welcome to Amsterdam, sir. With a compliment from the management ."
  
  
  Nick took a step back. The man carried flowers and bourbon to a table by the window. Nick's eyebrows shot up. No vase? A clean tray? "Hey ..."The man dropped the bottle with a thud. It didn't crash. Nick followed him with his eyes. The door flew open and nearly knocked Ego off his toes. A man leaped through the doorway - a tall, massive man who looked like a boatswain. He held a black pistol firmly in his hand. It was a large rifle. He didn't flinch as he followed Nick, who pretended to stumble. Then Nick straightened up. The smaller man followed the brawny man in and closed the door. A sharp English voice came from the waiter's side: "Wait a minute, Mr. Kent." Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the napkin drop. The hand that wasn't holding it was holding a gun, and it also looked like the ego was being held by a professional. Without moving, at the right height, ready to shoot. Nick stopped walking.
  
  
  He himself had one trump card. In the pocket of his underpants, he had one of the deadly gas bombs, full name "Pierre". He slowly lowered his hand.
  
  
  The man who looked like a waiter said, " Leave it. We are a united movement ." The man seemed very determined. Nick froze and said, " I only have a few guilders in my ..."
  
  
  'Shut up.'
  
  
  The last person to enter through the door was now behind Nick, and there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. Not in the crossfire of two pistols that seemed to be in very good hands. Something was wrapped around ego's wrist, and ego's hand jerked away. Then the other hand was delivered - the sailor wrapped the cord around it. The string was pulled tight and felt like nylon. The man who tied the knots was either a sailor or had been for years. Once upon a hundred times, Nicholas Huntington III Carter, по3 by AX, was bound and seemed almost helpless.
  
  
  "Sit here," the big man said.
  
  
  Nickname sel. Apparently, the waiter and the fat man were in charge. They carefully examined the ego stuff. They were by no means robbers. After checking every inch and seam of the egos of the two suits, they hung everything up neatly. Then there was a minute of painstaking detective work, Fat Sel opposite Nick. He had a small neck, no more than a few thick folds of flesh between his collar and head, but they didn't look like fat in any way. There were no weapons. "Mr. Norman Kent around New York," he said ." How long have you known Helmy de Boer?"
  
  
  'Recently. We met on the plane today."
  
  
  "When will you see her again?"
  
  
  'I do not know.'
  
  
  "But why did she give you this?" Thick fingers held up the business card Helmy had given Emu, with her local address on it.
  
  
  "I'll see you a few times. She's a good guide."
  
  
  "Are you here to do business with Manson?"
  
  
  "I'm here to do business with everyone who sells diamonds to my company at a reasonable price. Who are you? Police, thieves, spies?
  
  
  "Just a little bit at a time. Let's just say the mafia. In the end, it doesn't matter."
  
  
  'What do you want from me?'
  
  
  The bony man pointed to where Wilhelmina lay on the bed. "Quite a strange subject for a businessman."
  
  
  "For someone who can transport diamonds worth tens of thousands of dollars? I love this weapon.'
  
  
  "Against the law."
  
  
  "I'll be careful."
  
  
  "What do you know about the Yenisei Kulinans?"
  
  
  "Ah, I have them."
  
  
  If he had said that he came from another planet, they wouldn't have jumped any higher. The muscular man straightened up. The "waiter" shouted, "Yes?" and the sailor who had tied the knots lowered his mouth two inches.
  
  
  The big one said, " Do you have them? Already? Really?'
  
  
  'At the Krasnopolsky Grand Hotel. You can't get to them." The bony man took a pack from his pocket and handed it to the others in a small cigarette. He looked like he was going to offer Nick one, too, but decided against it. They stood up. 'What are you going to do about it?'
  
  
  "Of course, take it with you to the United States."
  
  
  - But... but you can't. Customs-ah! You have a plan. Everything is already done.
  
  
  "It's all set," Nick said seriously.
  
  
  The big man looked indignant. They're all idiots, Nick thought. Or its really crazy. But whether they're idiots or not, they know their stuff. He gently tugged on the string with his back, but it didn't budge at all.
  
  
  The fat man blew a dark blue cloud of smoke around his pursed lips toward the ceiling. - You said we can't get ih? And you? Where does the receipt come from? Proof?'
  
  
  'I don't have one. Mr. Stahl arranged it for me." Many years ago, Stahl ran the Krasnopol Hotel. Nick hoped it was still there.
  
  
  A madman who pretended to be a waiter suddenly said ," I think he's lying. Let's cover emu's mouth and set fire to emu's toes, and then we'll see what he says."
  
  
  "No," said the fat man. "He was already in Krasnopolsky . Together with Helmi. Her ego saw it. This will be a nice feather in our ass. And now... He walked over to Nick, " Mr. Kent, you're going to get dressed now, and we'll all carefully deliver these Cullinans. The four of us. You're a big boy, and maybe you want to be the hero of your community. But if you don't do it, you'll be dead in this small country. We don't want such a mess. Perhaps now you are convinced of this. If not, think about what I just told you."
  
  
  He returned to the moaning room and pointed at the waiter and the other. They didn't give Nick the satisfaction of drawing his weapon again. The sailor untied the knot on Nick's back and removed the cutting cords from Ego's wrist. My blood tingled. Bony said, " Get dressed. The luger isn't loaded. Move carefully."
  
  
  Nick moved cautiously. He reached for the shirt that was already hanging over the back of the chair, then slapped the waiter's Adam's apple with his palm. It was a surprise attack, like a member of a Chinese table tennis team trying to land a backhand kick on a ball about five feet away from the chair. Nick took a step forward, jumped up, and hit him - and the man barely managed to move before Nick touched Ego's neck.
  
  
  In front of the falling man, Nick spun around and grabbed the fat man's arm as he reached into the car. The fat man's eyes opened wide as he felt the crushing force of the clamp. As a strong man, he knew what muscles meant when he had to deal with them on his own. He raised his hand to the right, but Nick was somewhere else before it all started well and truly.
  
  
  Nick raised his hand and bent it just below the ribcage, just below the heart. He didn't have time for a better punch. Moreover, this body without a neck was shock-resistant. The man grunted, but Nick's fist felt like it had just tried to hit a cow with a stick.
  
  
  A sailor rushed toward him, brandishing what looked like a police baton. Nick spun the Fat Man around and pushed ego forward. The two men bumped into each other as Nick fumbled with the back of his jacket... The two men separated again and quickly turned to face him.. Nick the sailor kicked the kneecap as it was being licked, and deftly spun around in front of a larger opponent. The fat man stepped over the screaming man, stood up firmly, and leaned toward Nick, arms outstretched. Nick feigned an attack by placing his left hand on the fat man's right, retreated, turned, and kicked him with an emu kick in life, holding ego's left wrist with his right hand. ...
  
  
  Sliding sideways, several hundred pounds of the man's weight crushed a chair, a coffee table, smashed the TV to the floor as if it were a toy trimmer, and finally came to rest with a crash on the remains of a typewriter, a case that shattered against the wall with a tearing, sad sound. Driven by Nick and spun by his ego grip, the fat man suffered the most from the attacks on the furniture. It took Em a second longer to get up than Nick did.
  
  
  Nick leaped forward and wrapped his arms around his opponent's throat. Nick only had a few seconds when they fell... Nick's other hand grabbed Ego's wrist. It was a delay that effectively blocked a person's breathing and blood flow for ten seconds. But he didn't have ten seconds. Coughing and gasping, the waiter-like creature revived Rivnenskaya enough to grab a gun. Nick broke free, quickly headbutted his opponent, and drew the gun to the ego of the hand.
  
  
  The first shot went mimmo, but the second one broke through the ceiling, and Nick hurled the gun through the second whole window. They could get some fresh air if this continued. Can't anyone in this hotel fucking hear what's going on?
  
  
  The waiter hit his ego with the fist of life. If he hadn't expected this, he might never have felt the pain of the blows again. He put his hand under the assailant's chin and hit his ego... The fat man charged forward like a bull on a red rag. Nick ducked out of the way, hoping to find a little better protection, but stumbled over the sad remains of the TV with its ego accessories. The fat man would have taken the ego horns if he'd had them. As they both pressed themselves against the bed, the door to the room opened and a woman ran screaming. Nick and the fat man were tangled in the bedspread, blankets, and pillows. Ego opponent was slow. Nick saw the crewman crawl up to them. Where was the waiter? Nick tugged furiously at the bedspread that still hung around him. BAM! Sergey went out.
  
  
  For a few seconds, he was shocked by the impact and blinded. Ego's excellent physical condition kept Ego almost conscious as he shook his head and got to his feet. So the waiter appeared! He took a sailor's club and hit me with it. If I can get my ego to grab it ...
  
  
  Emu had to come to his senses, sit on the floor and take a few deep breaths. Somewhere, a woman started screaming for help. Shaggy footsteps could be heard running away. He blinked until he could see again and got to his feet. The room was empty.
  
  
  By the time he had spent some time under the cold water, the room was no longer empty. There was a screaming maid, two bellboys, a manager, his assistant, and a security guard. While he dried off, put on a robe, and hid Wilhelmina, pretending to try to pull his shirt around the mess on the bed, the police arrived.
  
  
  They studied with him for an hour. The manager presented emu with another room and confirmed the doctor's arrival. Everyone was polite, friendly, and angry that Amsterdam's good name was being tarnished. Nick grinned and thanked them all. He gave the detective accurate descriptions and congratulated him. He refused to look at the photos in the police album, saying that everything went too fast. The detective surveyed the chaos, then closed his notebook and said in slow English, " But not too fast, Mr. Kent. They are now gone, but we can find ih in the hospital."
  
  
  Nick took his things to his new room, ordered Ego to be woken up at 2 a.m., and went to bed. When the cameraman did this single ego transfer, he felt great - even his head didn't hurt. They brought Em coffee while he showered.
  
  
  The address Emu Helmi gave was a crystal-clear house on Stadionweg, not far from the Olympic stadium. She met Ego in a very neat room, so shiny with varnish, flowers, and wax that it all looked perfect... "Let's use the daylight," she said. "We can have a drink here when we get back, if you want."
  
  
  "I already know it's going to happen."
  
  
  Oni played this game of blue Vauxhall, which she managed deftly. In a tight, bright green sweater and pleated skirt, with a salmon-colored kerchief in her hair, she looked even more beautiful than she had on the plane. Very British, slim and sexier than in her short linen skirt.
  
  
  He looked at her profile as she drove. No wonder Manson used her as a model. She proudly showed emu the city. "Voice of Oosterpark, here's the Tropen Museum - and here's Artis, you see. This zoo may have the best collection of animals in the world. Puffiness towards the railway station. To see how artfully these canals cut through the city? Urban planners saw their program far ahead. This is different from today, today they no longer take the future into account. Then-look, there's the Rembrandt house-then you know what I mean. This whole street, Jodenbreestraat, is being demolished under the subway, you know?
  
  
  Nick listened, interested. He remembered what the area was like: colorful and mesmerizing, with the atmosphere of the people who lived here, realizing that life has a past and a future. He looked sadly at the remnants of that understanding and trust of the former residents. Whole blocks were gone... and the Newmarket they were now passing through was a ruin of its former gaiety. He lifted his shoulders. All right, he thought, past and future. Such a subway on the dell itself is nothing but a submarine in a city like this ...
  
  
  She rode with him through the harbors, across the canals that led to AJ, where she could watch the water traffic all day, open as in the East. Rec. She showed the emu the huge polders... As they were driving along the North Sea Canal, she said, " There's a saying: God created the heavens and the earth, and the Dutch created Holland."
  
  
  "You're really very proud of your country, Helmy. You would be a good guide for all those American tourists who come here."
  
  
  "This is so unusual, Norman. For generations, people have struggled here with the sea. No wonder they're so stubborn...? But they're so lively, so clean, so energetic."
  
  
  "And as boring and superstitious as any other people," Nick grumbled. "Because from any point of view, Helmy, admiration for the personality of a new acquaintance is heard long out of date."
  
  
  She remained talkative until they reached their destination: an old Dutch diner that didn't look the same as it had all those years ago. But no one is discouraged by a real Frisian herbal bitter, served under the ancient beams, where cheerful people occupy cheerful chairs with flowers; Then there is a walk to the buffet table-the size of a bowling alley-with hot and cold fish dishes, meat, cheeses, sauces, salads, meat pies and many other delicious dishes.
  
  
  Then, after starting a second walk to this table, with a great lager and watching a huge number of dishes, Nick gave up. "I'm going to have to work really hard to handle so much food," he said.
  
  
  "This is a really great and inexpensive restaurant. Wait until you try our duck, partridge, lobster and oysters around Zealand."
  
  
  "Later, dear."
  
  
  Well fed and satisfied, they drove back to Amsterdam on the old two-lane road. Nick offered to drive her back and found the car easy to drive.
  
  
  The car was behind them. The man leaned out of the window, motioned for them to stop, and pushed ih to the side of the road. Nick tried to turn quickly, but immediately dismissed the idea. First of all, he didn't know the car well enough, and besides, you can always find out something if you're just careful not to get shot.
  
  
  The person who pushed ih aside got out and walked over to them. He looked like a cop in an FBI sitcom. He even pulled out a regular Mauser and said, " We'll have a girl with us. Please don't worry.
  
  
  Nick looked at him with a smile. 'Good. He turned to Helmi. 'Do you know ego?'
  
  
  Her voice was shrill. "No, Norman...
  
  
  The man just got too close to her. Nick pushed it open and heard the scrape of metal on gun as his feet hit the sidewalk. The situation was in his favor. When they talk about "No big deal" and" Please, " they are not killers. The gun may be on the safety catch. And also, if your reflexes are fine, if you're in good shape, and if you've spent hours, days, months, years training in situations like this ...
  
  
  The gun didn't go off. The man spun on Nick's hip and slammed into the road with enough force to give him a serious concussion. The Mauser fell out on ego hands. Nick kicked Ego under the Vauxhall and ran to the other car, dragging Wilhelmina with him. Either this driver was smart, or he was a coward - at least he was a bad partner. It drove off quickly, leaving Nick reeling in a huge cloud of exhaust fumes.
  
  
  Nick holstered the luger and leaned over the man who lay motionless in the road. Ego's breathing seemed labored. Nick quickly emptied his pockets and gathered up everything he could find with him. He asked for a holster on his belt, spare ammunition, and a badge. Then he jumped back behind the wheel and raced after the small taillights in the distance.
  
  
  The Vauxhall was fast, but not fast enough.
  
  
  "Oh, my God," Helmy said over and over. "Oh, my God. And this is in the Netherlands. This never happens here. Let's go to the police. Who are they? And why? How did you manage to do it so quickly, Norman?" Otherwise, he would have shot us?
  
  
  It took a shot and a half of whiskey in the ego room before she could calm down a little.
  
  
  Meanwhile, he looked through the collection of items he'd taken from the man with the mauser. Nothing like that. The usual stuff around the usual bags - cigarettes, pen, penknife, notebook, matches. The notebook was empty, and nen didn't have us in one entry. He shook his head. "Not a law enforcement officer. I wouldn't have thought of her either. They usually behave differently, although there are some guys who watch too much TV."
  
  
  He refilled the glasses and sat down next to Helmy on the wide bed. If there were listening devices in the ih room, quiet music on hi-fi channels would be enough to make ih words unintelligible to any listener.
  
  
  "Why do they want to take you, Helmy?"
  
  
  "By God, I don't know."
  
  
  "You know, it wasn't just a robbery. The man said: the girl is coming with us. So if they came up with something, it was you. These steam engines weren't just going to stop every car on the road. They should have been looking for you."
  
  
  Helmi's beauty grew fear or anger. Nick looked up at the misty clouds covering her bright blue eyes... I can't imagine who..."
  
  
  "Do you have any business secrets or anything like that?"
  
  
  She swallowed and shook her head. Nick pondered the next question: Did you learn something you weren't supposed to know? But then he threw the corkscrew again. It was too straightforward. She didn't trust Norman Kent now because of the two men's ego reaction, and her next words proved it. "Norman," she said slowly. "You were so awfully fast. She also saw your gun. Who are you?'
  
  
  He hugged her. Looks like hey liked it. "Nothing but ordinary American businessman Helmy. Old-fashioned. As long as its walking around with these diamonds, no one will take ih away from me, as long as its can do something ."
  
  
  She shuddered. Nick stretched out his legs. He loved himself, the image he had created for himself. He felt very heroic. He patted her knee gently. "Relax, Helmy. It was disgusting out there. But whoever bumps their head on the road won't bother us, you, us, or anyone else for the next few weeks. We can notify the police, but we can also shut up. Do you think you should tell Philipp Van der Laan? This was the key corkscrew. She was silent for a long time. She rested the emu's head on her shoulder and sighed. 'I do not know. Egos should be warned if they want to do something against Manson. But what's going on?
  
  
  'Strange.'
  
  
  "That's what I meant. Phil is the brain. Smart. He is not an old-fashioned European businessman in black, with a white collar and a frozen mind. But what will he say when he finds out that a subordinate was almost kidnapped? Manson won't like it at all. You should see what kind of personnel checks are applied in New York. Detectives, surveillance consultants, that sort of thing. I mean, on a personal level, Phil may be a wizard, but in his own business, he's different. And I love my job."
  
  
  "Do you think he'll fire you?"
  
  
  "No, no, not really."
  
  
  "But if promotion is at stake, your future is at stake. Then it might be useful for an emu?
  
  
  'Yes. She is well listed there. Reliable and efficient. Then this will be the first test.
  
  
  "Please don't be angry," Nick said, choosing his words carefully, " but I think you were more than just a friend to Phil. You're a beautiful woman, Helmy. Is there any chance that he's jealous? Maybe a hidden jealousy for someone like me?
  
  
  She thought about it. 'No. Her-her is convinced that this is not the case. God, Phil and hers - we had a few days - were together. The kind that happens on a long weekend. He's really cute and interesting. So... -
  
  
  Does he know about you - with others?
  
  
  "He knows I'm free, if that's what you mean." There was a chill in her words.
  
  
  Nick said: "Phil doesn't look like a dangerous jealous person at all. There's too much polished cosmopolitan about nen. A person in an ego position will never involve himself or his firm in shady business. Or illegal. So we can cross out the ego."
  
  
  She had been silent for too long. Ego's words made her think.
  
  
  "Yes," she said at last. But it didn't look like real rheumatism.
  
  
  "What about the rest of the company? I meant what I said about you. You're an awfully attractive woman. I wouldn't find it so strange if a man or a boy worshipped you. Someone you don't expect it from at all. Maybe someone hema you've only met a few times. Not from the Manson . Women usually feel these things unconsciously. Think about it carefully. Were the people watching you when you were out there any extra attention?
  
  
  "No, maybe. I don't know. But for now, we are ... happy family. I've never rejected it to anyone. No, that's not what I meant. If someone had a much greater interest or affection than usual, she was very nice to them. I like to like her. Do you understand?'
  
  
  'Very good. Somehow I also see that you won't have an unknown suitor who can become dangerous. And it's supposed to be your enemies that you don't have. The girl who has them risks a lot. One is around them defenseless people who are the other " hot in the mouth-cold in the ass." All around them, they get a kick out of it when men go to hell with them...
  
  
  Helmy's eyes darkened as they met Ego's. "Norman, you understand."
  
  
  It was a long kiss. Relieving tension and sharing difficulties helped. Nick knew, but damn it, she used those perfect lips like warm waves on a beach. Sighing, she snuggled up to him with a resignation and alacrity that showed no signs of lying. Nah smelled of flowers, then the early spring rain, and she felt like the kind of woman Muhammad had promised his troops in a concentrated enemy fire. Ego's breathing quickened as she slammed all of her delicious breasts against Nick in complete desperation.
  
  
  It seemed like many years since the ferret had said, " I mean friendly relations." You are good friends and you can talk to each other. You finally feel the need to do it in a certain way, at least you can talk about it. When it's finally time, then at least you have something else to do with your friend.
  
  
  They didn't have to say anything to each other today. As he unbuttoned his shirt, she helped em and hurriedly kicked off her light green sweater and fitted bra. Ego's throat tightened again on what it had seen in the dim light. Fountain. Source. He tried to drink it carefully, tasting it, as if whole flower beds were pressed against his face, making colorful patterns even when his eyes were closed. Allah, glory be to you. It was the softest and most fragrant cloud he had ever fallen through.
  
  
  When they finally connected, after some mutual exploration, she murmured, " Ah, this is so different. So delicious. But this is exactly how I thought it would be."
  
  
  He sank deeper into nah and answered softly: "Just as I imagined it, Helmy. Now I know why you're so beautiful. You are not just an exterior, a shell. You are the cornucopia."
  
  
  "You make me feel ..."
  
  
  He didn't know what, but they both felt it.
  
  
  Later, he said, mumbling in the small ear, " Clean. Deliciously clean. It's you, Helmy.
  
  
  She sighed and turned to face him. "Really making love ... She let the words roll down her tongue. I don't know what it is. It's not about finding the right lover-it's about being the right lover forever."
  
  
  "You should write this down," he whispered, closing his lips around her ear.
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  It was a beautiful morning to have breakfast in a restaurant with a beautiful girl. The blazing sun threw hot sparks through the window. The room service cart, ordered with Helmy's help, was a buffet full of delicacies ranging from currant dumplings to beer, ham, and herring.
  
  
  Then, after a second glass of perfectly flavored coffee, poured by a completely naked and not at all shy Helmy, Nick said: "You're late for work. What happens if your boss finds out you weren't home last night? '
  
  
  Soft hands rested on his face and felt the stubble on his beard. She looked him straight in the eye and grinned mischievously. "Don't worry about telling me. I don't have to look at my watch on this side of the ocean. I don't even have a phone in my apartment. Deliberately. I love my freedom."
  
  
  Nick kissed her and pushed her away from him. If they stood next to each other like this, they would never get up again. Helmy, and then him. "I hate to bring this up again, but have you thought about those two idiots who tried to attack you last night? And who can they work for? They were following you - let's not fool around. The items around this guy's pockets don't sound like a threat to us.
  
  
  He watched as the sweet smile faded from her lips. He loved ee. When she knelt down on the big bed, he liked her even more. The luscious fullness of her curves and curves seen in this slouched pose was every artist's dream. It was outrageous to see the rosy glow fade from that gorgeous face and be replaced by a grim, worry-filled mask. If only she could tell Em what she knew - but if he pushed too hard, she'd burst like an oyster. For a moment, she bit her bottom lip with her beautiful white teeth. There was a look of concern on her face, more than a pretty girl should have. "I've never seen ih before," she said slowly. "I've been thinking about them too. But we're not sure they knew me. Maybe they were just looking for a girl.
  
  
  "Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't trust us with a single word of your own. These guys were professionals. Not around the kind of professionals you'd meet at the best of times in America, but they're pretty vicious. Oni is waiting for you. They weren't ordinary freaks - or maybe they were-or womanizers who'd looked too well in the mirror and now wanted a blonde. They very deliberately chose this place to make their own offensive."
  
  
  "And you got in the way of it," she said.
  
  
  "They usually can't take a punch from a guy in Boston who used to fight Irish and Italian street urchins in the North End for fun in his youth. I've learned to defend myself very well. They weren't very lucky."
  
  
  Now she was well taken care of, it lay on her like a gray transparent plastic raincoat. It took the shine out of her. Em also thought he saw fear in her eyes. "I'm glad I'll be back in New York in a week," she murmured.
  
  
  "It's not a defense at all. Before that, they might cut you to shreds. And then, if they all want it so badly, they can send someone to pick you up in New York. Think about it, honey. Who wants to hurt you?
  
  
  "By God, I don't know."
  
  
  "You don't have any enemies in the entire world?"
  
  
  'No."That's not what mistletoe meant.
  
  
  Nick sighed and said: "You'd better tell me everything, Helmy. I think you'll need another one, and maybe her best po. When I returned to my hotel yesterday, I was attacked by three men in the hotel room. Ih main corkscrew was - how long have I known her?".
  
  
  She suddenly turned pale and fell back on her hips. She held her breath for a moment, then nervously released her ego. "You didn't tell me about this... who."..
  
  
  I might have used an old-fashioned expression. "You didn't ask me that."It will be in the papers today. A foreign businessman is a victim of a robbery. I didn't tell the police that they were asking about you. I'll describe it to you, and see if you know anyone around them.
  
  
  He gave a clear description of the waiter, the sailor, and the neckless gorilla. As he spoke, he looked at Nah seemingly casually, but he investigated all the changes in facial expressions and movements. He didn't want to put his head on it, but he thought she'd become known at least sh. around these guys. Would she be honest with him?
  
  
  "...I don't think a sailor goes to sea anymore, and a waiter goes to a restaurant. They probably found a better job. Bony man ih boss. They are not ordinary cheap thieves, I think. They were well dressed and quite professional.
  
  
  Her mouth looked preoccupied and her eyes were gloomy. "Gee, I don't know anyone who looks like this."
  
  
  Nick sighed. "Hiromi, you're in danger. We are in danger. These guys meant it seriously, and maybe they'll come back. Whoever shot at us at Schiphol Airport might have tried again, but he'll have a better aim.
  
  
  "Do you also think that he-that he's going to kill us?"
  
  
  "It was more than just a threat. Personally, I don't think there are any around these deadly enemies in the city ... if they have any idea who it is.
  
  
  "...so you and Cobus are still in danger. About Cobus doesn't seem so obvious to me, although you can never know that either, so you're left with that. Either the shooter is hindered by something, or he just can't shoot very well, although he tends to bet on the former. But think about it, maybe he'll come back someday.
  
  
  She was trembling. 'Oh no.'
  
  
  You could see all the fold paper workings of her brain to her big blue eyes.
  
  
  Relays, electromagnets triggered, choosing and rejecting again, structured and selected - the most complex computer in the world.
  
  
  He programmed the overload and asked, " What are the Yenisei diamonds?"
  
  
  The fuses exploded. 'What? I don't know.'
  
  
  "I think they are diamonds. Think carefully.'
  
  
  "Gee, you may have heard of them. But-no-her - her didn't get us alone around them ..."
  
  
  "Will you be able to check if there are any known gemstones or large diamonds under this name?
  
  
  'Ah, yes. We have a kind of library in the office.
  
  
  She answered the emu automatically. If he came up with the key questions now, she might be able to give emu the right answers. But if that was too much for this complex device in the heads slot, there is every chance that it will fail. For rheumatism, you'll get something like-Yes-No-Don't know.
  
  
  She was resting on her hands, placed on either side of her chest on the bed. He admired the gleam of her golden hair, and she shook her head. "I have to tell you , Phil," she said. "Maybe it's all from' Manson.'"
  
  
  "Have you changed your mind?"
  
  
  "It wouldn't be unfair to the company not to say anything. It could be part of it-some kind of plagiarism or something."
  
  
  An eternal woman, Nick thought. Smoke of cover-ups and excuses. "Will you do something for me too, Helmy? Call Manson and ask if they've checked my credit."
  
  
  Ee goal jumped. "How did you know about the test...?"
  
  
  "The first thing is that this is a reasonable thing to do... Let them tell you?'
  
  
  She got up from the bed. Nick was stretched out and enjoying the view. She spoke rapidly in Dutch.'... Algemene Bank Nederland ... ' he heard.
  
  
  She hung up and turned to him. They say it's all normal.
  
  
  There's a hundred thousand dollars on your proof. In addition, there is also a loan if you need more."
  
  
  "So I'm a welcome customer?"
  
  
  She bent down to pick up her panties and started to get dressed. Her movements were slow, as if she was perfectly fine. "Phil will be happy to sell to you. I know her for sure. She wonders why Phil sent Paul Meyer with two assistants to get to Nick. And why gawk at Schiphol Airport? She shuddered. Does anyone at Manson know what she found out about Kelly's drawings?" She refused to believe that Phil had nothing to do with them , but who was it? She shouldn't have told Emu that she would have recognized the skirt from all of Norman's descriptions. This can be done later. The police would also like to know. The moment she gave Nick a long goodbye kiss before she put on her lipstick, she was back in control.
  
  
  "I'll be back in half an hour," she said. "So we will tell Van der Lahn everything is fair. Except where you slept last night, of course.
  
  
  He was looking at her with a smile, but she didn't see it.
  
  
  "Yes, I think we should..."
  
  
  "All right Helmy. A person always knows best what to do.
  
  
  He wondered if she thought it was forever.
  
  
  Paul Eduard Meyer was not at ease talking to Philipp van der Laan and listening to the ego comments. He flexed his feet in expensive shoes. It helped keep my nerves in check... He ran a hand down his neck, which was almost gone, and wiped away the sweat. Phil I shouldn't talk to him like that. He could help it ... No, no - he mustn't think like an idiot. Phil brains and money. He flinched as Van der Laan spat the words out of him like lumps of mud. " ... my army. Three degenerates. Or two degenerates and an idiot-you - you ih boss. What an asshole. Did you shoot nah?
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "With a silenced rifle?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "You once told me that you could drive a nail into a wall a hundred yards away with a shot. How far were you from them? Besides, her goal is a little more than a nail, isn't it?
  
  
  "Two hundred yards."
  
  
  "You're lying about being interrupted. Van der Lahn walked slowly back and forth through the ego-swanky office. He wasn't found telling Paul that he was glad he missed, and that he had changed his first impression of Norman Street. When he ordered Paul Meyer to attack Street at breakfast when he arrived at his hotel, he was convinced that he was on counterintelligence. Just as he was sure Helmi had discovered in Kelly's studio that complex and voluminous data could be brought together in a micro-circuit. He was proud of his spy device because it was an ego " - his own invention. Ego clients were Russia, South Korea Africa, Spain and three other Middle East countries. So simple and just as profitable. He also dealt with De Groot in stolen Yenisei diamonds. Philip squared his shoulders. He thought that he could sell his inventions for the highest price. Let it only be plans. De Groot was an experienced spy, but when it came to such profits...
  
  
  After that, he could sell his device to the Americans and the British. Ih messengers could then safely transport their data anywhere. The CIA would be the happiest agency in the world, and the British army could use the new system. As long as they work effectively.
  
  
  In general, the former German agent reasoned tightly. De Groot was right. Always act flexibly! Helmi was still usable, only a little nervous. Kent was a tough American playboy with a lot of money to spend ih on diamonds. Tack! A small, instant change in strategy. He will use Paul's misses as a tactical weapon. This scumbag was starting to get too cocky. He looked at Paul, who was wringing his hands to calm himself.
  
  
  "You need sniper practice," Van der Lahn said.
  
  
  Paul couldn't see ego's eyes. "I was aiming for the head. It would be stupid to just make hey hurt.
  
  
  "In fact, she might have been caught by a few criminals around the Hamburg airport. What a mess this hotel is too! He was bullying you.
  
  
  "He's not just anyone . It must be from Interpol."
  
  
  "You don't have any proof. Around New York, Kent is a buyer for a reputable firm. Quite a strong young man. Businessman and fighter. You don't understand those Americans, Paul. He's even smarter than you - you who call yourself a professional. You're a bunch of idiots, all three of you. Ha!
  
  
  "He has a gun."
  
  
  "Someone like Kent can have an ego, you know what... Tell me again, what did he tell you about the Yenisei diamonds?
  
  
  "He said ih bought it."
  
  
  'Impossible. Her, would tell you if he ih bought it.
  
  
  "You told me that we didn't get to see it... So I thought...
  
  
  "Maybe he outsmarted me."
  
  
  "Well, no, but ..."
  
  
  "Silence!" - Philip liked to command. They made ego feel like he was a German officer, and someone who, in one word, silenced ego's entire audience-military, civilians, and horses. Paul looked at his knuckles.
  
  
  "Think again," Van der Lahn said. "He didn't say anything about diamonds?" He stared intently at the Floor, wondering if he might not know more than he pretended. He never told Paul about the ego's special communication device. He sometimes used this clumsy guy as an errand boy for his contacts in Holland, but that was all. Paul's thick brows met like gray snails over the bridge of his nose.
  
  
  'No. Only that he left ih at the Krasnapolsky Hotel.
  
  
  "In the vault? Under lock and key?'
  
  
  "Well, he didn't say where they were. They were allegedly at Strahl's.
  
  
  And he doesn't know anything about it - he asked her. Unobtrusive, of course-this is a state of mind that your dumb brain will never be able to understand. Van der Lahn sighed with the grave gravity of a general who has just made an important decision, with the conviction that he has done everything right. "All right Paul. Take Beppo and Brenda DS to the farm and stay there for a while. I don't want to see your face in town for a while. Curl up and don't let anyone see you.
  
  
  Paul quickly disappeared.
  
  
  Van der Lahn walked slowly up and down the path, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar. Usually it was the emu's lingering sense of comfort and success, but now it wasn't working. He walked some distance to relax and what is the n / a effect on the situation. Split ego straight and ego alenka is evenly distributed on both legs. But he wasn't able to feel comfortable... The game is now starting to get dangerous. Helmy probably knew too much, but he didn't dare ask her about it. It would be a good idea, from a practical point of view, to eliminate it only if - it would go smoothly.
  
  
  However, it seemed like he might end up in the middle of a hurricane. If she spoke up in New York and Norman Kent was with her, then they should be making their move now. All the evidence they needed was in the newspapers in that leather briefcase she carried with her. oh my god. He wiped the sweat from his brow with an immaculate handkerchief, then grabbed a new one around the drawer.
  
  
  Helmi was announced on the intercom. Van der Lahn said, "Just a moment." He went to the mirror and looked at his beautiful face. He should have spent a little more time with Helmy. Until now, as a ferret, he had thought of his relationship with her as superficial , because he didn't believe in the boss's sometimes ego-driven relationship with his subordinates. It should have warmed up the ih a bit again. This can be a lot of fun, because she was pretty much good at trash.
  
  
  He went to the door of his office to greet her. "Helmy, honey. Ah, it's good that you're alone for a while. He kissed her on both wands. For a moment, she was confused, then she smiled.
  
  
  "It's nice to be in Amsterdam, Phil. You know I'm always at home here.
  
  
  And you brought a client with you. You have a flair for business, my dear. The Gentleman Street data is excellent. One day we will definitely do business with it. Sit Helmi down.
  
  
  He held a chair for Nah and gave hey a light. Jesus, she was beautiful. He entered his private room and checked his mustache and white teeth with a series of grimaces in the mirror.
  
  
  When he came back, Helmy said, " I talked to Mr. Kent. I think he can be a good customer for us.
  
  
  "Why do you think he happened to be in that place next to you on that plane?"
  
  
  'I've been thinking about it too. Helmi shared her thoughts on this: "If he could get in touch with Manson, that was the most difficult path. And if he just wanted to sit next to me , I was flattered.
  
  
  "He's a strong man. Physically, I mean.
  
  
  "Yes, I noticed that. Yesterday, early in the afternoon, when we were exploring the city, he told me that three men tried to rob ego in his room. Someone shot him, or me, at Schiphol Airport. And on the last night, two men tried to kidnap me.
  
  
  Van der Lahn's brows rose as she mentioned this latest abduction attempt. He had been preparing to fake it - but now he didn't need to fake it at all. "Hedmi, who? Why?'
  
  
  "These people in the hotel were asking egoist me. And that's what they call Yenisei diamonds. Do you know what this is about?
  
  
  She was watching him closely. Phil was a wonderful actor, probably the best in Holland, and she always trusted Em completely. Ego smoothness, ego affable nobility have always completely deceived sl. Her eyes only opened a little when she unexpectedly walked into Kelly's New York studio. She discovered the ih relationship to "Manson" and noticed these unusual items attached to her briefcase. Maybe Phil didn't know about it, but thinking about what he said or did, she had to believe that he was part of the conspiracy. She hated ego for that. Her nerves were tense until she finally handed Em the briefcase.
  
  
  Van der Lahn smiled warmly - it was a friendly camouflage of the man's ego. "The Yenisei diamonds that are said to be coming in for sale now. But you, like me, know all these stories in our industry. But more importantly, how did you know someone shot you at the airport?
  
  
  "Norman said he heard a bullet."
  
  
  "What do you call ego, Norman? It's cute. He's ..."
  
  
  "We agreed to call each other by their first names back at Krasnapolsky, remember? He's very charming.
  
  
  She didn't know what would hurt Van der Lahn's soul so much, but she couldn't say it any other way.
  
  
  Suddenly, she realized how self-centered this man was. He hated complimenting other people if he didn't do it himself, as a kind of flattery for business.
  
  
  "You were sitting next to him. Did you hear anything?"
  
  
  "I'm not sure. I thought it was a plane.
  
  
  "And these people in the ego hotel and on the highway? Do you have any idea who it might be? Thieves? Predatory? Amsterdam is not what it used to be. We ih don't know..."
  
  
  “no. There were three of them in the hotel asking for my guide. They knew my name.
  
  
  "And that one on the road?"
  
  
  'No. He just said the girl should go with them.
  
  
  "Helmy, I think we're all dealing with a problem. When you fly to America next Tuesday, her hotel would give you a very valuable cargo. One of the most valuable ones we've ever sent. Suspicious cases have been happening since I started working on this issue. This may be part of a conspiracy, though I can't see it all coming from a young age.
  
  
  He hoped she believed em. In any case, it was impossible to confuse her and the royal flush.
  
  
  Helmy was startled. There have been several robberies and robberies in the last few years - more than before. The loyalty she felt for "Manson" increased her credulity. "Yes, but how they had nothing to do with us when we came out on the entire plane, except ..." She swallowed the rest.
  
  
  She was going to tell Em about these recordings.
  
  
  "Who can tell us how a criminal's brain works? Maybe they could offer you a very high bribe. Maybe they can stun or hypnotize you so that you'll be more cooperative later. Only your other person knows about all the bad things that happen.
  
  
  "What should we do?
  
  
  "Are you and Kent supposed to report the shooting and those people on the street to the police?"
  
  
  He hadn't gone so far that she noticed that he'd forgotten to mention the incident at the inn. Does he know that Norman reported it? Her distrust deepened. She could breathe normally. 'No. This doesn't seem to make much sense.
  
  
  "Maybe you should do it. But it's too late for that now. Norman will be here right away, before they ferret out how he keeps our agreement.
  
  
  The Norman kept its promise. The three of them were sitting in Van der Lahn's office, discussing events. Nick had learned nothing new, and Van der Lahn was still the number one suspect on the list. Van der Laan had said he would give Helmy security for the rest of his stay in Amsterdam, but Nick had another suggestion. "You don't have to use this," he said, "if Helmy wants to show me a little bit of the city. Then I will consider myself responsible for nah.
  
  
  "From what I understand," Van der Lahn said, trying to hide his jealousy,"you're an excellent bodyguard."
  
  
  Nick shrugged and gave a short laugh. "Ah, you know, these ordinary Americans. If there is danger, they are there.
  
  
  Helmy had arranged to meet Nick at six. After Van der Laan left, Nick saw more sparkling diamonds than he'd ever dreamed possible. They visited the stock exchange and other diamond houses...
  
  
  Van der Lahn told Em as much as he knew and as much as he could about the meanings of interesting collections. Nick noticed that there was a slight difference in price. When they returned after a hearty brunch at Tsoyu Wah, an Indonesian restaurant on Ceintuurbaan-a chair around rice with about twenty different dishes-Nick said: "Thank you for your efforts, Philip. I learned a lot from you. Let's do business now.
  
  
  Van der Lahn blinked. "Have you made your choice?"
  
  
  "Yes, I made a decision to find out which company my company can trust. Let's put together a batch of, say, $ 30,000 worth of these almazovs you just showed me. Very soon we will know if you are cheating on us or not. If not, then you have a very good customer in our office. If the opposite is true, then you lose that good customer, even though we may still be friends.
  
  
  Van der Lahn laughed. - "How do I find a middle ground between my greed and good business?"
  
  
  'Exactly. This is always the case with good companies. You just can't do it any other way.
  
  
  "All right, Norman. Tomorrow morning I'll be picking out some rocks for you. You can check out ih and I'll tell you everything I know about them, so you can say in your own about them. It's already too late today.
  
  
  "Of course, Philip. And please bring me a bunch of little white envelopes for me to write on. Then I'll write down your comments about each group of stones there are.
  
  
  'Of course. We'll make a deal, Norman. What are you going to do next? Will you be visiting some more around Europe cities? Or will you return home?
  
  
  "I'll be right back."
  
  
  "You're not in a hurry?"
  
  
  "Not really ...
  
  
  "Then her hotel would offer you two things. First: come to my country house this weekend. We will have a lot of fun. Tennis, horses, golf. And a hot air balloon Solo flight. Ever tried it?
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "You'll enjoy it," he said, putting his arm around Nick's shoulders... You, like everyone else, love new things and-new, beautiful women. Blondes, too, aren't they, Norman?
  
  
  "Blonde girls, too."
  
  
  "Then voice my second suggestion. Actually, it's more like a request. I'm sending her to Helmy back to America with a shipment of diamonds, a really big shipment. Her suspicion is that someone is planning to steal the ego. Your latest experience may be part of it. Now her hotel would suggest that you travel with Helmi to guard her, unless of course it fits your schedule or your firm decides otherwise.
  
  
  "I'll do it," Nick replied. "Intrigues fascinate me. In fact, hers was supposed to be a secret agent. You know, Phil, I've always been a big fan of James Bond, and her ferret still love books about him. Have you ever read ih?"
  
  
  'Of course. They are quite popular. But of course, these things happen more often in America.
  
  
  "Maybe in numbers, but I read somewhere that the most complex crimes occur in England, and in France and Holland."
  
  
  'Really? Van der Lahn seemed charmed. "But think of killer Boston, meet your cops on every subway, like they catch armored car robbers in New England, this kind of thing happens almost every month."
  
  
  "However, we can't compete with England, as ih criminals rob an entire train there.
  
  
  "Her, I know what you mean. These criminals are more resourceful.
  
  
  'Of course. The action takes place in America, but the old world has its own criminals. Anyway, I'm glad I'm traveling back with Helmy. Like you said, I love diamonds - and blondes.
  
  
  After he left Nikv, Van der Laan leaned back in the big leather chair, smoking thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the Lautrec moaning sketch across from him. This Norman Kent was an interesting bird. Less superficial than he seemed. Not a cop, for that matter, because no one in the police force would think or talk about a crime, anyway mentioning an ego interest in the secret service. Van der Lahn couldn't imagine one secret service agency that wouldn't send an agent with a hundred thousand dollars plus a letter of credit for other purchases. Kent is going to be a good customer, and maybe there's something to use the ego in a different way too. It felt good that Gender and ego people were not able to complete ego tasks. He thought of Helmy. She was probably spending the night with Kent. It worried him. He always looked at nah as something more than a beautiful doll now and then to get rid of nah... The thought of her luscious body in the arms of another person brought back memories of her.
  
  
  He went upstairs to the fourth floor, where he found her in a room next to the design department. When he asked her if she could have dinner with him, she told em that Nah had an appointment with Norman Kent. He hid his disappointment. When he returned to his office, he found Nicholas and De Groot waiting for him.
  
  
  Together they entered Van der Lahn's office. De Groot was a short, dark man who had a strange ability to be inconspicuous in a group of three people. He was as inconspicuous as the average FBI agent, the average IRS official, or the average spy.
  
  
  Then-hello, Van der Laan said: "Did you set a price for THESE diamonds?"
  
  
  "Have you already decided how much you want to pay for this?"
  
  
  It took thirty minutes of intense conversation to find out that they couldn't come to an agreement yet.
  
  
  Nick walked slowly back to the hotel. There were still many things he wanted to do. Trace Herb Whitlock's contacts to the ego of his favorite friends, track down the Enisei diamonds, and by chance, if the Helmys didn't come up with any information, find out what Manson was doing with Kelly's micro recordings. But any mistake can instantly reveal the ego, personality, and role. So far ferret that worked perfectly. It was awkward - waiting for them to come to you, or finally diving into the action.
  
  
  At the hotel's jay, Emu was given a large, pink, sealed envelope with the inscription-to Mr. Norman Kent, deliver in person, important.
  
  
  He entered the exotic lobby and opened the letter. The following message was printed: "I have Yenisei diamonds at a reasonable price. Will it be possible to contact you soon ? Peter-Jan van Rijn.
  
  
  Smiling, Nick stepped into the elevator, holding a pink envelope like a flag in his hand. They were waiting for ego in the hallway, two well-dressed men.
  
  
  Old world so far, the ferret hasn't come up with anything to get ego to know, Nick thought of that as he fiddled with the lock.
  
  
  They came for him. There is no doubt about this. When they were still five feet away, he dropped the key and pulled out Wilhelmina Dolly Seconds...
  
  
  "Stay where you are," he snapped. He dropped the pink envelope on the floor at ihk. "You, ip
  
  
  and then what about when they left it? Alright, then you've found me."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  The two men froze, like two figures around a movie that suddenly stopped. Ih's eyes widened at the deadly salute of Wilhelmina's long trunk. Ih the hands were visible to Nick. Around them, Odin was wearing black gloves. "Don't move until I tell you to," Nick said. "Do you understand my English enough?"
  
  
  After pausing to catch his breath, the gloved man replied, " Yes. We understand you "
  
  
  "Shut up." Nick said, and then went back into the room, constantly looking at the two men. "You do."
  
  
  They followed him. He closed the door. The gloved man said: "You don't understand. We have a message for you."
  
  
  I understand her perfectly. You used the message in the envelope to find me. Centuries ago, we used this trick in the United States. But you didn't come for me right away. How did you know I was coming and that it was him?"
  
  
  They looked at each other. The gloved man said, " Walkie-talkie. We waited in the other corridor. Back in the lobby, I notified you that you had received an envelope."
  
  
  "Very effective. Sit down and raise your hands to your face."
  
  
  "We don't want to sit. Mr. Van Rijn sent us to pick you up. It has what you need.
  
  
  "So you were going to pick me up anyway." I would have liked it or not. Isn't that right?
  
  
  "Well, Mr. Van Rijn was very determined..."
  
  
  "Then why didn't he ask me to come to his place, or didn't he come here to meet me?"
  
  
  "We don't know that." ,
  
  
  "How far is it from here?
  
  
  "Fifteen minute drive."
  
  
  "In the ego office or at home?"
  
  
  "In my car."
  
  
  Nick mentally nodded. It is a hotel of contacts and actions. Wish for it, and you will have it. "Both of you, put your hands on the wall." They started to protest, but little persuaded Wilhelmina ih, and Nick's expression changed from friendly to an impassive mask. They braced their hands against the wall.
  
  
  One of them had a Colt .32, a submachine gun. The other was unarmed. He carefully examined the ih, all the way down to the ih shins for the leg. He took a step back, took out the magazine on the colt, and pushed the bullets out of it. Then I put the magazine back in.
  
  
  "It's an interesting weapon," he said. Can you buy ammo for it here?
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  'Where did you buy this?'
  
  
  "In Brattleboro, Vermont. I was there with some friends. I like it... Pleasant.
  
  
  Nick holstered Wilhelmina. Then he took the colt in his hand and handed it to Ego k in math. 'Take it.'
  
  
  They turned and looked in surprise. After a while, the gauntlet reached for the weapon. Nick held out the emu. "Let's go," Nick said. "I agree to visit this Van Rijn. But I don't have much time. Please don't make any quick movements. I'm very nervous, but I'm moving pretty fast. That it might go wrong, which we'll all regret very much later.
  
  
  They had a big, rather old, but well-maintained Mercedes. A third person went with them. Nick guessed it was the guy with the transmitter. They headed toward the highway, and stopped on the street where a gray Jaguar was parked near an apartment building. There was only one person inside.
  
  
  "Is that him?" asked Nick.
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "By the way, you have very slow clocks here in Holland. Please stay in the car for 15 minutes. Her, I'll talk to him. Don't try to get out." I won't tell Em about this event at the hotel. You will tell the emu your story.
  
  
  No one around them moved as he got out, circled the car, and walked quickly toward the Jaguar. He followed the Mercedes driver until he came under the cover of a Jaguar.
  
  
  The man in the car looked like a naval officer on vacation. He wore a brass-buttoned jacket and a Navy blue cap. "Mr. van Rijn," Nick said, " May I shake hands with her?
  
  
  'Please.'
  
  
  Nick shook a firm hand. "I apologize for that, Mr. Kent. But this is a very delicate matter.
  
  
  "I've had time to think this through," Nick said with a grin. Van Rijn looked confused. "Come on-you know what I want to talk to you about , of course . You are here to buy Yenisei diamonds. IH got it. You know the ih value, don't you? Do you want to make an offer?
  
  
  "But, you know, we don't know the exact price of this. What amount do you mean, for example?
  
  
  "Six million."
  
  
  'Can I see her ih?'
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  The two men looked at each other for a moment, friendly and expectant. Nick wondered if he would pull the ih around his pocket, over the glove compartment, or out from under the mat. Finally, Nick asked, " Do you have them with you?"
  
  
  "These ' diamonds'? Thank God, no. Half of all police officers in Europe are looking for ih. He laughed. "And no one knows what's going on." He lowered his voice confidentially. "Also, there are some very effective criminal organizations hunting for it."
  
  
  'Really? Gut, I thought it was a secret.
  
  
  'Oh no. The news is already known throughout Eastern Europe. So you can imagine the number of leaks. The Russians are furious. I think they are quite capable of dropping a bomb on Amsterdam - a small one, of course-if only they were sure it was there. You know, it's just about becoming the theft of the century?
  
  
  "You should know, Mr. van Rijn ..."
  
  
  'Call me Peter.
  
  
  "All right, Peter, call me Norman. I'm not a diamond expert, but just this stupid corkscrew - how many carats will it be? "
  
  
  Beautiful face of an elderly man show surprise. "Norman doesn't know anything about the diamond trade. Voice why were you with Phil van der Laan when you were doing all those visits in the early afternoon?
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  'I understand her. You must - be a little careful with this Phil.
  
  
  'Thank you.'
  
  
  "The diamonds are not yet divided. The buyer may want to have their own opinion about them. But I can assure you that everything you've heard about it is true. They are just as beautiful and, of course, flawless as the original ones.
  
  
  'Are they real?'
  
  
  'Yes. But only God knows why the same stones were found in different places, so far from each other. This is a fascinating puzzle for the brain. Or maybe not a puzzle to the brain at all if they can't be connected.
  
  
  'It's true.'
  
  
  Van Rijn shook his head and thought for a moment. "Amazing, nature, geology.
  
  
  "It's a big secret."
  
  
  If you only knew what a secret this is to me, Nick thought. Around the whole thing, I really understand that we might as well keep half of this conversation a secret. "I bought some stones from Fila as an experiment."
  
  
  'Oi. Do you still need them?
  
  
  "Our company is expanding rapidly.
  
  
  'I understand her. Good. How do you know how much you need to pay?
  
  
  "I let em set the prices himself. We'll know within two weeks, or we'll be doing great business with Manson's, or we'll never contact them again.
  
  
  Very sensible, Norman. But my reputation is probably even more reliable than yours.
  
  
  Van der Laan. You can very well check that out for yourself. Then why don't you let me set the price for these diamonds?
  
  
  "There's still some difference between a small trial order and a six-million-dollar order."
  
  
  "You say yourself that you are not an expert on diamonds. Even when you check ih, how well will you know the ih price?
  
  
  "Then I just know her a little more now than I did before. Nick pulled a magnifying glass around his pocket and hoped he wasn't too clumsy. "Can I let her go to ih now?" Van Rijn let out a suppressed chuckle. "You Americans are all like that. Maybe you're not a diamond expert at all, maybe you're joking. He reached into the pocket of his blue doublet. Nick stiffened. Van Rijn gave Em a small pack of Spriet cigarettes and took one for himself.
  
  
  "All right, Norman. You will be able to see ih.
  
  
  Is it permissible on a Friday night? In my house? It is located close to Volkel, just next to Den Bosch. I'll send a car to pick you up. Or maybe you'd like to stay for the weekend? I always have a few charming guests.
  
  
  Good. I'll be there on Friday, but I can't stay for the weekend. Thanks, anyway. Don't worry about the car, because I rented it. It's more comfortable for me, and that way I won't bother you when I have to leave.
  
  
  'As you wish...' He handed Nick a business card. "This is my address, and on the back there is a small map plan of the area. This is to make it a little easier to get there. Should I ask my people to bring you back to the city?
  
  
  "No, that's not necessary. Her, I'll take the bus at the end of the street. It seems like fun too. Besides, these people of yours... they seem to dislike my company a little."
  
  
  Nick shook em's hand and got out. He smiled and waved to Van Rijn, who gave an emu friendly nod and turned away from the sidewalk. Smiling, Nick also waved to the men in the Mercedes behind him. But they ignored the ego completely, like the old-fashioned British nobility of a farmer who recently decided to close his fields to hunting.
  
  
  When Nick walked into this hotel, he could smell the steak around the big restaurant. He looked at his watch. He was supposed to pick up Helmy in forty minutes. He was also hungry. It was a huge hunger of perception. In this country, without a full stomach, you can hardly resist all the wonderful smells that bring you to your nose all day long. But he pulled himself together and walked past the restaurant's mimmo. In the elevator, a voice behind him stopped him. "Mr. Kent -" He quickly turned around and recognized the policeman to whom he had written his application, then the one who had been attacked by the three men.
  
  
  'Yes?'
  
  
  Nick had taken a liking to this police detective when he first met him. He didn't think he had to change his mind like this. The man's friendly, open, "Dutch" face was impossible to read. A steely intransigence shone through, but it was all possible, just for show.
  
  
  "Mr. Kent, do you have a moment for me over a beer?"
  
  
  'Good. But no more than one, I have a meeting. They went into an old, juicy-smelling bar and the detective ordered a beer.
  
  
  "When a cop pays for a drink, he wants something in return," Nick said with a grin that wasn't meant to soften the words. "What do you want to know?
  
  
  In the rheumatism ego grin, the detective also smiled.
  
  
  "I imagine, Mr. Kent, that you tell me Rivnenskaya as much as you want to say."
  
  
  Nick missed Ego's grin. 'Oh lee?'
  
  
  Don't be angry. In a city like this, we have a lot of problems in our country. For many centuries, this country has been a kind of crossroads of the world. We are always interesting for everyone, if small events here are not part of a larger one on the Internet. Maybe it's all a little rougher in America, it's a lot easier for many people, there are children. You still have an ocean that separates most of the world. Here, we always worry about every little thing.
  
  
  Nick tasted the beer. Great. "Maybe you're right."
  
  
  "Take this attack on you, for example. Of course, it would be much easier for them to just break into your room. Or wait until you would go down a remote street. What if they want something from you that you carry with you ?
  
  
  I'm glad your police are being very careful, I'm talking about the difference between robbery and burglary.
  
  
  "Not everyone knows there's a real difference, Mr. Kent.
  
  
  "Just lawyers and police officers. Are you a lawyer? I'm not a lawyer.
  
  
  "Ah." There was little interest in it. 'Of course not. You are a buyer of Almazov. He took out a small photograph and showed it to Nick. I wonder if this isn't by chance the one around those people who attacked you.
  
  
  This is an archive photo of that "fat man" with indirect lighting that made the ego look like an intense wrestler .
  
  
  "Well," Nick said, " it could very well be him. But I'm not sure. It all went so fast.
  
  
  The detective took a photo. "Would you tell me now-unofficially, as journalists say - if he was alone, around them?"
  
  
  Nick ordered two more beers and checked his watch. He was supposed to pick up Helmy, but it was too important to go up.
  
  
  "You spend quite a lot of time in this regular hotel chore," he said. "You must be a very busy person."
  
  
  "We're just as busy as everyone else. But, as I said, sometimes small details fit into the big picture. We have to keep trying, and sometimes a piece of the puzzle comes into place. If you answered my corkscrew question now, maybe I'll tell you what it is that might interest you.
  
  
  "Unofficially?"
  
  
  "Unofficially."
  
  
  Nick looked at the man, intently. He followed his intuition. "So that it's the one around them."
  
  
  "I thought so. He works for Philipp Van der Lahn. The three around them hide in an ego country house. Pretty hackneyed.
  
  
  "Do you have a person there?"
  
  
  "I can't answer this corkscrew. Even unofficially ."
  
  
  'I understand her.'
  
  
  "Do you want to make charges against them?"
  
  
  'Not yet. What are Yenisei diamonds?
  
  
  'Ah. Many people in this field might be able to tell you what it is. Even though this is not documented,ble believe it or not believe it. A few months ago, three shiny diamonds were found in gold mines along the rivers of the Yenisei - that is, somewhere in Siberia. It was the most amazing find ever made. They are estimated to weigh almost one and a half pounds each and are valued at 3,100 carats. Do you realize the value of ih?
  
  
  "Just a miracle. It depends only on the quality.
  
  
  "It is believed that they are the world's largest ihs named "Yenisei Cullinanes" after the example of the Cullinane diamond. It was found in 1905 in the Transvaal and cut into pieces here in 1908. Two of the first four large stones may still ferret the largest, most flawless diamond in the world. They say that the Russians hired the Dutch expert Almazov koma-egoist. Ih the security service was too weak. He, as well as those diamonds, were gone. People still ferret think they are in Amsterdam.
  
  
  Nick blew a short, almost inaudible whistle.
  
  
  "This is truly the theft of the century. Do you have any idea where this person might be?
  
  
  "This is a big challenge. At the outbreak of World War II, a number of Dutch people - I'm very sorry to say this - were doing some very lucrative jobs for the Germans. They usually did it for money, although there were some who did it for idealistic purposes. Of course, the records were destroyed or falsified. This is almost impossible to trace, especially those who have left for Russia or who may have been captured by the Russians. We have more than twenty suspects, but we only have photos or descriptions of half of them around them.
  
  
  Odin's Van der Laan around them?
  
  
  'Oh no. He's too young for that. Mr. Van der Lahn, a big businessman. Ego activity has become quite complex in recent years.
  
  
  "At least challenging enough to take a picture of these almazovs? Or how to bring ih in Amsterdam?
  
  
  Carefully, the investigator evaded this ambush. "Since two Stones is quite secretive, there are quite a few firms that are gambling at this price."
  
  
  "What about international complications? What would this find mean, and what does it mean for the price of a diamond?
  
  
  "Of course, we work with the Russians. But once the stones are split, a determination is hardly possible. They may be split too quickly and too carelessly, but they will always be interesting for jewelry. By themselves, these stones do not pose a great danger to the diamond world, and as far as we know, the Yenisei mines are not a new field. If this were not the case, the Almazov market would be in chaos. Of course, for a short period of time.
  
  
  "I understand that I have to be very careful."
  
  
  Mr. Kent, don't lie, but I don't believe you're Almazov's buyer. Do you want to tell me who you really are?" If I arrange it with you, maybe we could help each other out.
  
  
  "I hope I can help you as much as I can," Nick said. "Her hotel would also like your cooperation. But my name is Norman Kent, and her buyer is Almazova for the Bard Gallery in New York. You can call Bill Rhodes, the owner and director of the Bard. I'll pay her for the call.
  
  
  The detective sighed. Nick bemoaned his inability to work with this man.
  
  
  But tactically, it would make little sense to give up his cover. Maybe the detective knew more about Whitlock's death than the police reports did. Nick can also ask Ego if Pieter-Jan van Rijn and Paul Meyer and ego's assistants have sniper training. But he couldn't do it. He finished his beer. "I have to work now. Its already delayed.
  
  
  "Could you please postpone this meeting?"
  
  
  "I wouldn't want that."
  
  
  "Please wait - you and Hema to need to meet."
  
  
  For the first time with a ferret, as Nick knew ego, the detective showed his teeth.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  The man who came to them was Jaap Ballegoyer - "A representative of our government," the detective said with some respect in his voice. Nick knew he wasn't playing. Ego's demeanor and tone were awe-inspiring kowtow, especially used for superiors in high rank.
  
  
  there was a well-dressed man, wearing a hat, gloves, and a walking stick, the latter evident from his ego limp. Ego's face was almost expressionless, and that, too, was excusable because Nick realized that this face was the result of plastic surgery. One eye was made of glass. Sometime in the past, that person was horribly set on fire or injured. Ego mouth and lips didn't work very well, although Ego English is absurdly correct, as it tried to form its words in slow-motion accuracy.
  
  
  Mr. Kent. Her hotel would like you to stay with me for a moment. This will only take half an hour, and is extremely important.
  
  
  "Can't it wait until tomorrow? I set her up on a date.
  
  
  'Please. You will benefit from this meeting ...
  
  
  "From Hema?"
  
  
  'You'll notice. A very important person.
  
  
  "Please, Mr. Kent," the detective added.
  
  
  Nick shrugged. "If you just wait until I call hey."
  
  
  Ballegoyer nodded, his face still. Maybe the man couldn't even smile, Nick thought. "Of course," the man said.
  
  
  Nick called Helmy and told Hey he'd be late.
  
  
  "...Sorry, dear, but there seem to be a lot of people here who want to meet Norman Kent."
  
  
  "Norman," the concern in her voice was real. "Please be careful.'
  
  
  "Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of in this God-fearing Amsterdam, my dear.
  
  
  The detective left ih alone with the Bentley driver. Ballegoyer was silent as they quickly passed the Linnaeusstraat and stopped ten minutes later in front of a giant warehouse. Nick saw the Shell badge as the door lifted, and then slid down behind the car a moment later.
  
  
  The interior of the well-lit building was so big that Bentley could make a big signpost and then stop next to an even bigger and shinier limousine in the parking lot somewhere in mid-belly. Nick noticed piles of cardboard, forklift trucks parked neatly on it, and across the road a smaller car with a human standing next to it. He was carrying a rifle or submachine gun. From this distance, Nick couldn't tell for sure. He tried to hide his ego, as unobtrusively as possible, with his body. Between the stacked boxes on the loader, Nick saw a second man. Others stood for a day. They looked very alert.
  
  
  With a quick flick of his left hand, he adjusted Wilhelmina's holster. He's starting to feel a little insecure. Ballegoyer said: "If you take a seat in the back of another car, you'll meet the person I was talking about."
  
  
  Nick remained motionless for a moment. He saw the empty flag holders on the shiny black wings of the limousine. He asked softly, " Tell me, what is the person doing in this car, does he have the right to put these flags in the holders?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  Mr. Ballegoyer, once I get out around this car, I'm going to be a very vulnerable target for a while. Would you be so kind as to get out ahead of me?
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  He stayed close behind Ballegoyer as he opened the door of the limo and said:
  
  
  "Mr. Norman Kent.
  
  
  Nick dashed into the limo and Ballegoyer closed the door behind him. There was a woman in the back of the car. But it was only the smell of ee Brass that made Nick feel like he was dealing with a woman. She was so wrapped up in furs and veils that you couldn't see her. When she started talking, he felt a little better. It was a woman's voice. She spoke English with a strong Dutch accent.
  
  
  "Mr. Kent, thank you for coming. I know it's all rather unusual, but these are unusual times.
  
  
  'Indeed.'
  
  
  "Please don't be alarmed. This is a hands-on and corkscrew spa-this meeting, its got to really say it.
  
  
  "I was in shock until she met you," Nick lied. "But I feel a little better now."
  
  
  'Thank you. We understand that you have come to Amsterdam to buy something. We want to help you.'
  
  
  "Everyone seems to want to help me here. You have a very hospitable city.
  
  
  "The voice is how we think about it too. But you can't trust everyone.
  
  
  "I know that. Its made a purchase. This is still an experiment.
  
  
  "Was that a big deal?"
  
  
  'Oh no. Well, for several thousand dollars Almazov. From a gentleman named Philippe van der Laan.
  
  
  "Did you actually know that Mr. Van der Laan is also offering you particularly large stones?
  
  
  "You mean the Yenisei diamonds?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Since it's stolen goods, I don't think I can say that I talked about it."
  
  
  There was a sharp cry of annoyance from the thick black veil. It wasn't a woman of disks to make her angry. There was something more sinister than sound...
  
  
  He chose his words carefully. "Then would you consider my position? Well, I won't tell anyone that we talked about those diamonds , it would be rude, to say the least. Let me just say that I have been approached by several people who have hinted that if she was interested in these diamonds, they might be sold to me.
  
  
  He heard something like a growl. "Beware of such suggestions. They are deceiving you. This is, as the English say: cheating.
  
  
  "Maybe I don't even want to buy it."
  
  
  "Mr. Kent, we have a small community here. The purpose of your visit is quite clear to me. I'm trying to help you.
  
  
  "Or maybe sell the diamonds?"
  
  
  'Of course. We have seen that you can be deceived. I decided to warn her. In a few days, Mr. Ballegoyer will arrange a meeting with you to show you ih.
  
  
  "Can I see her ih now?" Nick asked corkscrew and polite, coupled with an innocent smile.
  
  
  "I think you know that this is not possible. Mr. Ballegoyer will call you. At the same time, you should not throw money away aimlessly.
  
  
  'Thank you.'
  
  
  Apparently, the negotiations ended. "Well, thanks for the warning," Nick said. "I more or less see new opportunities for the diamond business."
  
  
  'We know that. Sometimes it is more appropriate to send a smart person who is not an expert than an expert who is not so smart. Good-bye, Mr. Kent."
  
  
  Nick got out of the limo and returned to his seat next to Ballegoyer. The car with the woman glided quietly to the metal door, which rose and disappeared into the spring twilight. The license plate was blacked out. The door remained open, but Ballegooyer's driver did not start the car. "I'm late," Nick said.
  
  
  "That's right, Mr. Kent. A cigarette?'
  
  
  'Thank you. Nick lit a cigarette. Oni whether it's time for the limo to leave, perhaps to stop and open the license plates. He wondered if they would put flags in the holders. "An important lady."
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "What will we call next if you call me?"
  
  
  "Take any name or code you want."
  
  
  "Madame J?"
  
  
  'Good.'
  
  
  Nick wondered where Ballegoyer had gotten all those injuries. He was a man who could have been anything from a fighter pilot to an infantry soldier. Decent person was too simple a definition about nen. It wasn't so wouldnt be difficult to conclude that this man would do his duty under any other circumstances. Similar to the British officers Patton admired so much when they said, if it's duty, we'll attack anyone with a single whip.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, the Bentley pulled up in front of the Die Port van Cleve Hotel. Ballegoyer said: "I'll call you. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Mr. Kent.
  
  
  Nick saw a man approaching in the foyer and turned, and he was alert. Hundreds of people can mimmo you, without you, without knocking you to us by a hair's breadth, but when your senses are razor-sharp and your eyes are always alert or barely relaxed, a person who seems familiar after you ego saw. Some around us, Hawk once said, have built-in radar, like bats.
  
  
  The man was ordinary. He was quite old, well-dressed but not tasteful, with a grey moustache and a stiff gait, probably from arthritis or just joint problems. He was uninteresting - because he wanted to be. He wore metal glasses with slightly tinted lenses.
  
  
  The glass prevented Nick from recognizing the man immediately. Then the man said: "Good evening, Mr. Kent. Shouldn't we go for a walk? It will be nice to walk along the canals.
  
  
  Nick chuckled. It was David Hawke. "With pleasure," he said. That's exactly what he meant. It was a relief to discuss the events of the past two days, and although he sometimes pretended to be displeased, he always took Hawke's advice.
  
  
  The old man was merciless when his duties aroused ego, but if you can see it in the ego's outward appearance, you saw his face full of pity for you - a face with a strange sympathy for you. He had a fantastic memory, and there was one, around those people Nick had to admit it, that Hawke's memory was better than his ego. He also did not analyze the facts until his ego-sharp brain found the point where they fit together. He was careful, with the judge's innate habit of looking at the situation from three sides at once and from the inside too, but unlike many detail experts, he could make decisions within a second and stick to ih for a long time if they turned out to be valid.
  
  
  They walked along the Nieuwendijk, chatting about the city, until they came to a place where the spring wind would have thwarted any chance of wiretapping with a long-range microphone. There Hawk said: "I hope I won't ruin your plans for today, I won't keep you too long. I have to leave for London today.
  
  
  "I have an appointment with Helmy, but she knows I'll be late."
  
  
  "Ah, dear Helmy. So you are making progress. Are you happy that our rules are the same as Hoover's?
  
  
  "It might take a little longer if they were followed. Nick recounted his ego-related encounters with Van der Laan, Van Rijn, and the veiled woman in the limo. He noted every detail, except for the juicy moments with Helmy. They have nothing to do with it.
  
  
  "I was going to tell you about the Yenisei diamonds," Hawk said when Nick finished, "The NSA has had this intelligence for a week, but we just got ih. Goliath moves slowly." The ego tone was bitter. "They are fussing over you because there are rumors that you came here to buy these diamonds. The veiled woman - if she's a woman, hema we think she is-is one of the richest women in the world. For some obvious reason, she decided that these diamonds should be sold through nah. Van der Laan van Rijn is also thinking about this for various reasons. Probably because the thief promised them ih. They allow you to become a buyer."
  
  
  "It became a useful cover," Nick commented. "Until they figure out a deal and everything comes out." Corkscrew key: who actually has them? Is this related to leaks about our spies and Whitlock's death?
  
  
  'Perhaps. Or maybe not. Let's just say that Manson Stahl is a spy channel because of the constant flow of couriers between various diamond centers. The Yenisei diamonds were brought to Amsterdam because they can be sold there, and because the Manson spy ring is organized from here. Because the thief knows it. Hawk pointed at the pile of illuminated flowers, as if they were talking about it. He held his cane like a sword, Nick thought.
  
  
  "Maybe they were invented just to help us with this counterintelligence problem. According to our data, Herb Whitlock knew Van der Lahn, but he had never met van Rijn, and he knew nothing about the Yenisei diamonds.
  
  
  "There was hardly any possibility that Whitlock had heard of them. If he knew that, he wouldn't have made any connection. If he had lived a little longer, he could have done it.
  
  
  Hawk poked the sidewalk with his cane in a short stabbing motion. "We know that. Maybe some of the information we have at our disposal is hidden from the local detectives. This Dutch defector called himself a German in the Soviet Union, under the name Hans Geyser. Small, thin, about fifty-five years old. Light brown hair, and in Siberia he had a blond beard.
  
  
  "Maybe the Russians didn't pass that description on to the Dutch?"
  
  
  'Perhaps. Maybe the fact that he committed the theft of Almazov has nothing to do with where this Geyser was before 1945, or the detective is hiding it from you, which would make sense."
  
  
  "I'll keep an eye on this Geyser."
  
  
  "He can be a thin, short, dark man without a beard. For someone like him, this can be a predictable change. That's all we know about this Geyser. Diamond expert. To us, of which there is no certainty at all.
  
  
  Nick thought about it. "There's no one around the people she's encountered so far who looks like a ferret. We are the ones who attacked me.
  
  
  "A poorly organized attack. Hers, I think the only real thing was the attempt to shoot Helmi at the airport. Probably Van der Lahn's men. The assassination attempt on Helmi happened because she became aware that she was a spy courier and because they thought you might be a CIA agent, or an FBI agent.
  
  
  "Perhaps now oni has changed its mind about its liquidation?"
  
  
  'Yes. Incorrect rating. The curse of all Danish mobsters. We know what data was left on Helmi in New York. It's about Manson's ownership. This was shown here. This assassination attempt failed. She then delivered a briefcase in good condition. She's behaving normally. You turned out to be an almazov buyer that they checked out and made sure they had a lot of dollars to spend on purchases. Well, they may come to the conclusion that you don't fit into the role of an ordinary Almazov buyer. Of course not, because you are looking for Yenisei diamonds. There may be suspicions, but there's no reason to be afraid of you. Another incorrect estimate.
  
  
  Nick remembered Helmy's nervousness. "I'm overworked," sounds like a very weak excuse. Helmi probably tried to put pieces of information together, I don't know, about the essence.
  
  
  "She was very nervous on the plane," Nick said. "She was holding her briefcase as if it was chained to her wrist. Both she and Van der Laan seemed relieved when she handed the briefcase to Em. Maybe they had other reasons too.
  
  
  'Interesting. We don't know for sure, but we have to assume that Van der Lahn doesn't know that she's found out what's going on at Manson's firm. I'll leave that aspect of the question to you.
  
  
  They were strolling, and the streetlights came on. It was a typical spring evening in Amsterdam. Not cold, not hot, humid, but nice. Cautiously, Hawk denied the various events that appeared in the media, asking Nicky's opinion with subtle questions. Finally the old man headed for Hendrikkade Street, and Nick knew that official business was over. "Let's have a beer, Nicholas," Hawk said. "Your success".
  
  
  They entered the bar. I try architecture, beautiful surroundings. It was like the place where Henry Hudson drank his last glass before setting sail for De Halve Maen to explore the Native American island of Manhattan. Nick told the story before drinking a frothy glass of beer.
  
  
  "Yes," Hawk admitted ruefully. "Well, they called us researchers. But never forget that the majority around them wanted their own benefit. Two words will answer most of the questions about those people, and about people like Van der Laan, Van Rijn, and that veiled woman. If you haven't solved this problem yourself, give them a try.
  
  
  Nick drank a beer, and Stahl waited. Sometimes Hawk using microphones and speakers can drive you crazy. He inhaled the fragrance around the large glass. This is Elya. Not carbonated water with alcohol and some additional flavorings.
  
  
  "What are these two words?" Nick asked.
  
  
  Hawk drained his mug slowly, then set ego down in front of him with a sigh. Then he raised his cane.
  
  
  'Who will win? he muttered.
  
  
  Again, Nick apologized as soon as he relaxed in her Vauxhall car. Helmy was a good driver. There were only a few women around whom he could sit in the car indifferent, not bothered when they were driving. But Helmi rode confidently. "Business, dear. It's like a disease. How about Five Flies to make up for my tardiness?
  
  
  "Five Flies?" she gave a low laugh. "You read too much about Europe for $ 5 a day. It's for tourists."
  
  
  "Then find another place. Surprise me.'
  
  
  'Good.'
  
  
  She was glad he'd asked her. They took in the" Zwarte Schaep", by candlelight, on the third floor of a picturesque seventeenth-century building. The railing was wrapped around a twisted teapot; copper pots decorated the scorched walls. At any given moment, you'd expect to see Rembrandt strolling around with a long pipe and his hand stroking his girlfriend's plump ass. The drink was perfect, eda's fantastic atmosphere a great reminder that time should not be wasted.
  
  
  Over coffee and cognac, Nick said: "Thank you so much for bringing me here. Against this background, you reminded me that birth and death are important events, and everything that happens between them is a game.
  
  
  "Yes, this place seems timeless." She won the hand of ego. "Nice to be with you, Norman. I feel safe, even after everything that's happened.
  
  
  Hers was at the pinnacle of my entire life. My family was nice and warm in its own way, but it never felt very close to them. Maybe that's why I felt so warm about Holland and Manson and Phil ..."
  
  
  Suddenly she stopped talking, and Nick thought she was going to cry. It's nice if you push this woman in a certain direction, but be careful when you arrive at intersections and forks. She's a gambling addict. He frowned. You had to admit that some of the gambling around here was good. He stroked her shiny nails. "Have you checked the details of these diamonds?"
  
  
  She told em about the Transvaal Cullinane. Phil said there are diamonds that they call Yenisei Cullinanes. They will probably be put up for sale.
  
  
  'Actually. You can find out more about it. The story goes that they were stolen in the Soviet Union, and disappeared in Amsterdam.
  
  
  "Is it true that you're actually looking for ih?"
  
  
  Nick sighed. It was her way of explaining all the mysteries surrounding Norman Street.
  
  
  "No, honey, I don't think I'm interested in selling stolen goods. But I want to know when ih offer.
  
  
  Those sweet blue eyes were shrinking with a hint of fear and uncertainty.
  
  
  "You're confusing me, Norman. One minute I think you're a businessman, smart, depending on the circumstances, then I wonder if you could be an insurance inspector, or maybe Hema Ono from Interpol. If you do, dear, tell me the truth.
  
  
  "Honestly, and really, my dear net.' She was a weak investigator.
  
  
  She should have just asked him if he worked for some secret service.
  
  
  "Will they also learn something new about the people who attacked you in your room?"
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  She thought of Paul Meyer. He was a frightening person. Why does Phil have anything in common with someone like him? Traces of fear slid down her back and settled somewhere between her shoulder blades. Is it Meyer's job to gawk in Schiphol? An attempt on nah? Maybe on Phil's orders? Oh no. Not Phil. Not the Manson . But what about those micro recordings of Kelly? If she hadn't discovered ih, she might have just asked Phil, but now her little world, which she had become so attached to, was shaking to the core. And she didn't know where to go.
  
  
  "I never thought about how many criminals Amsterdam has, Norman. But I'll be happy when I get back to New York, even if I'm afraid to walk down the street near my apartment at night. We had three attacks in less than two blocks.
  
  
  He sensed her discomfort and emu felt sorry for her. The degree of status quo is more difficult for women to create egos than for men. She cherished him like her treasure, she snuggled up to him. She anchored her anchors to it, like a sea creature groping hesitantly on a coral reef when the wind blows. When she asked: is it true? she has mistletoe in mind: won't you betray me too? Nick knew that if ih's relationship changed. Of course, he could have used enough leverage at some point to get her to go the way he wanted. He wants the power, or some po-ee anchors, to be transferred from Van der Lahn and "Manson" to him. She will doubt them and then ask the ego -
  
  
  "Honey, can I really trust Phil to do something that will ruin me if he cheats on me?" and then wait for the ego to respond.
  
  
  Nick drove back. They were driving down the Stadhouderskade, and she was sitting next to him. "I feel jealous today," Nick said.
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "I've been thinking about you and Phil. I know the ego admires you, and I've seen it look at you in a certain way. It's a nice big sofa that he has in his office.
  
  
  I was beginning to see things. Even if you don't want to - big boss and the like.
  
  
  She rubbed her leg on the inside of her knee, and he marveled at the warmth she could produce on him. 'That's not so. We never had sex there-not in the office. As I've already told you, it was only a few times when we left there. Aren't you so corny as to go crazy about it?
  
  
  'No. But you're beautiful enough to seduce even a bronze statue.
  
  
  Dear, if this is what you want, we must not deceive the other with the other.
  
  
  He put his arm around ee's arm. "It's not such a supposedly bad idea. I have a very warm feeling for you, Helmy. From the moment we met. And after that, last night, it was so amazing. This is unrealistic, very strong emotions. It's like you've become a part of me.
  
  
  "Vote how I feel, Norman," she whispered. "I usually don't care if I'm dating a guy or not. When you called me to tell me you were going to be late, I felt empty inside. I tried to read it, but I can't read it. It had to move. She had to do something. Do you know what I did? She washed up a bunch of dishes.
  
  
  You'd be very surprised if you saw me, then. Dressed for the afternoon, with a big apron and rubber gloves. In order not to think. Fearing that you might not come at all.
  
  
  "I think I understand you," he stifled a yawn. "It's time to go to bed...
  
  
  When she was in the bathroom and turned on the water, he made a quick phone call. A female voice with a very slight accent answered. "Hi Mata," he said. "I can't talk for too long. There are some other details of Salame's paintings that her hotel would like to discuss with you. I was supposed to send my regards to you from Hans Noorderbos. Will you be home at nine-thirty tomorrow morning?"
  
  
  He heard a muffled groan. There was silence. Then yes.'
  
  
  "Can you help me out a bit during the day? I need a guide. It will be profitable.
  
  
  'Yes. He admired her quick response and her brevity. The bathroom water was turned off. He said: "All right, John. Goodbye.'
  
  
  Helmi came out of the bathroom with her clothes on her arm. She hung the ih neatly on a chair. "Do you want something to drink before you go to bed?"
  
  
  'Great idea.'
  
  
  Nick held his breath. It was every time he saw that beautiful body. In the soft light, she shone like a model. Ee's skin wasn't as dark as ego's, nen didn't have any clothes on. She handed Em the glass and smiled, a smile that was always new, shy, warm.
  
  
  He kissed her.
  
  
  She slowly walks over to the bed and places the glass on the nightstand. Nick looked at her approvingly. She sat down on the white sheets and pulled her knees up to her chin. "Norman, we have to be careful. I know you're smart and know a lot about diamonds, but there's always a chance you'll get the wrong one. A smart way to place a small order that you can check out before deciding on something bigger.
  
  
  Nick bench presses on the bed next to her. "You're right, honey. Her sam had already thought that the hotel would do it this way. She's starting to help me, he thought. She warned state ego vs Van der Lahn and "Manson", I don't say this verbose. She kissed ego's earlobe like a bride inviting a newlywed couple to enjoy their lovemaking skills. He took a deep breath and looked out into the night. It wouldn't be such a bad idea to make these curtains, he thought.
  
  
  He stroked her golden blond locks. She smiled and said, " Isn't it nice?"
  
  
  'Amazing.'
  
  
  "I mean, to be here quietly all night and not rush anywhere. We'll have all this time to ourselves.
  
  
  "And you know how to use it."
  
  
  Her smile was seductive. "No more than you do. I mean, if you weren't here, it would be different. But time is not so wouldnt matter. This is a human invention. Time only matters if you know how to fill the ego. He patted her gently. She's a real philosopher, he thought. He let his lips slide over her body. "I'll give you something this time that will be nice to remember, dear," he grumbled.
  
  
  Stroking her neck with her fingers, she said, " I'll help you."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  The black sign on the apartment's birthday read Paula Eduard Meyer. If Helmy, Van der Laan, or someone who knew Meyer's income and ego tastes paid a visit, they would be surprised. Van der Lahn would even start investigating it.
  
  
  - Apartment on the third floor of one of the old houses with a view of the Naarderweg. Solid, old building, with a purely Dutch painstaking service. Many years ago, a building materials dealer with three children managed to rent an adjacent small apartment.
  
  
  He tore down the walls and merged the two suites. Even with good relations, all permits would take at least seven months, in the Netherlands all such operations pass through various channels that resemble mud pools in which you drown. But after I finished, this dwelling had at least eight rooms and a mistletoe long balcony. Three years ago, he sold his last lumber yard, along with his other holdings, and went to South Africa. The man who showed up to rent it and pay for it in cash was Pavel Eduard Meyer. He was a quiet tenant and gradually became a businessman who received many visitors. The visits didn't mean women, in this case, although now one was walking down the stairs around them. But all the customers were decent people, like Meyer. Especially now that he was a prosperous man.
  
  
  Meyer's prosperity was due to the people who came to visit him, in particular, with Nicholas Goda. de Groot, who left five years ago after ordering him to look after a beautiful, large apartment, and then immediately disappeared to do so. Recently, Paul realized that De Groot was a diamond expert for the Russians. That was all De Groot could tell em about it. But it was enough. When De Groot suddenly showed up in this huge apartment, he knew "You stole well," was all he had to say.
  
  
  "I got ih. And you will get your share. Keep Van der Lahn in the dark and don't say anything.
  
  
  De Groot contacted Van der Laan and other interested parties via demand mail. The Yenisei diamonds were hidden somewhere in an inconspicuous package in De Groot's luggage. Three times Paul tried to reach them, but he wasn't too disappointed when he couldn't find ih. It's always better to have someone else try to open a bag of explosives - instead of getting their share of them safely.
  
  
  On this beautiful morning, De Groot was drinking coffee and eating a large breakfast. He enjoyed the view from the balcony as he viewed the one brought by Harry Hasebrook. email address. Long ago, when his name was Hans, Geyser, De Groot was a short blond man. Now, as Hawk had guessed, he was short and dark. Ganz Geyser was a methodical man. The camouflage was good, right down to the skin tone and dark nail polish. Unlike many small people, De Groot was not in a hurry and did not stand out. He walked slowly through life, an uninteresting and inconspicuous man who probably had concerns about being recognized. He chose an inconspicuous role and mastered it beautifully.
  
  
  Harry Hasebrook was about the same age as De Groot. About fifty years old and about the same height and build. He, too, was a patron of the Fuhrer who promised Germany so much in his time. Either because Em needed a father, or because he wanted his dreams fulfilled. De Groot now also knew that he was wrong at the time. He didn't spare so many funds that he used, and then the complete lack of any success in the long run. Hasebroek was like that himself, and he was absolutely loyal-to De Groot.
  
  
  When De Groot told em about the Yenisei diamonds, Hazebrook smiled and said: "I knew you would succeed someday. Will it be a big jackpot?
  
  
  "Yes, it will be a lot of money. That's enough for everyone around us ."
  
  
  Hazebrook was the only person in the world De Groot could have had any feelings for other than himself.
  
  
  He scanned the letters carefully. "Harry, the fish are biting. Van Rijn wants a meeting on Friday. Van der Laan, Saturday.
  
  
  "In your house?"
  
  
  'To the provinces.
  
  
  'It's dangerous.'
  
  
  'Yes. But it is necessary.
  
  
  "How are we going to get there?"
  
  
  "We'll have to be there. But careful and armed. Paul will provide us with information about Van der Laan. Philip sometimes uses ego instead of me. It then passes the information to me. They both grinned. But with van Rijn, it may be a different case. What do you think of nen?'
  
  
  "I was surprised when he offered to buy ih from me."
  
  
  "Very good, Harry... But still ..."
  
  
  De Groot poured himself another cup of coffee. Ego's face was thoughtful. "Three competitors, it's wrong - they will interfere with each other," Hazebrook said.
  
  
  'Of course. They are the biggest connoisseurs of almazov in the world. But why didn't they show more interest? "Too dangerous," they said. You need a solid buyer to sell the emu. As your own almazov dealer. But still-they sell large quantities of stolen almazovs all over the world. They need raw materials.
  
  
  "We have to be careful."
  
  
  "Of course, Harry. Do you have any fake diamonds?
  
  
  "Stored in a secret location. The car is also locked.
  
  
  "The weapons are also there?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Come to me at one o'clock. Then we'll go there. Two old men visit crocodiles.
  
  
  "We need dark glasses for camouflage," Hazebrook said seriously.
  
  
  De Groot laughed. Harry was stupid in comparison. It was a long time ago when he left for Germany... But Harry he could trust, a reliable soldier from whom you shouldn't expect too much. Harry had never asked about this special job De Groot was doing with Van der Laan, but there was no point in telling him about the courier services to Moscow or anyone else. De Groot was engaged in trade, as Van der Laan called the transport of information in ihc. This persisted a lot of profit, sometimes less, but ultimately, it was a good return. It was now too risky if you kept doing it for too long.
  
  
  Was it easy for Van der Lahn to find another courier? If he had openly agreed to this, the Russians might have obtained a conurent for him. But what was important to him was De Groot.
  
  
  He had to get rid of these Yenisei almazovs while the crocodiles fought among themselves for them. De Groot's hard, thin, colorless lips tightened. Let these animals deal with each other.
  
  
  After Helmy left, happy and happy, as if being with Nick had taken her mind off her worries, Nick was ready for a trip to the country. He prepared himself carefully, testing his ego's special equipment.
  
  
  He quickly assembled the gun around the parts of the typewriter that couldn't type. He reassembled the typewriter, then put it back in his suitcase. AX's genius for special resources-Stewart was proud of this invention. Nick was a little worried that Alenka would need extra luggage on trips. After he put together the gun he needed. Nick examined the three chocolate bars and the comb, which were made of cast plastic. They had caps, what was in medicine bottles, complete with prescriptions... Ego luggage also contained an exceptionally large number of ballpoint pens, divided into groups of six of different colors... Some around them were picric acid detonators, with an ignition time of ten minutes. The others were explosives and the blue ones were frag grenades. When he was ready to leave - leaving only a few things in his room-he called van Rijn and Van der Lahn to confirm appointments with them. Then he called Helmi, and felt her disappointment when he said: "Honey, I won't be able to see you today. Are you going to Van der Lahn's for the weekend?
  
  
  "I've been waiting for you to say this. But I always welcome ..."
  
  
  "I'll probably be very busy for a while. But let's meet again on Saturday.
  
  
  'Good. She spoke slowly and was worried. He knew that he was wondering where he would be and what he would do, guessing and worrying. For a moment, emu felt sorry for her...
  
  
  She voluntarily joined the game, and she knew its rough rules.
  
  
  In a rented Peugeot car, he found the address in a guidebook using a detailed map of Amsterdam and the surrounding area. He bought a bouquet of flowers from the flower cart, marveled again at the Dutch landscape, and went to the house.
  
  
  Mata opened the door just as he rang the bell. "My darling," she said, and they almost crushed the flowers between her juicy body and ego. The kissing and caressing took a long time, but in the end, she handed the flowers to the vase and wiped her eyes. "Well, we finally meet again," Nick said. "You don't have to cry."
  
  
  "It's been so long. She was so lonely. You remind me of Jakarta.
  
  
  "With pleasure, hers, I hope?"
  
  
  'Of course. I know you did what you were supposed to do.
  
  
  "Well done=) just for the same task. My name is Norman Kent. The man who was here before me was Herbert Whitlock. Never heard of nen?
  
  
  Mata slowly walked towards her small home bar. "He drank too much here, but now I feel like I need it too. Coffee with Vieux?
  
  
  "What is it?"
  
  
  "A certain Dutch cognac.
  
  
  "Well, I'd love to have her."
  
  
  She brought him a drink and sat down next to him on the wide, flowery couch. "Well, Norman Kent. Hers in no way connected you with Herbert Whitlock, although hers is now beginning to understand why he went to so many jobs and did so much business. I might have guessed it.
  
  
  'Maybe not. We come in all shapes and sizes. Look ..."
  
  
  He interrupted her with a short, deep laugh. He grimaced ... Look. He took the map from his pocket and pointed to the area around Volkel. "Do you know these areas?"
  
  
  'Yes. Wait a second. I have a topographic map.
  
  
  She went into the other room and Nick explored the apartment. Four spacious rooms. Very expensive. But Mata got up well on her feet or, to use a bad joke, a bed on her back. In Indonesia, Mata was a secret agent until she was expelled from the country. This was an agreement, otherwise they might have been a lot stricter.
  
  
  Mata returned and unfolded the map in front of him. 'This is the Volkel district.
  
  
  "I have an address. It belongs to the country house of Pieter-Jan van Rijn. Can you find the ego?
  
  
  They stared at the intricate lines and hatching patterns.
  
  
  "There should be an ego fiefdom here. Lots of fields and forests. In this country, they are quite rare and very expensive.
  
  
  "I want you to be able to stay with me for the day. If, is this possible?
  
  
  She turned to him. She was wearing a simple dress that vaguely resembled an oriental wrap. It was Irene's full body and showed the curves of her breasts. Mata was small and dark, the exact opposite of Helmi. Her laughter was quick. She had a sense of humor. In some ways, she was smarter than Helmy. She had been through much more, and gone through much more difficult times than they were, which she was now in. Nah had no hard feelings ee life. It was good as it was - but funny. Her dark eyes stared back at him, and her red lips twitched in amusement. She got both hands on her sides. "I knew you'd come back, dear. What held you back for so long?
  
  
  Then in two subsequent meetings and a few warm hugs around the good old days they were gone. It took Nah no more than four minutes to prepare for the trip. He wondered if she, too, still disappeared through the back wall just as quickly when the wrong person showed up at her front door.
  
  
  As they were leaving, Nick said: "I think it's about fifty miles by the numbers. Do you know the way?"
  
  
  'Yes. We're turning to Bosch Day. After that, I can ask her directions at the police station or at the post office. You're still on the side of justice, aren't you? She curled her warm lips into a teasing line. "I love you, Nick. Her-good to see you again. But come on, we'll find some coffee to ask for directions."
  
  
  Nick looked the other way, too. This girl had a habit with them of being a ferret, as he recognized her, to make him angry. He hid his pleasure, and said: "Van Rijn is a respected citizen. We should be like neat guests. Try again later by email. I have an appointment with him tonight. But I want to explore this place thoroughly. What do you know about nen?'
  
  
  'Not much. I once worked in the advertising department of ego companies and met him two or three times at parties."
  
  
  "Don't you know, ego?"
  
  
  'What do you mean?'
  
  
  "Well, I met and saw the ego. You know, ego, personal?
  
  
  'No. I told you that. At least she didn't touch him, if that's what you mean."
  
  
  Nick grinned.
  
  
  "But," Mata continued, " with all the big retail companies, you quickly get the feeling that Amsterdam is nothing more than a village. A big village, but a village. All these people ...
  
  
  "How's Van Rijn?"
  
  
  No, no, I thought for a moment. Not him. But Amsterdam is so small. He is a great person in the mail business. A good relationship. I mean, if he had anything to do with a criminal outdoor pool like them, the people in... like them that we knew in Jakarta - I think she would have known about it ."
  
  
  In other words, he doesn't do espionage.
  
  
  No. I don't think he's any more fair than any other speculator, but - how do you put it? "ego hands are clean."
  
  
  'Good. What about Van der Laan and Manson?
  
  
  'Ah. I don't know her. I've heard about it. He really does do shady things."
  
  
  They drove for a while without saying anything. "And you, Seven," Nick asked, " how are your dark deeds?"
  
  
  She didn't answer. He glanced at nah. Its sharp Eurasian profile stood out against the green pastures.
  
  
  "You're more beautiful than ever, Mata," he said. " How are things going with finances and garbage?"
  
  
  Expensive... Is that why you left me in Singapore? Because I'm pretty?
  
  
  "That's the price I had to pay for it. You know my job. Can I take her back to Amsterdam?"
  
  
  She sighed. No, dear, her-it's good to see you again. Unless I can't laugh as much as we do now, for a few hours. I'm working on it. They know me all over Europe. They know me very well. I'm fine.'
  
  
  "Great software for this apartment."
  
  
  "It costs me a fortune. But I need something decent. Love? Nothing special. Good friends, good people. I can't take this anymore." She leaned against him and added softly, " They have a ferret with them, as I know you ..."
  
  
  Nick hugged her, feeling a little awkward.
  
  
  Soon after a delicious lunch at a small tavern on the side of the road for the Day, Bosch, Mata pointed ahead. "Voice and disks side road from the map. If there are no other smaller roads, we must take this road to reach the Van Rijn estate. It has to come from an old family to have so many hectares of land in the Netherlands ."
  
  
  "The high fence around the barbed wire led out of the well-kept forest and formed a right angle to run parallel to the road. "Maybe it's the boundaries of ownership ego," Nick said.
  
  
  'Yes. Maybe.'
  
  
  The road was barely wide enough for two cars to pass mimmo another other, but it was widened somewhere. The trees looked well-tended. There were no visible branches on the ground, no traces of debris, and even the grass seemed well-groomed. Beyond the gate, a dirt road opened around the forest, curved slightly and ran parallel to the road, and then disappeared again behind the trees. Nick parked his car at one of the locations around the city. "It was like a pasture. Van Rijn said he had horses." Nick said.
  
  
  "There is no turnstile here. We passed one, but nen was a big castle. Let's see what happens next?
  
  
  'In a minute. Can I have a map, please?
  
  
  He examined the topographic map. 'Actually. Here it is marked as a dirt road. He's walking towards the road on the other side of the forest."
  
  
  He drove slowly.
  
  
  "Why don't you just drive through the main entrance now? However, I remember that you wouldn't have been able to do it well in Jakarta either."
  
  
  "Yes, Mata, my dear. You don't get rid of your habits so quickly. Look, the voice... He saw faint wheel tracks in the grass. He followed them and a few seconds later parked the car, partially hidden from the road. In the United States, it was called Lavers Lane, but there were no fences. "I'm going to take a look. I always want to know something about this place before coming here."
  
  
  She lifted her face to his. In fact, she's even prettier than Helmy in her own way, he thought. He kissed her for a long time and gave her the keys. "Keep ih to yourself."
  
  
  "And if you don't come back?"
  
  
  "Then you go home and tell Gans Norderbos the whole story. But I'll be back."
  
  
  As he climbed onto the roof of the car, he thought: "I've always done this until now ferret. But one day it won't happen. Mata is so practical. With a jolt that shook the car on its springs, he jumped over the fence. On the other hand, he fell again, rolled over, and landed on his feet again. There he turned to Mat, grinned, bowed briefly,and disappeared into the trees.
  
  
  A soft streak of golden sunlight fell between the trees and lingered on her cheeks. She bathed in nen and smoked a cigarette, thinking and remembering. In Jakarta, she did not accompany Norman Street. Back then, he was known by a different name. But he is still the same powerful, charming, unwavering man who haunted the mysterious Judas. It wasn't there when he wanted the Q-ship, the headquarters of Judas and Heinrich Muller. When he finally found the Chinese junk, there was another Indonesian girl with him. Mata sighed.
  
  
  Every girl in Indonesia was beautiful. They were almost as charming as she was, and maybe even more charming, but that was all ih had in common. There was a huge difference between them. Mata knew what a man wanted between dusk and dawn, the girl had just come to this meeting. Not surprisingly, my girl ego was respected. Norman Kent was the perfect man to breathe life into any girl.
  
  
  Mata studied the forest where Norman had disappeared. She tried to remember what she knew about this Peter Jan van Rijn. It is the fluid and blood of the ego. Great relationship. Loyalty. She was remembering. Can it give the emu incorrect information? Perhaps she wasn't knowledgeable enough, Van Rijn didn't really know sl. She hadn't noticed anything like this before.
  
  
  She went out through the cars, threw away her cigarette, and kicked off her yellow leather shoes. Ee jumping from the roof of the Peugeot over the fence may not have been as far as Nick's jump, but it was more graceful. It descended smoothly. She put her boots back on and started walking toward the trees.
  
  
  Nick followed the path for several hundred yards. He walked through the short, thick grass next to her so that he wouldn't leave any footprints. He came to a long bend where the path cut through the woods. Nick decided not to follow the open path and went through the woods parallel to Hey.
  
  
  The trail crossed the stream on a wooden village bridge that looked like it was being rubbed with linseed oil every week. The tree glowed. The stream's banks looked as well-tended as the trees in the forest itself, and the deep stream seemed to guarantee a good fishing trip. He reached a hill where all the trees had been cut down, so there was a good view of the surrounding area.
  
  
  The panorama was amazing. It really looked like a postcard with the text: "Dutch Landscape". The forest stretched for about a kilometer, and even the treetops around it seemed clipped. Behind them were neat patches of arable land. Nick studied ih through a pair of small binoculars. The fields were a curious collection of fields of corn, flowers, and vegetables. In one, a man was working on a yellow tractor, and in the other, two women were bending down to do something with the ground. Beyond these fields was a beautiful large house with several outbuildings and long rows of greenhouses that shimmered in the sun.
  
  
  Suddenly Nick lowered the binoculars and sniffed the air. Someone was smoking a cigar. He quickly descended the hill and hid in the circles of trees. On the other side of the hill, he saw a Daf 44 Comfort car parked between bushes. Wheel tracks indicate that she was zigzagging through the woods.
  
  
  He studied the ground. On this carpeted ground, it was impossible for us to follow any footsteps. But as he walked through the forest, the smell grew stronger. He saw a man with his back turned, studying the landscape through binoculars. With a flick of his shoulder, he loosened Wilhelmina in her holster and coughed. The man turned quickly, and Nick said, " Hello."
  
  
  Nick smiled contentedly. He thought of Hawke's words: "Look for a dark, bearded man in his mid-fifties." Great! Nicolaas E. de Groot smiled at rheumatism and nodded affectionately. 'Hello there. It's a beautiful view."
  
  
  The smile and friendly nod were only obvious. But Nick wasn't fooled. This man is as hard as steel, he thought. - 'Amazing. It's the first time I've seen it. You seem to know the way there." He nodded towards hidden Dafa.
  
  
  I've been here before, though I've always walked. But there is the Moscow gate." A regular lock. De Groot shrugged.
  
  
  "So I assume we're both intruders?"
  
  
  Let's just say: scouts. Do you know what this house is?
  
  
  "Peter-Jan van Rijn".
  
  
  'Exactly.De Groot examined it carefully. "I sell diamonds, Mr. Kent, and I heard in town that you were buying ih."
  
  
  "Maybe that's why we're watching Van Rijn's house. Yes, and maybe you'll sell it, or maybe I'll buy it ."
  
  
  "Well marked, Mr. Kent. And since we're meeting now, we might not need an intermediary anymore ."
  
  
  Nick thought quickly. That old man knew it right away. He shook his head slowly. "I'm not a diamond expert, Mr. De Groot. I'm not sure if it will be good for me in the long run if I turn Mr. Van Rijn against me."
  
  
  De Groot slipped the binoculars into the leather case slung over his shoulder. Nick watched the movements of Ego's hands carefully. "I don't understand our words around this. They say you Americans are very smart in the mail business. Do you understand how high Van Rijn's commission is on this transaction?
  
  
  'Lots of money. But for me, it could be a guarantee ."
  
  
  "Then if you are so concerned about this item, perhaps we can meet later. With your expert - if the emu can be trusted.
  
  
  "Van Rijn is an expert. I'm very happy with it ." The little man walked briskly back and forth, moving as if he were wearing breeches and combat boots instead of the formal gray suit.
  
  
  He shook his head. "I don't think you understand your advantages in this new situation."
  
  
  'Good. But can you show me these Yenisei diamonds?
  
  
  'Perhaps. They're close by.
  
  
  'In the car?'
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  Nick stiffened. The little man was overconfident. In a moment of sickness, he pulled Wilhelmina out. De Groot looked casually at the long blue screen. The only thing that has changed in nen is that her ego-confident, sharp eyes have widened. "Of course there's someone else in the woods to look after your car, "Nick said.
  
  
  And no pranks, please. You probably know what a gawker can do with a gun like that."
  
  
  De Groot didn't move a muscle except his lips. "I'm very familiar with the Luger, Mr. Kent. But I hope you are very familiar with the big English Webley pistol. "Right now, one is aimed at your back and the audience is in good hands ."
  
  
  "Tell em to come out and join you."
  
  
  'Oh no. You can kill me if you want. We'll all have to die sometime. So if you want to die with me, you can kill me now." De Groot raised his voice. "Come lick it, Harry, and try to hit it. If it fires, kill the ego immediately. Then take the diamonds and sell them to IHC. Auf Wiedersehen ".
  
  
  "Are you bluffing?" Nick asked quietly.
  
  
  "Say something, Harry."
  
  
  Just behind Nick came a che voice: "I will carry out the order. Exactly. And you're so brave...
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  Nick stood motionless. The sun was hot on the emu's neck. Somewhere in the woods, birds were chirping. Finally De Groot said: "In the Wild West, they called it Mexican poker, didn't they?" "I'm glad you know this game." "Ah, Mr. Kent. Gambling is my hobby. Probably along with my love of the old Wild West. The Dutch and Germans contributed much more to the development of that time than is commonly believed. Did you know, for example, that some of the cavalry regiments that fought the Indians received orders directly from Germania? 'No. By the way, this seems very unlikely to me. "However, it is true. The fifth cavalry regiment once had a military band that spoke only German." He smiled, but his ego's smile grew stronger when Nick said, " I don't know.: "That doesn't tell me anything about them direct orders for Germanium that you were talking about." De Groot stared at him openly for a moment. This man is dangerous, Nick thought. It's a bullshit hobby-a Wild West craze. This nonsense about German orders, German chapels. This man is strange. De Groot relaxed again, and the obedient smile returned to his face. 'Good. Now about Della. Are you going to buy these candid diamonds from me?
  
  
  "Maybe, given different circumstances. But why do you care that I don't buy directly from you and not through Van Rijn? Its want ih ego price. Or the price that Van der Laan or Mrs. J asks for. I think they all want to sell me these diamonds. It was a woman in a big car who told me to wait for her offer." De Groot's brow furrowed. Ego was a little upset by this news. Nick wondered what the man would do if he called the detective or Hawk. "It makes things a little more complicated," De Groot said. "Maybe we should make an appointment right away." "So you have diamonds, but I do not know your price." "I understand that. If you agree to buy ih, we can arrange an exchange - money for diamonds-in a mutually acceptable way ." Nick assumed the man spoke academic English. He was someone who learned languages easily, but didn't listen to people enough. "I just want to ask you another spin," Nick said. 'Yes?'"I was told that my other one made an advance on these diamonds. Maybe you - maybe someone else ." The small De Groot seemed to stiffen. At least not for me. If I take it in advance, I will also deliver it to ih." Ego was annoyed that the ego's honor as a thief could be tainted. "Can you tell me who it was, too?" "Herbert Whitlock." De Groot looked thoughtful. "Didn't he die recently?" 'Indeed.' I didn't know him. I didn't charge him a single cent." Nick nodded, as if this was the rheumatism he'd expected. With a smooth motion, he let Wilhelmina slide back into her holster. "We won't get anywhere if we look at each other a little bit crossly. Shall we go to these diamonds now?" De Groot laughed. Ego's smile was as cold as ice. 'Of course. Surely you'll forgive us for keeping Harry out of your reach to keep an eye on us?" Finally, it's an invaluable corkscrew. And it's pretty quiet here, and we hardly know each other. Harry, follow us! ". He raised his voice to the other man, then turned around and walked towards Dafu. Nick followed Ego with a straight back, narrow, artificially slumped shoulders. This guy was a model of conceit, but don't underestimate his ego too much. It's not much fun walking around with an armed man on your back. A man about whom nothing can be said except that he seemed extremely fanatical. Harry? Oh, Harry? Tell us what happens if you accidentally hit a tree root. If you have one of these old army Weblies, the nen doesn't even have a fuse. The Daf looked like a child's toy left on a model railway. For a moment there was a rustle of branches, then a voice called out: Nick instantly understood the situation. He dived to the left, turned around, and said to De Groot, " Tell Harry to obey. This girl is with me. A few feet behind the little man with the big Webley, Mata Nasut jumped to her feet, where she landed when she fell from the tree. Her small blue automatic pistol was pointed at Harry's back. "And calm everyone down," Mata said. Harry doubted it. On the one hand, he was the one around them who was playing kamikaze pilot, on the other, ego sense seemed incapable of making quick decisions. "Yes, calm down," De Groot growled. "Hey, tell her to put the gun down," he said to Nick. "Let's all get rid of our weapons," Nick said soothingly. "I was the first. Tell Harry... "No," De Groot said. "We'll do it the way I want her to. Drop it... Nick leaned forward. The Webley roared over Ego's head. In the blink of an eye, he was under the Webley and fired his second shot. Then it took off, dragging Harry along with it with its speed. Nick took the gun from Harry like a baby rattle. Then he leapt to his feet as Mata snarled at De Groot, " Leave it - let it go ..."De Groot's hand disappeared into his ego jacket. He froze. Nick was holding a Webley for his brain. "Calm down, De Groot. Anyway, let's all calm down a bit." He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. The little man struggled to his feet, coughing and gasping for breath. But he didn't try to get another weapon, if he had one. "Get your hand up your camisole," Nick said. "Are we waiting for this now? Everything stays the same ." De Groot's icy eyes met a pair of gray eyes, less cold but still as granite. The picture remained unchanged for a few seconds, except for Harry coughing a little, then De Groot slowly lowered his hand. "I see we underestimated you, Mr. Kent. A serious strategic mistake ." Nick grinned. De Groot looked confused. "Just imagine what would happen if we had more people standing in circles of trees. We could go on like this for hours. Do you happen to have other people? "No," De Groot said. "I wish that was true." Nick turned to Harry. "I'm sorry about what happened. But I just don't like small steam cars with a big gun pointed at my back. Then my reflexes take over." Harry chuckled, but didn't answer. "You have good reflexes for a businessman," De Groot commented dryly. "You're nothing but this cowboy, aren't you? "" Her by those Americans who are used to handling guns. It was an absurd comment, but perhaps it will resonate with someone who claims that he loves gambling so much, and the old Wild West is so vain. He would no doubt have thought that these primitive Americans were just waiting for the situation to change. The mad American's next move was enough to completely confuse De Groot, but he was too fast to parry. Nick walked over to him, tucking the Webley into his belt, and in one quick movement pulled a .38-caliber short-barreled revolver from its stiff leather holster. De Groot realized that if he moved even one finger, the fast American might have different reflexes. He gritted his teeth and waited. "Now we're friends again," Nick said. "I will return ih to you properly when we part ways. Thank you, Mata... She came to stand beside him. Her beautiful face was completely under control. "I followed you because you may have misunderstood me - I don't know Van Rijn very well. I do not know what is the correct word for political ego? Yes, a great ending or word for that. But maybe we don't need him right now, do we, De Groot? Now let's go look at these diamonds. Harry looked at his boss. De Groot said, "Get the ih, Harry," and Harry pulled out his keys and rummaged around in the car before reappearing with a small brown bag. Nick said boyishly:: "Take the tailor, I thought they'd be bigger." "Just under five pounds," De Groot said. "All that capital is in such a small bag." He put the bag on the roof of the car and fiddled with the string that kept it closed like a purse. "All those oranges in one small bottle," Nick muttered. 'I beg your pardon?'- I try the Yankee saying. Slogan of a lemonade factory in St. Joseph, Missouri, 1873. "Ah, I didn't know that yet. You must remember her. All those oranges ... De Groot carefully repeats the phrase, pulling the string. "People are coming," Mata said shrilly. "On horseback ... Nick said:"De Groot, give the bag to Harry and ask Ego to put it away." De Groot tossed the bag to Harry, who quickly put ego back in the car. Nick was watching him, and he was part of the forest that Mata was looking at at the same time. Don't underestimate these two old men. You would have been dead before it was known. Four horses rode out from behind the trees. They followed the faint tracks of Daf wheels. Ahead of them was the Van Rijn man Nick had met at the hotel, the younger of the two, who didn't have a gun. He rode a red horse expertly and freely , and he was completely naked. Nick had only a short time to be surprised by such a ride, because there were two girls and another man riding towards them. The other man was also on a horse, but he didn't seem as experienced as the leader. The two girls were just pathetic horsemen, but that didn't strike Nick as much as the fact that they, like the men, didn't wear any strings of clothing. "Do you know ih?" De Groot asked Nick. 'No. Strange young fools. De Groot ran his tongue over his lips, studying the girls. "Is there a nudist camp nearby?" "I guess there is."
  
  
  "It belongs to Van Rijn?" 'I do not know. Our weapons are loyal to us ." "When we say goodbye." "I'm thinking... I think I know this guy, " De Groot said. "He works for Van Rijn." Is this a trap for me? 'How to say. Maybe, maybe there's no trap. The four horsemen halted. Nick concluded that at least these two girls were fantastic. There was something exciting about being naked on a horse. The women were centaurs, with beautiful breasts, so that their eyes involuntarily turned in that direction. Well-involuntarily? Nick thought. A man Nick had already met said: "Welcome, intruders. I take it you knew you were trespassing on private property?"
  
  
  Nick looked at the red-haired girl. Her tanned skin was streaked with milky white. So I'm not a professional. The other girl, whose raven-black hair fell to her shoulders, was completely brown. "Mr. Van Rijn is waiting for me," de Groot said. "Through the back door? And so early? 'Ah. So he didn't tell you I was coming. "You and some others. Let's go and meet him now? "What if I don't agree?" De Groot guessed in the same cold and precise tone that he had just used in his conversation with Nick before Mata had turned the situation around. "You have no other choice." "No, maybe there is." De Groot looked at Nick. "Let's get in the car and wait. Come on, Harry. De Groot ego and shadow went to the car, followed by Nick and Mata. Nick thought quickly - the situation was getting more complicated by the second. There was no way he was going to risk ego's contact with Van der Laan ending, as it would lead ego to the first part of the ego missions, to the spy route, and eventually to the Whitlock killers. On the other hand, De Groot ego diamonds can prove to be important connections. He did have some doubts about the De Groot Geyser. De Groot stopped beside a small car. A group of horsemen followed them. "Please, Mr. Kent-your weapon." "Let's not shoot," Nick said. "Don't you want to get into this?" He pointed at the beautiful swaying breasts of the two girls, the two around which had the owner showing a mischievous grin.
  
  
  "Would you like to drive?"
  
  
  'Of course."There was no way De Groot wanted Nick or Mata in the back to risk the diamonds," he said. Nick wondered how De Groot thought he would hide this from the piercing eyes of Van Rijn's followers. But it was none of my business. The four people around them huddled in a small car. The rider Nick knows is Shell right next to him. Nick opened the window. "Go around the hill and follow the path to the house," the man said. "Let's say I'm going to go in a different direction," Nick suggested. The rider smiled. "I remember your rapid-fire pistol skills, Mr. Kent, and I believe you now carry a pistol too, but look ..." He pointed to a cluster of distant trees, and Nick saw another man on a horse, wearing dark trousers and a black turtleneck. He was carrying what looked like a submachine gun. Nick swallowed. In this thing, they sat like herrings in a barrel-sardines in a jar were the best expression. "I noticed that some of the people around you are actually wearing clothes," he said. 'Of course.'"But you ... uh ... do you prefer the sun?" Nick looked mimmo rider over at the two year-old girls. "It's a matter of taste. Mr. Van Rijn has an artist group, a nudist camp, and a place for ordinary people. This might be something for you. "Still not tired of the hotel, huh?" 'Not at all. We'd put you there if we could, wouldn't we? Now follow the path and stop at the house." Nick started the engine and stepped on the gas pedal approvingly. The emu liked the sound of the engine.He quickly got his bearings with the instruments and instruments. He drove almost all the existing vehicles, which was part of the ego of constant training in AX, but somehow they never made it to Dafa. He remembered that this car had a completely different powertrain mode. But why not?
  
  
  It would have worked on them old Harley Davidsons. It zigzagged slowly through the trees. He was already beginning to feel the machine. It was well managed. When he reached the trail, he deliberately turned in a different direction and was driving at a decent speed when his assistants caught up with him again. "Hey-go the other way!" Nick stopped walking. 'Yes. I thought I could get home that way. "That's true, but this path is longer. I'm coming back. "All right," Nick said. He backed up the car and drove back to where he could turn.
  
  
  So they continued driving for a while, and suddenly Nick said, " I don't know.: "Wait." He sped up, and the car picked up a very decent speed in a very short time, kicking away gravel and rubble like a dog digging a fox hole. When they reached the first bend, they were traveling at about sixty miles an hour. The Daf glided gently and almost without swaying. They make good cars here, Nick thought. Good carbs and cookie cutters. The path led through the fields. To their right is a ski jump, stone walls, wooden obstacles, and brightly colored ditch fences. "It's a beautiful country," Nick said lightly, stepping on the gas pedal as far as he could.
  
  
  Behind him, he heard Harry's voice: "They've just come out, around the woods. The gravel from ih faces held up ih a little. Now we're reaching out to them ."
  
  
  "That guy with the gun too?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Do you think he will shoot?"
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "Let me know if he points it out, but I don't think he will."
  
  
  Nick clicked on mock, and " Daf " slid neatly into the left signpost. The path joins a row of stables. The back of the car started to slide, he swerved and felt the skid gently end as he completed the signposts.
  
  
  They walked between two buildings and entered a large tiled courtyard with a large cast-iron fountain in the center.
  
  
  On the other side of the yard was a paved driveway that sometimes led mimmo to dozens of garages dedicated to the house. From there, he probably continued on to the public road. The web difficulty, Nick thought, was that it was impossible to pass the mimmo of this big cattle truck and the truck parked across the road. They blocked the road from the garages to the stone moan, on the contrary, like a neat champagne cork.
  
  
  Nick turned the car three times in the circular courtyard, feeling like he was in a roulette ball, before he saw the first rider approaching them again. He caught a glimpse of ego between the buildings. "Get ready, kids," Nick said. 'Pay attention to them.'
  
  
  He braked hard. The nose of the car pointed to a narrow gap between two buildings, through which riders were passing. Van Rijn and the man who had been stroking the foal's ego had come out from behind the trucks with the woman and were now watching what was happening in the yard. They seemed surprised.
  
  
  Nick stuck his head out the window and grinned at Van Rijn. Van Rijn raised his head and hesitantly raised his hand to wave as the riders came out along the length of the narrow passageway between the buildings. Nick counted aloud: "One-two-three-four. Too little. The last girl can wait a little longer."
  
  
  He steered the car through the narrow passageway, and the riders scrambled to hold their horses. The horseshoes clattered on the tiles of the square and slid. A girl with long black hair appeared , the worst rider ever. Nick pressed the horn, and kept his foot on the bullying pedal just in case.
  
  
  He had no intention of hitting her, and he flew mimmo nah to the right. In his mind, he kept the money that she wouldn't turn, but the horse did. Clumsy rider or not, she looked great with her butt bare, on this horse.
  
  
  They followed the trail at full speed, passed the show jumping track, and returned to the forest.
  
  
  "We have a car, Mr. De Groot," Nick said. "Should we try driving the candid ones through the fence, or should we try the back gate you went through?"
  
  
  De Groot responded with the jovial tone of a man pointing out a strategic error. "They can ruin your car. I would have looked at it first. No, we'll try to leave. I'll show you the way."
  
  
  Nick felt annoyed. De Groot was right, of course. They flew past the gate mimmo, caught a glimpse of the Peugeot, and dived back into the woods, following the smooth curves.
  
  
  "Just go sincerely," De Groot said. "And behind that bush to the left." Then you will see for yourself ."
  
  
  Nick slowed down, turned left, and saw a large gate blocking the road. He stopped, and De Groot jumped out and trotted toward the gate. He put the key in the lock and tried to turn the ego - he tried again, twisted, and, struggling with the lock, lost his composure.
  
  
  Behind them, the sound of a car engine rang out. A Mercedes appeared a few inches from the ih rear bumper and stopped between the gate and the ih car. The men rolled out like guilders on a slot machine that paid out winnings. Nick came out on Dafa and shouted to De Groot, " Nice try with that goal. But that's no longer necessary." Then, he turned to meet the group of newcomers.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  Philippe van der Laan left the office early to spend a long weekend outside. With a sigh of relief, he closed the door behind him and got into his yellow Lotus Europe . He was in trouble. Sometimes the long ride helped emu. He was happy with his current girlfriend, the daughter of a well-to-do family who had already taken on the challenge of becoming a movie star. At the moment, she was in Paris meeting with a film producer who could give her a role in a film he was shooting in Spain.
  
  
  Problems. The dangerous but lucrative contraband service he created to pass intelligence around the United States to anyone who paid well for nah stalled on one side, as De Groot refused to work any further. For a moment, he thought Helmy had learned about how the ego system worked, but it turned out that he was wrong. Thank God Paul missed her with his stupid shot. In addition, De Groot could be replaced. Europe was teeming with greedy little people who were willing to provide courier services, provided they were safe enough and well-paid.
  
  
  De Groot's Yenisei diamonds were a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. It should have been possible to make a profit of more than half a million guilders. Ego contacts told emu that dozens of Amsterdam business bosses - those with real capital behind them-were trying to figure out the price. This may explain Norman Street's unusual adventures. Oni tried to contact him, but he-Philip already had this contact. If he could get these diamonds for the Bard's Gallery, he could have a client in them for years to come.
  
  
  At the right time, he will be able to buy a larger "street" site, such as Van Rijn's. He grimaced. He felt a fierce jealousy towards this elderly man. They both came from all over the shipowners ' families. Van der Laan sold all of his shares to focus on faster profit channels, while Van Rijn still owned his shares, as well as his diamond industry.
  
  
  He reached a deserted stretch of highway and started driving faster than the speed limit. This gave the emu a sense of power. Tomorrow De Groot, Kent and Yenisei Diamonds will be at Ego Country house. This incident would pay off, too; though Emu had to use Skirt, Beppo, and Brand to bring the events under control with his salvo. Emu would like to live earlier, in the time of Peter-Jan van Rijn's ancestors, who simply robbed the indigenous population of Indonesia. In their day, you didn't look back and wiped your ass with your left hand and greeted the governor with your right.
  
  
  Pieter-Jan van Rijn knew about hate, the Van der Laan murders. This was what he fed in his hermetically sealed brain along with many other things. But contrary to what Van der Laan thought, Van Rijn's great-grandfather was not so cruel to the indigenous people of Java and Sumatra. Ego hangers-on just shot eight people, after which each of them, for a small fee, Stahl is very cooperative.
  
  
  When Wang Rein walked up to the trapped Dafu, a hint of a smile could be seen on his face. "Good morning, Mr. Kent. You're a little early today.
  
  
  "Her, got lost. Her, looked at your property. It's beautiful here ."
  
  
  'Thank you. It was able to trace part of your car journey. You ran away from your escort."
  
  
  "I didn't see a single police officer's badge."
  
  
  "No, they belong to our little nudist colony. You'd be surprised how well they work. I think it's because people here have a chance to let go of all the frustrations and inhibitions ."
  
  
  'Maybe. They seem to be letting everything go." As they chatted, Nick looked at the situation. Van Rijn was accompanied by four men who had rolled around the car and now stood reverently behind their boss. They were wearing jackets and ties, and they all had a purposeful expression on their faces that Nick was now beginning to think was typically Dutch. Oh, Harry, and De Groot got out on Dafa, and now they were hesitantly waiting to see what would happen. Nick sighed. Ego the only logical solution was to just keep being polite to Van Rijn and hope that he and ego people were spiders who took a wasp for a fly. "Although we've seen her before," Nick said, " maybe we can get busy."
  
  
  "Did you talk to De Groot about it?"
  
  
  'Yes. We met by chance. We both got lost and entered through your back door. He told me that he is also a participant in the case that we discussed together."
  
  
  Van Rijn looked at De Groot. He stopped smiling. Now he looked more like a dignified, unflinching judge from the time of King George III. Around those who insist that ten-year-olds behave carefully and carefully during the court decision sentencing ih to death for stealing a piece of bread. The ego expressions on their faces showed that he knew when to be kind and when to be decisive.
  
  
  "Did you show Mr. Kent around?" De Groot looked sideways at Nick. Nick looked up at the top of the tree and admired the foliage. "No," De Groot replied. "We just learned that we all share a common interest."
  
  
  'Actually. Van Rijn turned to one through his men. "Anton, open the gate and take Mr. Street's Peugeot to the house. The rest of us are going back to Dafa." He pointed to Nick and his girlfriend's ego. "Would you like to come with me? A bigger car is a bit more convenient ."
  
  
  Nick introduced Mata to Van Rijn, who nodded approvingly. They agreed that they had met once, but they couldn't remember the party. Nick was willing to bet they both remembered it well. Have you ever thought that this phlegmatic or this beautiful girl with cute almond eyes would forget the ego face or the fact you were wrong. Mata survived, staying alert. You can also guess that generations of passionate Pieter-Jannen van Rijn created this estate with their eyes and ears wide open.
  
  
  Maybe that's why there's a nudist camp here, Nick thought. If you have nothing else to do, at least you can practice keeping your eyes open.
  
  
  The man called Anton didn't have a problem with the gate lock. As Van Rijn approached the Peugeot, he said to De Groot, "We change these locks regularly."
  
  
  "A smart tactic," De Groot said, holding the Mercedes door open for Mata. He sel followed her, and Nick Van Rijn took their places in the folding chairs. Harry looked and sat down next to the driver.
  
  
  "Daf ..." said De Groot.
  
  
  "I know," Van Rijn said calmly. "Odin around my people, Adrian, takes ego to the house and keeps a close eye on him. This is a valuable car. The last sentence was highlighted enough to show that he knew what was in nen. They glided majestically back into the house. The cattle truck and the truck were gone. They turned into the driveway and skirted a giant structure that looked like the ego was decorated every year and the windows were washed every morning.
  
  
  There was a large black-paved parking lot at the back, where about forty cars were parked. The space wasn't even half full. All of them were new, and many of them were very expensive. Nick knew several of the larger limousine numbers. Van Rijn had many guests and friends. Probably both.
  
  
  The group got out of the Mercedes and Van Rijn took ih for a quiet walk through the gardens surrounding the house at the back of the house. The gardens are covered with covered terraces, carpeted with soft green grass and dotted with an amazing array of tulips, furnished with wrought-iron furniture, sun loungers with foam pillows, sun loungers and tables with non-smoking facilities. Van Rijn walked down one of the terraces around them, where people were playing bridge on either side. They went up the stone stairs and out to the special pool. A dozen people were relaxing in the courtyard, and some were splashing around in the water. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the happy smile on Van Rijn's face at this scene. He was and still is an amazing person. You felt that he might be dangerous, but he wasn't bad. You can imagine him giving the order: give that stupid boy twenty lashes. If you were condescending, he would raise his neat gray eyebrows and say: "But we have to be practical, don't we?
  
  
  Ih the host said: "Miss Nasut... Mr. Hasebrook, this is my first pool. There you will find liquor, ice cream and bathing suits. Enjoy the sun and water while Mr. De Groot, Mr. Kent, and him discuss some issues. If you'll excuse us, we won't continue the discussion for long."
  
  
  He walked back to the house without waiting for an answer. Nick quickly nodded to the Assistant and went to Van Rijn. Just before he entered the house, Nick heard two cars pull into the parking lot. He was sure that he knew the Peugeot and the strange metallic sound of Dafa. Van Rijn's man driving the Mercedes, a wiry guy with a determined face, " shell is a few yards behind them. When they entered the spacious, beautifully appointed office, he sat down next door. Efficient, but also very modest, Nick thought.
  
  
  One of them had several ship models set up around the walls of the room. On shelves or under glass caps on tables. Van Rijn pointed to one. 'Did you find out?'
  
  
  Nick couldn't read the sign with the Dutch lettering on it.
  
  
  'No.'
  
  
  "It was the first ship built on the territory of modern New York. It was built with the help of the Manhattan Indians. The New York Yacht Club offered me a very high price for this model. I don't sell it to my ego - but I left it to my death."
  
  
  "That's very generous of you," Nick said.
  
  
  Van Rijn sat down at a large chair around a dark blackish wood that seemed to glow. 'Well, Mr De Groot, are you armed?'
  
  
  De Groot actually blushed. He looked at Nick. Nick pulled a short .38-caliber pistol from around his pocket and shoved Ego across the chair. Van Rijn dropped the ego in the box without comment.
  
  
  "I take it you have items for sale, in the car or somewhere in my estate?"
  
  
  "Yes," De Groot said firmly.
  
  
  "Don't you think it's a good time to discuss ih so we can discuss the terms?"
  
  
  'Yes.'De Groot has come to an end.
  
  
  Willem will be with you for a while, so you won't get lost." De Groot came out, followed by a wiry young man.
  
  
  "De Groot is like that... evasive, " Nick said.
  
  
  "I know that. Willem is quite reliable. If they don't come back, I'll assume he's dead. Now, Mr. Kent, as for our transactions - once you make your deposit here, will you be able to pay the remainder in cash in Switzerland or in your home country?
  
  
  Nick sat quietly in the big leather chair. "Maybe - if you take on the responsibility of bringing ih to America. I don't know much about smuggling."
  
  
  "Leave it to me. Then the price ... -
  
  
  And annually cargo.
  
  
  'Of course. We will do it sincerely now ."
  
  
  The intercom buzzed. Van Rijn frowned. 'Yes?'
  
  
  A girl's voice came over the speaker. "Mr. Jaap Ballegoyer with two friends. He says it's very important."
  
  
  Nick stiffened. Memories of a hard jaw, a cold glass eye, expressionless artificial skin, and a woman with a black veil flashed through the heads ' egos. For a moment, a hint of uncontrollable emotion flashed across Van Rijn's face. Surprise, determination, and annoyance. So his master wasn't expecting this guest. He thought quickly. When Van Rijn got out of control, it was time for the guest to leave. Nick stood up. "I have to apologize now."
  
  
  'Sit down.'
  
  
  "I'm armed, too." Wilhelmina suddenly turned a hostile, cyclopean eye on Van Rijn. He put his hand on the chair. "You can have a whole bunch of buttons under your foot. But I would advise you not to use ih for your own health. Unless, of course, you don't like violence."
  
  
  Van Rijn changed his face again, as if this was something he understood and could handle.
  
  
  "There is no need for violence. Just sit down again. You are welcome."It doesn't make much sense as a strict order.
  
  
  From the doorway, Nick said: "Maintenance is suspended indefinitely." Then he left. Ballegoyer, Van Rijn, and an entire army. It was all too loose now. Agent AH can be tough and muscular, but reattaching all those frayed parts can be too much work.
  
  
  He ran back the way they'd come, through the huge living room and through the open French doors that led to the pool. Mata, who was sitting in front of the pool with Harry Hasebrook, saw him approaching as he ran down the stone stairs in big leaps. Without saying a word to us, she got up and ran to him. Nick motioned for her to come with him, then turned and ran across the grounds to the parking lot.
  
  
  Willem De Groot was standing at the Dafa table. Willem leaned against the car and looked at De Groot's small ass, who was rummaging inside the car behind the front seats. Nick hid Wilhelmina and smiled at Willem, who turned quickly. 'What are you doing here?'
  
  
  The muscular guy was ready for any attack, except for a super-fast right, which almost hit ego just below the lowest button of his camisole. The impact would have split the board three centimeters thick, and Willem doubled over like a slammed door. Even before he was completely on the ground, Nick's fingers were pressing down on the muscles of his neck, and his thumbs were pressing down on the spinal nerves.
  
  
  For example, for five minutes Willem - no matter how cool he was to us on a normal happy Dutch day - was knocked out. Nick pulled a small automatic pistol from the guy's belt and stood up again to watch De Groot climb out around the car. Nick turned to see a small brown bag in his hand.
  
  
  Nick held out his hand. De Groot, like a robot, gave em the bag. Nick heard the quick click of footsteps and mats on the asphalt. He looked around for a moment. They are not tracked yet. "De Groot, we can talk about our deal later. I'll keep it to myself. Then at least you won't have ih if they catch you."
  
  
  De Groot straightened up. "And then I'll have to figure out how to get you again?"
  
  
  "I don't give you a choice."
  
  
  "Where's Harry?"
  
  
  "The last time I saw her, ego was by the pool. He's fine. I don't think they'll bother the ego. You'd better get out of here now."
  
  
  Nick beckoned to Mata and ran to the Peugeot parked four spots away from Dafa. The keys were still there. Nick started the engine as Mata got in. Without panting, she said: "It was my quick visit."
  
  
  "Too many guests," Nick said. He backed up the car, turned quickly into the parking lot, and headed for the highway. As he drove away from the house, he looked back for a moment. Daf started to move, and Harry ran out of the house, followed by Willem, Anton, Adrian, Balleguire, and Odina around the men who were in the garage with the veiled woman. To us, who apparently didn't have guns. Nick went back to driving, cutting the corners of double turns between tall, carefully planted trees, and finally pulled out into a straight line leading to the highway.
  
  
  Ten or twelve yards from the highway were two short stone buildings, one of which was connected to the doorman's house. As he pressed the gas pedal to the floor, he saw the large, wide iron gate begin to close. Ih could not be driven into rubble and even with a tank. He estimated the distance between the gates as they slowly turned to face each other.
  
  
  Four and a half meters? Let's say four. Now it's three and a half. The fences were closing faster now. These were majestic metal obstacles, so heavy that the iht rolled on its wheels. Any car that actually crashed into them would have been completely disposed of.
  
  
  He continued to drive at full throttle. Trees whizzed by on both sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mata cross her arms in front of her face. This child, she would rather have a broken back or neck than a bruised face. He didn't blame her.
  
  
  He estimated the remaining gap and tried to keep the direction to the center.
  
  
  Klang-click-krang! There was a metallic screech, and they flew out through the narrowing opening. One or both halves of the gate almost gripped the Peugeot like the teeth of a shark attacking a flying fish. Ih the speed and the fact that the gate opened outwards allowed them to pass through.
  
  
  The highway was close now. Nick clicked on bullying. He didn't dare risk it. The road surface was rough and dry, ideal for acceleration, but for God's sake, try not to slip on it, otherwise you might end up with an oil slick. But he didn't see anything.
  
  
  The highway formed a right angle with the Van Rijn access road. They crossed the road just behind a passing bus, and luckily nothing happened on the other side. Nick yanked the steering wheel to keep the car away from the ditch on the other side. Gravel was thrown away, the Peugeot's wheels would turn a few inches above the ditch, but then the car regained traction and Nick accelerated. He swung the car back onto the road and they sped down the two-lane road.
  
  
  Mata looked up again. "Oh, my God... Nick glanced back at Van Rijn's driveway. A man came out around the gatehouse, and he saw him shaking his fist at the emu. Good. If he couldn't open that gate again, it would at least temporarily deter potential pursuers.
  
  
  He asked. "Do you know this road?"
  
  
  'No. She found the map in the glove compartment.
  
  
  "What really happened there? Do they serve such bad whiskey?
  
  
  Nick chuckled. It was good for him. He could already see himself and Mata turning into an omelette around the stone and irons. "I wasn't even offered a drink."
  
  
  "Well, at least I managed to take a sip. I wonder what they'll do with Harry Hasebrook and De Groot. They're all weird little steam cars.
  
  
  'Crazy? Those venomous snakes?
  
  
  "I want to steal these diamonds."
  
  
  "It's De Groot's fault. Harry is the ego, the shadow. I imagine her as Van Rijn just destroys ih. What did they matter to him now? It may well be that emu doesn't really like it when ih sees Ballaguire. This is the type that looks like the British architect who introduced me to this veiled woman."
  
  
  "Was she there too?"
  
  
  'Just arrived. I heard her voice, and I thought I'd better get on my feet. There are too many things to pay attention to at once. Too many hands are greedily reaching for these Yenisei diamonds. Look in the bag to see if De Groot cheated us and quickly exchanged the diamonds. I don't think he had time for that, but it's just a thought."
  
  
  Mata opened the bag and said ," I don't know much about rough stones; but they are very large."
  
  
  - As far as I understand it, they have a record size.
  
  
  Nick looked at the diamonds in Mata's lap, like giant candy canes. "Well, I think we have them. Put the ih away again and look at the map, dear.
  
  
  Can Van Rijn give up the chase? No, it wasn't that man. Far behind him, he saw a Volkswagen in the mirror, but it wasn't catching up with the ih. "We broke away," he said. - See if you can find the road on the map. While we're still puffiness south."
  
  
  "Where do you want to go then?"
  
  
  "To the northeast."
  
  
  Mata was silent for a moment. "It is better to go openly. If we turn left, we will pass through Vanroy, and there is every chance that we will meet ih again if they follow us. We need to go openly to Gemert, and then we can turn east. There, we can choose one around multiple paths ."
  
  
  Good.
  
  
  I don't stop to look at this map."
  
  
  The ih intersection opened onto a better road, but there were also more cars, a small procession of small, polished cars. Locals, Nick thought. Do these people also have to polish it until it starts to shine? "
  
  
  "Watch what's happening behind us," Nick said. "This mirror is too small. See if any cars are passing us with the intention of watching us."
  
  
  Mata knelt in the chair and looked around. After a few minutes she said: "Everyone stays in line. If a car is following us, it must pass mimmo at their place."
  
  
  "Damn fun," Nick grumbled.
  
  
  The fences grew denser as we approached the city. There were more and more of those beautiful white houses where shiny, well-groomed cows roamed the beautiful green pastures. Do they really wash these animals, too, Nick thought.
  
  
  "Now it's forever to go left, then left again," Mata said. They reached the intersection. Over ih heads buzzed the helicopter. He wanted a roadblock. Would Van Rijn have had such good connections? Ballguire knows that, but then they'll have to work together.
  
  
  Slowly, he pushed his way through the city traffic, made two left turns, and they went around the city again. We have one roadblock, we have one chase.
  
  
  "We don't have one car left with us," Mata said. "Do I still need to pay attention?"
  
  
  'No. Just sit down. We're moving fast enough to spot every potential stalker. But I don't understand it. He could have chased us in that Mercedes, couldn't he?
  
  
  "By helicopter?" Mata asked quietly. "It flew over us again."
  
  
  "Where would ego get it so quickly?"
  
  
  'Her, I have no idea. Maybe it's one of the traffic police officers." She stuck her head out the window. "He disappeared into the distance."
  
  
  "Let's get off this road. Can you find one that still leads you in the right direction?
  
  
  The map rustled. "Try the second one on the right. For example, seven kilometers away. It also passes through the forest, and once we cross the Line, we can take the highway to Nijmegen."
  
  
  The output looked promising. Another two-lane road.After a few miles, Nick slowed down and said:: "I don't think we're being followed."
  
  
  "A plane flew over us."
  
  
  "I know that. Pay attention to the little things, Mata.
  
  
  She slid into her chair next to him. "Why is her voice still alive," she said softly.
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her soft body. Soft but strong, her muscles, bones, and brain were built to survive, as she put it. Ih the relationship was unusual. He admired her for many qualities that could have matched her ego - above all, mindfulness and quick reflexes.
  
  
  She often told Emu on warm nights in Jakarta, " I love you." And he was giving hey, the same rheumatism.
  
  
  And what they meant, I say this, is how long it can be, one night, half a Sunday, a month, who knows...
  
  
  "You're still as beautiful as ever, Mata," he said softly.
  
  
  She kissed ego's neck, just below the ear. "All right, "he said.
  
  
  He slowed the car and slowed down. On the bank of a stream, half hidden under beautiful trees, there was a small rectangular campsite. Three more campsites were visible beyond.
  
  
  The first car was a large Rover, the beginning of the second was a Volkswagen with a tarpaulin campsite in the back, and the beginning of the second was a dented Triumph next to the aluminum frame of a tent and bungalow . The bungalow tent was old and of a faded, pale green color.
  
  
  "That's what we need," Nick said. He pulled into the campground and stopped to be near Triumph. It was a four-to five-year-old TR5. Up close, it looked worn, not rumpled. Sun, rain, flying sand and gravel leave nen their footprints. The tires were still good.
  
  
  A thin, tanned man in faded khaki shorts with a fringe instead of a welt came up to Nick for a small fire, and Nick held out his hand. 'Hello there. My name is Norman Kent. An American ."
  
  
  "Buffer," the guy said. "Her natives." Ego the handshake was firm and cordial.
  
  
  "That's my woman, there in the car." Nick looked at the Volkswagen. The couple was sitting under a tarp, within earshot. He spoke a little lower."Can't we talk? I have a suggestion that might interest you.
  
  
  Buffer replied: "I can offer you a cup of tea, but if you have something to sell, you got the wrong address."
  
  
  Nick pulled out his wallet and took out five hundred-dollar bills and five twenties. He kept ih close to his body so that no one in the camp could see ih. "I'm not selling. I want to rent it. Do you have someone with you?
  
  
  "My friend. She sleeps in a tent.
  
  
  "We just got married. My so-called friends are now looking for me. You know, I don't usually care, but as you say, there are some nasty bastards out there around these guys."
  
  
  The Aborigines looked at the money and sighed. "Norman, not only can you stay with us, you can even come with us to Calais if you want."
  
  
  "It wouldn't be that hard. Her hotel would ask you and your friend to go to the nearest town and find a nice hotel or motel there. Of course, I'm not saying you left your camping gear here. All you need to leave is a tent, a piece of tarpaulin, and a few sleeping bags and blankets. The money she'll pay you for it is worth a lot more than all of it. Buffer took the money. "You look trustworthy, other. We leave all of these cashews for you, except , of course, for our personal items...
  
  
  "What about meet your neighbors?"
  
  
  I don't know what to do. I'll tell them that you're my cousin from the Americas, using my tent for one night.
  
  
  'Good. Agreed. Can you help me hide my car?
  
  
  Put your ego on this side of the tent. We'll disguise the ego somehow.
  
  
  Within fifteen minutes, Bouffer found a patched tent that hid the back of the Peugeot from the road and put Norman Street as his" cousin in the Americas " param in two other campsites. Then he drove off with his beautiful blonde girlfriend in his Triumph car.
  
  
  The tent was comfortable inside, with a folding table, a few chairs, and sleeping bags with air mattresses. At the back was a small tent that served as a storeroom. Various bags and crates were full of dishes, cutlery, and a small amount of canned food.
  
  
  Nick asked for a Peugeot car in his trunk, picked up a bottle of Jim Beam's ego suitcase, put me a chair, and said: "Honey, its going around every year. In the meantime, can you make us some drinks?
  
  
  Good."She stroked him, kissed his chin, and tried to bite his ear. But before she could, he was already walking around the tent.
  
  
  "Here's a woman," he thought, and went to the stream. She knew exactly what to do, at the right time, in the right place, and in the right way. He crossed the narrow drawbridge and turned toward the campsite. The Peugeot's ego was barely noticeable. A small, reddish-black boat with an outboard motor slowly approached the bridge. Nick walked quickly back across the bridge and paused to watch it pass. The skipper went ashore and turned the big wheel, which became a bridge sideways, like the Moscow gate." He got back on board, and the boat crawled mimmo like a snail with flowers on its back. The man waved at the emu.
  
  
  Nick took a step toward licks. "Don't you have to close this bridge?"
  
  
  "No, no, no." The man laughed. He spoke English with an accent as if every word was wrapped in meringue. "Nen has a watch. Closes again in two minutes. Just wait.' He pointed his phone at Nick, and smiled pleasantly. "Electric. Yes. Tulips and cigars aren't all we have. Ho-ho-ho-ho ."
  
  
  "You're too ho-ho-ho-ho," Nick replied. But ego's laugh was cheerful. "Then why don't you open the ego in this way, instead of turning the wheel?"
  
  
  Skipper looked around at the desolate landscape as if startled. "Shhht." He took a large bouquet of flowers from one of the barrels, jumped ashore, and brought ego to Nick. "No more tourists like this come and visit like you. Voting is a gift. Nick looked into twinkling blue eyes for a moment as he received a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Then the man jumped back into his small boat.
  
  
  'Thank you very much. My Jean will love them very much.
  
  
  'God be with you. The man waved his hand and slowly floated past Mimmo Nick. He trudged back to the camp, the bridge creaking back to its original position. Two Volkswagen cars stopped him when he stepped onto a narrow path. "Bonjour, Mr. Kent. Would you like a cup of wine?
  
  
  "With pleasure. But maybe not tonight. My wife and hers are tired. It's been quite a tiring day.
  
  
  "Income whenever you want. I understand everything about her. The man bowed slightly. Ego's name was Perrault. This "I understand" was because Buffer told Emu that this "American cousin, Norman Kent" was with his fiancee. Nick would have preferred to say a different name, but if he had to show his passport or other documents, it would cause complications. He entered the tent and handed the flowers to his Partner. She brightened. 'They're beautiful. Did you get an ih on this little boat that deals just passed mimmo?"
  
  
  'Yes. With them, we have here in the tent the most beautiful room she has ever seen.
  
  
  "Don't take it so personally."
  
  
  He was thinking about it, as she put it, on & nb. He stared at her small, dark head above the colorful bouquet of flowers. She was very attentive, as if this was the moment of her life that she had always been waiting for. As he had already noticed, in Indonesia, this girl from two worlds possessed exceptional depths. You could learn everything from nah if you had the time and the whole world kept its long fingers away from you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She handed him a piece of fire, and they played a game of cozy camping chairs to watch the calm, peaceful flow of the river, the green stripes of the cordon of pastures under the purple dusk sky. Nick felt a little sleepy. It was quiet on the road, except for the occasional curative passing car. And some noises around other tents and a few nearby chirping birds. Other than that, there was nothing to be heard. He took a sip of his drink. "There was a bottle of sparkling water in the bucket. Is your drink cold enough?
  
  
  'Quite delicious.'
  
  
  "A cigarette?
  
  
  "Good, good."He didn't care if he smoked or not. It has slowed down a bit recently. Why? He didn't know. But now at least he loved the fact that she'd lit a filter cigarette for her. She carefully placed the filter in ego's mouth, carefully held the flame of the lighter in front of him, and carefully handed the cigarette to emu, as if it were an honor to serve emu...
  
  
  Somehow, he knew she wouldn't try to steal the contents of the brown bag. This may be because these things will cause an endless chain of disasters for those who do not have the right connections for iht. He felt a rise in nen's aversion to this, where you could only stay alive without trusting anyone at all.
  
  
  She stood up, and he watched dreamily as she stripped off her dress to reveal herself in a gold and black bra. She hung the dress on a hook in the middle of the belly of the tent roof. To be a woman, to be proud of her. A woman you can love. You would have a good life, with such a woman who is engaged capable of collecting so much love.
  
  
  After he came to the conclusion that the most violent and passionate women were Scottish and the most intellectually advanced were Japanese. Admittedly-the ego comparison material wasn't as extensive as for such an objective study one would like, but you should do with what you have. One night in Washington, he said this to Bill Rhodes after drinking a few drinks. Junior Agent AX thought about this for a while and then said: "These Scots have been visiting Japan for centuries. Either as sailors, or as merchants. So Nick, you have to find the most perfect girl there: a Japanese-Scottish girl. Maybe you should place such an ad there.
  
  
  Nick chuckled. Rhodes is a practical guy. It was a coincidence that Nick, not he, had been sent to Amsterdam to take over Herb Whitlock's unfinished work. Bill took up work in New York and the Bard Gallery.
  
  
  Mata rested her small, dark head on his shoulder.
  
  
  He hugged her. "Aren't you hungry yet?" she asked. 'A little bit. We'll see what we can prepare later.
  
  
  There are some beans and a few cans of stew. There are enough vegetables for a salad, as well as oil and vinegar. And cookies for tea."
  
  
  "That sounds great." Pretty girl. She had already examined the contents of the storeroom.
  
  
  "I hope they don't find us," she said softly. "This helicopter and airplane thing bothers me a little bit.
  
  
  'I know her. But if they set up roadblocks, they get tired by noon, and it's possible that we can get through. Tomorrow morning we'll leave before it gets light. But you think Mata, right, as always.
  
  
  "I think van Rijn is a tricky person.
  
  
  'I agree with her. But it seems to me that he has a stronger character than Van der Laan. But by the way, Mata, have you ever met Herbert Whitlock?"
  
  
  'Of course. One day, he invited me to dinner. Nick tried to control his hand. She almost tensed, but it was an involuntary reflex.
  
  
  "Where did you first meet him?"
  
  
  "He ran out openly at me on Kaufman Street, where there is a photographer. I mean, he pretended to run right into me by accident. Somehow he must have meant it, because he probably wanted me, I think. He wants something."
  
  
  'What?'
  
  
  'I do not know. This happened about two months ago. We took in De Boerderij and then went to Blue Note. It was very pleasant there. Except that Herb was a fantastic dancer.
  
  
  "Did you sleep with him as well?"
  
  
  'No, it's not like that. Just kisses when we said goodbye. I think I would do it next time. But he went with my friend, Paula, a few times. And then there was that incident. I really liked it. I'm sure he would invite me again."
  
  
  Did he ask you any questions? Do you have any idea what he's trying to figure out"
  
  
  "I thought he was something like you. An American agent or whatever it is. We mostly talked about photography and the world of modeling.
  
  
  And what's up?" Ads?'
  
  
  'Yes. Commercial partner photos. Her plan, for the next time, was that if emu could help her.
  
  
  Nick shook his head thoughtfully. Bad Herbert. Work forever carefully and methodologically. Don't drink. Don't confuse the girls, and deal as many agents sometimes do. If he was more honest with Mata, he might still be alive.
  
  
  "Did he drink a lot?"
  
  
  'Almost nothing. One of their features, in nen, that I loved.
  
  
  "Do you think he was killed?"
  
  
  "I was wondering this question. Maybe Paula knows what it is. Should I talk to her when we get back to Amsterdam?
  
  
  'Love. You were right to think about ego connections. He was an American agent. Its really interesting to know if the ego death was really an accident. I mean, the Dutch police are efficient, of course, but -"
  
  
  She squeezed ego's hand. 'I understand you. Maybe I'll find him something. Paula is a very sensitive girl.
  
  
  "And as beautiful as you are?"
  
  
  "You'll have to judge that for yourself."
  
  
  She turned to face him and pressed her lips to ego softly, as if to say, but you won't choose her, I'll take care of it.
  
  
  Kissing the soft lips, Nick wondered why Whitlock had chosen Mata. A coincidence? Maybe. Amsterdam's spa world was known as a village where everyone knew each other. However,it was more likely that it was determined by AH's computer.
  
  
  He sighed. Everything was going too slowly. Mata's kisses and caresses were quite capable of making you forget about your troubles for a while. Her hand slid down and he untied his belt in an instant. Belt out all the hidden tricks and constellations of today's powders by AX labs: cyanide poisons, suicide powders, and other poisons with a dozen uses. In addition, money and a flexible file. He felt like a stranger in the Garden of Eden. A guest with a dagger.
  
  
  He moved. "Maati, let me also get rid of my clothes."
  
  
  Lazily she sat, a smile of amusement playing around the corners of her rta, and reached out to take his jacket. She hung it carefully on a hanger, did the same with Ego's tie and shirt, and watched in silence as he hid the stiletto in his open suitcase under the sleeping bags.
  
  
  "I'm really looking forward to swimming," she said.
  
  
  He quickly took off his pants. "Still, it's Javanese, right? Do you still want to swim five times a day?
  
  
  'Yes. The water is nice and friendly. It cleanses you ..."
  
  
  He looked out. It became completely dark. There was no one to be seen from the ego position. "I can keep my underpants." Cowards, he thought; it's him, betraying me in the Garden of Eden, with deadly Pierre in his secret bag.
  
  
  "This fabric can withstand water," she said. "If we go upstream, we could swim naked. It should be washed and completely cleaned.
  
  
  He found two towels wrapped in a brown bag, Wilhelmina and Ego's wallet in one around them, and said: "Let's go for a swim."
  
  
  A neat, straight path led to the river. Just before they lost sight of the type of campground, Nick looked back. No one seemed to be looking at them. Rovers prepared edu on primus. He understood why the campsite was so small. Once they got out, around the bushes, the trees were farther from the shore at regular intervals. The cultivated area reached almost to the shore. The path was like a trail, as if horses had pulled small barges and boats along it generations ago. Maybe that was it. They went on for a long time. Pasture then pastures. It was amazing for such a country, you thought it was so crowded with people. People... The plague of this planet. Agricultural machines and agricultural workers...
  
  
  Under one, around tall trees, he found a spot sheltered like a gazebo in the dark. A narrow trench full of dry leaves, like a nest. Mata stared at Nah for so long that he looked at nah in surprise. He asked. "Do you like anything here?"
  
  
  "This place. Have you seen how neat the banks of this creek are? Clean waste or branches or leaves. But here. There are still real leaves here, dried up completely, like a feather bed. I think amateurs come here. Maybe for years on end.
  
  
  He placed the towel on the tree stump. 'I think you're right. But perhaps people here rake leaves to have a comfortable place for afternoon vaults.
  
  
  She took off her bra and panties. "Okay, but this place knows a lot of love. Somehow it's holy. It has its own atmosphere. You can feel it. No one cuts down trees or leaves or throws garbage here. Isn't there enough evidence for that?
  
  
  "Maybe," he said thoughtfully as he tossed his underpants to one side. Go ahead, Carter, to prove it, maybe she's wrong.
  
  
  Mata turned and entered the stream. She dived and surfaced a few meters away. "Dive in here too. It's nice.'
  
  
  He wasn't one for diving into an unfamiliar river, you couldn't be so stupid as to ignore the scattered boulders. Nick Carter, who sometimes dived from thirty meters, entered the water smoothly, like a falling rod. He swam toward the girl with silent strokes. He felt that this place deserved peace and reverence, the respect of all those lovers who knew their first love here. Or that she's my good genius, he thought, as he swam up to the Mat.
  
  
  "Don't you feel good? she whispered.
  
  
  Yes. ' The water is soothing, the air is cool in the evening. Even ego's breathing, close to the calm surface of the water, seemed to fill the lungs with something new, something new, and something invigorating. Mata clung to him, partially floating, her aim level with his ego. Her hair was quite long and her wet curls slid down her neck with a gentle softness that caressed it. Another round of Mata's good qualities, he thought, is not going to salons. A little self-care with a towel, a comb, a brush, and a bottle of scented oil, and her hair is back in shape.
  
  
  She looked up at him, put her hands on either side of his head, and kissed him lightly, bringing their bodies together in a harmony of two boats rippling side by side on the gentle swell.
  
  
  He slowly lifted her up and kissed both of her breasts, an act expressing both tribute and passion. When he lowered her again, she was partially supported by an ego erection. It would be so spiritually gratifying that you want to preserve the ego forever, but also hindering it because it motivated you to look to us for something further.
  
  
  She sighed and locked her strong arms with a little ego behind her back. He felt her palms open and close, the flippant movements of a healthy baby kneading its mother's breast as it sipped milk.
  
  
  When he finally ... and her hand slid down, she caught it and whispered, " No, no hands. All British, remember?
  
  
  He still remembered the ferret, with a mixture of fear and expectation, as the memory came back to him. It does take a little longer, but it's part of the fun. "Yes," he murmured as she worked her way up and down on top of him. 'Yes. I remember her.'
  
  
  The pleasure is worth the patience. He thought a hundred times, feeling the oversaturated warmth of her body against his, emphasized by the bit of cool water between them. He thought about how peaceful and peaceful life seemed, and emu felt sorry for those who said that fucking in & nb wasn't fun. They were mentally very committed to their frustrations and inhibitions. Poor devils. This is valuable for many people better. At the top, you are separated from each other, there is no liquid connection. Mata covered his legs with her back, and he felt like he was floating up slowly and with her. 'I know her. I know her, " she whispered, and then pressed her lips to Ego's.
  
  
  She knew.
  
  
  They made their way through the water back to the camp, shrouded in darkness. Mata was preparing edu with the friendly whirr of a gas scythe. She found curry and braised the meat in nen, she found some chili pepper for the beans and thyme and garlic for the salad sauce. Nick had eaten every last leaf of ego, and Em wasn't in the least bit ashamed that he'd swallowed ten tea cookies. By the way, Australians can now buy themselves a lot of cookies.
  
  
  He helped hey, wash the dishes and clean up the mess. As they crawled into their unpacked sleeping bags, they played games with each other for a while. Instead of going straight to bed, they did it all over again.
  
  
  Well, a little? Pleasure in sex, diverse sex, wild sex, delicious sex.
  
  
  It was after an hour when they were finally snuggling up to each other in ih's soft, fluffy nest. "Thank you, dear," Mata whispered. "We can still make another friend happy."
  
  
  "What are you thanking? Thanks You're delicious.'
  
  
  "Yes," she said sleepily. "I love love. Only love and kindness are real. My guru once told me this. Some people he couldn't help. They were stuck in their parents ' lies from an early age. Incorrect upbringing.
  
  
  He kissed her closed eyelids languidly. "You Are Asleep, Miss Guru Freud. You must be right. But I'm so tired ... " and then the last sound was a long, contented sigh.
  
  
  Nick usually slept like a cat. He could sleep on time and concentrate well, and he was always alert at the slightest noise, but tonight, and that was excusable, he slept like a log. Before he fell asleep, he tried to persuade his mind to wake him up as soon as anything unusual happened on the road, but the ego mind seemed to turn angrily away from him that night. Perhaps because he had less fun with those blissful moments with Mata.
  
  
  Half a kilometer from the camp, two large Mercedes stopped. The five men approached the three sleeping tents with light, inaudible steps. First, ih flashlights were dedicated to Rover and Volkswagen. The rest was easy. No more than a cursory glance at the Peugeot was enough.
  
  
  Nick didn't notice ih until a powerful beam of light was pointed at his eyes. He woke up and jumped up. He quickly closed his eyes again against the glare. He put his hands over his eyes. Caught like a small child. Wilhelmina was lying under her sweater next to her suitcase. Maybe he could grab her in a quick throw, but he forced himself to stay calm. Be patient and just wait for the cards to be shuffled. Mata played even smarter. She lay motionless on the floor. It was as if she was waking up now and carefully waiting for further events.
  
  
  Sergei lanterns turned away from him and was pointed at the ground. He noticed this by the disappearance of the glow against the ego of the century. "Thank you," he said. "Owl of God, not saints, on my face anymore."
  
  
  'I'm sorry. It was Jaap Balleguyer's voice. "We have several interested people, Mr. Kent. So please do not hesitate to cooperate. We want you to help diamonds.
  
  
  'They're good. Ih hid it. Nick stood up, but Ego's eyes were still closed. "You blinded me with that damn light." He staggered forward, pretending to be more helpless than he felt. He opened his eyes in the dark.
  
  
  "Where are they, Mr. Kent?"
  
  
  "I told you that I hid ih."
  
  
  'Of course. But I won't let you take ih. In a tent, in a car, or somewhere outside. We can convince you if necessary. Make your choice quickly.
  
  
  What's the choice? He could sense other people in the dark. Ballegoyer was well covered from the back. So it's time to apply the trick.
  
  
  He imagined ego's ugly, currently hard face staring at him intently. Balleguire had a strong personality, but you don't have to fear the ego as much as a weakling like Van der Laan. This is a terrified person who kills you and then doesn't want you to do it.
  
  
  'How did you find us?'
  
  
  'By helicopter. One of them called her. Everything is very simple. Diamonds, please.
  
  
  "Do you work with Van Rijn?
  
  
  'Not really. Now, Mr. Kent, shut up ..."
  
  
  It wasn't a bluff. "You will find ih in this suitcase next to the sleeping bags. To the left. Under the shirt.
  
  
  'Thank you.'
  
  
  Odin circled the men into the tent and returned. The bag rustled as he passed the ego to Ballegoyer. He could see a little better. He waited another minute. He could have kicked this lamp to the side, but maybe the others had lamps too. Also, when the shooting started, Matty was in the middle of the first line of fire. Balleguire snorted contemptuously. "You can keep these stones as souvenirs, Mr. Kent. They are fakes.
  
  
  Nick was pleased with the darkness. He knew he was blushing. He was deceived like a schoolboy. "Well, I traded De Groot ..."
  
  
  "Of course. He brought a fake bag. Just like the real ones, if you've seen the photos in the ih newspapers.
  
  
  "Was he able to leave?"
  
  
  'Yes. He and Hazebroek opened the gate again, while Van Rijn and he were assigned a police helicopter to watch you.
  
  
  "So you're a Dutch special agent. Who was it ..."
  
  
  'How did you get in touch with De Groot?
  
  
  "I didn't enter. Van Rijn took care of this meeting. Then it will be the intermediary. So how do you deal with it afterwards?
  
  
  "Can you get in touch with De Groot?
  
  
  "I don't even know where he lives. But he only heard about me, as Almazov's buyer. He'll know where to find me if he needs me.
  
  
  "Did you know the ego before?"
  
  
  'No. Her chance encounter with him in the woods behind Van Rijn's house. I asked him if he was a man who sells Yenisei diamonds. He saw an opportunity to do it without intermediaries, I think. He showed ih to me ih. I think they were different from these fakes. It must have been the originals, because he thought maybe it was a reliable buyer."
  
  
  "Why did you leave so quickly?"
  
  
  "When you were announced to her, I thought it might be an assault. De Groota caught up with her and took the bag with him. I told emu to contact me and that the deal would still go through.
  
  
  I thought that a younger person with a faster car should have them with him."
  
  
  Balleguire's retort was sardonic.
  
  
  "So you were the victim of sudden events."
  
  
  'That's for sure.'
  
  
  "What if De Groot says you stole ih?"
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  'Stole what? A bag full of fakes from a real jewel thief?
  
  
  "Ah, so you knew these diamonds were stolen when ih offered to buy you." He sounded like a cop, saying that he should now plead guilty.
  
  
  "As far as I know, they don't belong to anyone who has them. They were extracted from the Soviet mine ih and taken away from there... "
  
  
  So, it's not theft, if it happens in the hands of Russians? "
  
  
  "You say so. The lady in the black veil said they were hers."
  
  
  Once again, Nick could fully see that this Balleguire was a master of feints and diplomacy. But what did it lead to and why? "
  
  
  The other man handed em a card. "If De Groot contacts you, could you call me?"
  
  
  "Are you still working for Mrs. J.?"
  
  
  Balleguire hesitated for a moment. Nick had the feeling that he had intended to lift the veil, but in the end he gave up on it.
  
  
  "Yes," the man said. "But I hope you'll call."
  
  
  "From what I've heard," Nick said,"she's the first one to get those diamonds."
  
  
  'Perhaps. But, as you can see, now everything has become much more complicated ." He strode off into the darkness, lighting the lamp every now and then to see where he was going. The men followed him to either side of the tent. Another dark figure appeared from behind the Peugeot, and a fourth from the direction of the stream. Nick breathed a sigh of relief. How much ih would there be together? He should be grateful to his lucky wife for not grabbing Wilhelmina right away.
  
  
  He went back to the sleeping bags in the tent and dropped the fake diamonds on the counter. There he made sure that Wilhelmina was present and that the magazine was still there. Then he bench-pressed and touched the Mats. She hugged him, not saying a word to us.
  
  
  He stroked her smooth back. "Did you hear everything?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Van Rijn and Ballagueier are working together now. Yet they both offered me diamonds to sell. What kind of people are they anyway? The Dutch mafia?
  
  
  "No," she said thoughtfully in the dark. Her breath brushed softly against Ego's chin. "They are both decent citizens."
  
  
  There was a moment of silence, then they both laughed. "Decent businessmen," Nick said. "It may be Van Rijn, but Balleguire is the agent of the most important businesswoman in the world. All of them make a decent profit, as much as possible, if there is a reasonable chance that they will not be caught." He remembered what Hawke had said: "Who will win?"
  
  
  He requested in his photographic memory confidential files that he had recently studied at AX headquarters. They were about international relations. The Soviet Union and the Netherlands were on good terms with each other. Indeed, with some coolness, because the Dutch collaborated with the Chinese in certain areas of nuclear research, in which the Chinese have made amazing progress. The Yenisei diamonds didn't fit very well in this scheme, but still ...
  
  
  He thought about it sleepily for a while, until it was a quarter past six on his watch. Then he woke up and thought of De Groot and Hasebrook. What would they do now? They needed money for the diamonds, and they were still in touch with Van der Laan. So they were in a quandary. He kissed Mata as she woke up. "It's time for work."
  
  
  They rode east, toward the approaching dawn. Cloud cover was dense, but the temperature was moderate and pleasant. As they passed through the neat little town and crossed the railroad tracks, Nick called out, " It's called in America."
  
  
  "You will see much more American influence here. Motels, supermarkets. It ruined the whole landscape here. Especially along major roads and near cities ."
  
  
  They had breakfast in the cafeteria of a motel that might have been in Ohio. Studying the map, he found a highway heading north that led to Nijmegen and Arnhem. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Nick quickly checked the car. He found ego under the back, a narrow four-inch plastic box. With flexible wire clips and a frequency control knob that he didn't touch much. "One of Ballaguire's boys was messing around in the dark. This little transmitter tells them where we are.
  
  
  Mata looked at the small green box. "It's very small."
  
  
  "You can make these things the size of peanuts. This one is probably cheaper or has a longer service life due to the larger batteries, as well as the longer range ... "
  
  
  On the highway, he drove south instead of north until they reached the Shell gas station, where several cars were parked at the pumps to wait in line. Nick got in line and said, " Take a minute and take Ego to the pump."
  
  
  He walked forward until he saw a car with a Belgian license plate. He stumbled and dropped the handle under the back of the car, stepped forward, and said affectionately to the driver in French: "I dropped my pen under your car. Could you wait a minute?
  
  
  The stocky man behind the wheel smiled affectionately and nodded. Nick found his pen and installed the transmitter in the Belgian car. Picking up his pen, he thanked the man, and they exchanged a few friendly nods. They filled the Peugeot's tank and turned north.
  
  
  "Did you glue this transmitter under it with another car?" Mata asked. 'Yes. If you throw it away, they will immediately know that something is wrong. But maybe they'll be chasing both cars for a while. That leaves something else. Now they can follow us by any other car on the road."
  
  
  He looked for a car that was already far behind them, made a U-turn in Zutphen, followed a country road back and forth to the Information Canal, and no car followed them. He lifted his shoulders. "It seems we lost ih, but it doesn't matter. Van Rijn knows I do business with Van der Laan. But maybe we got ih a little confused ."
  
  
  They dined at Hengelo and reached Gesteren just after two o'clock. They found their way to the Van der Laan estate outside. It was a heavily wooded area, probably close to the German border, with a station forecourt where they rode for about five hundred yards on a country road under clipped trees and between a solid fence. It was a pale version of the luxurious Van Rijn residence. The price of both was difficult to compare, but they could only belong to wealthy people. In one estate there were century-old trees, the houses were huge, and in nen there was a lot of water, because that was what the aristocracy wanted, I try. The other, Van der Laan, had a lot of land, but there were fewer buildings and almost no streams to be seen. Nick drove the Peugeot slowly down the winding road and parked Ego in a gravel parking lot between about twenty other cars. He didn't see the Daf anywhere, and he didn't see the big limos that Van Rijn and Ball-Guyer chose. But there was still a driveway behind them where cars could also be parked. Somewhere down here, what was a modern-style swimming pool, two tennis courts, and three bowling alleys. Both tennis courts were in use, but there were only about a hundred people around the pool. It was still overcast.
  
  
  Nick locked the Peugeot. "Let's go for a walk, Mata. Let's take a look around before the evening starts.
  
  
  They passed the terrace and the sports fields, circled the house. A gravel path led to garages, stables, and wooden outbuildings. Nick Schell is ahead. In a field to the right of the sheds, two huge balloons were floating, guarded by a man who was pumping something into them. Nick wondered if it was helium or hydrogen. Ego's keen eyes saw every detail. Above the garage were residential buildings or staff quarters with six parking spaces. Three small cars were neatly parked next to each other in front of it, and the driveway on this side of the house crossed the high ground between the meadows and went into the woods.
  
  
  Nick was leading Mata to the garage when Van der Laan's voice came from behind them. "Hello, Mr. Kent."
  
  
  Nick turned and waved with a smile. 'Hi.'
  
  
  Van der Laan arrived slightly out of breath. Emu was quickly informed of them. Nen was wearing a white sports shirt and brown trousers, which still made him look like a businessman who was trying his best to maintain a flawless appearance. Ego boots shone.
  
  
  The announcement of Nick's arrival had obviously upset Van der Laan. He struggled to overcome his surprise and get the situation under control. "Let's see this, look at me. I wasn't sure you were coming... -
  
  
  You have a great place here, " Nick said. He put the emu on the mat. Van der Laan was cordial. "Why did you think I wouldn't come?" Nick looked at the balloons. One was covered in strange patterns, swirls and lines of fantastic colors, all sorts of sexual symbols in a swaying flash of glee.
  
  
  "Me ... I heard it. .
  
  
  "Has De Groot arrived yet?"
  
  
  'Yes. I notice that we are becoming frank. This is a strange situation. You both intended to leave me out, but circumstances forced you to come back to me. This is fate.
  
  
  "Is De Groot mad at me?" It was taken from him by the ego bundle."
  
  
  The twinkle in Van der Laan's eyes suggested that De Groot had told Em that he had fooled Norman Street - and that De Groot was really angry. Van der Laan spread his hands.
  
  
  "Ah, not exactly. De Groot is a businessman, after all. He just wants to make sure he gets his money and gets rid of these Almazovs. Go to him?
  
  
  'Good. But I can't do business until tomorrow morning. That is, if the emu needs cash. I receive a considerable amount of it through a messenger ."
  
  
  "Messenger?"
  
  
  "More, of course."
  
  
  Van der Laan thought. He was trying to find weaknesses. Where was this messenger when Kent was with Van Rijn? According to ego, Norman Street didn't have any friends in the Netherlands - at least not confidants who could go and bring in large sums of money for him. "Could you call em and ask if he can come earlier?"
  
  
  'No. It's impossible. I'll be very careful with your people ... -
  
  
  You have to watch out for some people, " Van der Laan said dryly. "I'm not very happy that you first discussed this corkscrew with Van Rijn. And now you'll see what happens next. As they say these diamonds were stolen, everyone shows their greedy fingers. And this Balleguire? Do you know who it works for?
  
  
  'No. "I guess it's just a potential seller of Almazov," Nick said innocently.
  
  
  Led by their host, they reached the curve of the terrace overlooking the pool. Nick noticed that Van der Laan was leading ih around the garages and outbuildings as fast as he could. "So we'll just have to wait and see. And De Groot will have to stay, because of course he won't leave without money."
  
  
  "Do you think this is crazy?"
  
  
  'Well, no.'
  
  
  Nick would like to know what Vitaly's plans and ideas are in this neatly coiffed heads. He could almost sense that Van der Laan was thinking hard about getting rid of De Groot and Hasebroek. Little men with big ambitions are dangerous. This is the type that is strongly steeped in the belief that greed can't be bad. Van der Laan pressed a button attached to the balustrade, and a Javanese man in a white jacket approached them. "Let's go get your luggage around the car," the owner said. "Fritz is here to show you your rooms."
  
  
  In the Peugeot, Nick said, " I have a De Groot bag with me. Can I give it back to ego emu now?
  
  
  "We'll wait until dinner. Then we'll have plenty of time ."
  
  
  Van der Laan left ih at the foot of the grand staircase in the lobby of the main building, after convincing ih to enjoy swimming, tennis, horse riding and other pleasures. He looked like the too-busy owner of a too-small resort. Fritz led ih into two adjoining rooms. Nick whispered to the Assistant as Fritz put down the luggage, " Ask Ego to bring two whiskies and a soda upstairs."
  
  
  When Fritz left, Nick went to Mata's room. It was a modest room connected to the ego room, a shared bathroom. "How about you share a bath with me, ma'am?"
  
  
  She slid into his embrace. "I want to share everything with you."
  
  
  "Fritz - Indonesian, isn't it?"
  
  
  'It's true. She'd like to talk to him for a minute... "
  
  
  "Let's go. I'm leaving now. Try to make friends with him."
  
  
  "I think it will work."
  
  
  "I think so too.'But calm down. Tell emu that you have just arrived in this country and it is difficult for you to live in it. Use all your abilities, my dear. One man can't stand it. He's probably lonely. Since we are still in different rooms, the ego should not be disturbed in any way. Just make the ego crazy."
  
  
  "Okay, honey, as you say." She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her sweet nose.
  
  
  Nick hummed a tune from Finlandia as he unpacked. The emu only needed one case, and that might be it. And yet one of the most beautiful inventions of man was sex, wonderful sex. Sex with Dutch beauties. You're almost done with it. He hung up his clothes, shawl, and toiletries, and set the typewriter on the table by the window. Even this very beautiful outfit was nothing compared to a beautiful, intelligent woman. There was a knock. He opened the door and looked at De Groot. The little man was as strict and formal as ever. There was still no smile.
  
  
  "Hello," Nick said warmly. 'We did it. They couldn't catch us. Have you ever had any problems getting through this gate? Her self lost some flowers there."
  
  
  De Groot looked at him coldly and deliberately. "They ran back to the house when Harry and I left. We had no problem getting the doorman to open the gate again."
  
  
  "We had some difficulties. As reported by the embassy overhead and all that. Nick handed Em a brown bag. De Groot only glanced at him. "They're fine. I haven't even watched it yet. I didn't have time for this."
  
  
  De Groot looked confused. "And yet you came here...?"
  
  
  "We were supposed to meet here, weren't we? Where else should I go?
  
  
  "I understand."
  
  
  Nick grinned reassuringly. "Of course you're wondering why I didn't go candid in Amsterdam, aren't you? Wait there for your call. But why else would you need an intermediary? You won't do it, but I know her. Maybe I can do business with Van der Laan for a long time. I do not know this country. Getting diamonds across the border to where I want them is a challenge. No, it's not around those who do everything alone, like you. I'm her employer, and I can't afford to burn all the ships behind me. So you just need to relax for a while, although I understand that you can get a better deal with Van der Laan. Emus don't have to work hard for their money. You can also hint that you can do business with me directly, but-one of us would say - it wouldn't be Stahl doing it in your place. He said we could talk business after lunch.
  
  
  De Groot had no choice. He was more succinct with confusion than convinced. 'Money. Van der Laan said you had a messenger. He hasn't left for Van Rijn yet?"
  
  
  'Of course not. We have a schedule. It was him who stopped her. Her call to him was early in the morning. Then he will come, or he will leave if we don't come to an agreement."
  
  
  'I understand her."De Groot apparently didn't understand, but he'll be waiting. "Then there's something else ..."
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Your revolver." Of course, I told Van der Laan what happened when we met. We... he thinks you should leave this emu until you leave. Of course, I know the American idea that they keep this beauty away from my gun, but in this case it might be a gesture of confidence."
  
  
  Nick frowned. As De Groot was now, the emu had better tread carefully. "I don't like doing that. Van Rijn and the others might find us here."
  
  
  "Van der Laan employs quite qualified specialists.
  
  
  He watches all the roads."
  
  
  'Oh lee. Nick shrugged and smiled. Then he found Wilhelmina, which he hid in one of his jackets on a coat rack. He pushed out the magazine, pulled back the bolt, and let the bullet pop out of the bindings and catch it in midair. "I believe we can understand Van der Laan's point of view. Boss in your own home. Please.'
  
  
  De Groot left with the gun in his belt. Nick grimaced. They'll search the ego baggage as soon as they get the chance. Well, good luck. He took the straps off Hugo's long scabbard, and Stahl's stiletto was an unusually narrow letter opener in an ego letter case. He wanted a hidden microphone for a while, but couldn't find it. Which didn't mean anything yet, because in your own home you have every chance and opportunity to hide something like that in moans. Mata entered through the adjoining bathroom. She was laughing.
  
  
  "We got along well. He's terribly lonely. He's been involved with Van der Laan for three years and he's making a good living, but ..... -
  
  
  Nick put a finger to his lips and led her into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. He said it was near a splash of water: "These rooms can be bugged. In the future, we will discuss all important matters here." She nodded, and Nick continued: "Don't worry, you'll be seeing him again, honey. If you have the chance, you should tell the emu that you are afraid of Van der Laan and especially of the big man with no neck who works for him. He looks like some kind of monkey. Ask Fritz if this man is capable of hurting little girls, and see what he says. Try to find out the ego's name if you can.
  
  
  'All right, dear. It sounds simple.
  
  
  "It can hardly be difficult for you, dear."
  
  
  He turned off the tap and they went into Mata's room, where they drank whiskies and sodas and listened to soft jazz music playing around the built-in speaker. Nick examined it carefully. This could be a great place for a listening microphone, he thought.
  
  
  Although the clouds didn't completely disappear, they did some swimming in the pool, played a game of tennis where Nick almost let Mate win, and were shown the estate that Van der Laan once headed. De Groot didn't show up again, but not when he saw Helmy and about ten other guests at the pool. Nick wondered what the difference was between Van der Laan and Van Rijn. This was a generation that was always looking for thrills - Van Rijn occupied real estate.
  
  
  Van der Laan was proud of balloons. The gas was partially released and they were moored with heavy Manila cables. "These are new balloons," he explained proudly. "We're just checking ih for leaks. They are very good. In the morning we will fly in a hot air balloon. Would you like to try it, Mr. Kent?" Norman, I mean.
  
  
  "Yeah," Nick said. "What about the high-voltage lines here?"
  
  
  "Oh, you're already thinking ahead. Very reasonable. This is one of our greatest dangers. The one around them runs to the east, but it doesn't bother us much. We only make short flights, then let out the gas and get picked up by a truck.
  
  
  Nick himself preferred gliders, but kept the idea to himself. Two big colorful balloons? Interesting status symbol. Or was there something else? What would a psychiatrist say? Either way, it's time to ask Mata ... Van der Laan did not offer to explore the garages, although they were allowed a brief glimpse of the meadow, where three chestnut horses stood in a small enclosed space in the shade of the trees. More of these status symbols? Mata will still be busy. They walked slowly back to the house.
  
  
  They were expected to appear at the table dressed, although not in evening dresses. Mata got a tip from Fritz. She told Nick that she and Fritz got along very well. Now the situation was almost ready for her to ask questions.
  
  
  Nick took Helmy aside for a moment while they sipped their aperitif. Mata was the center of attention on the other side of the covered patio. "Do you like to have a little fun, my exceptionally beautiful woman?"
  
  
  'Of course; for estestvenno.' On the dell itself, it doesn't make much sense to not have the way it used to. There was a sense of discomfort in it, just as there was in the case of Van der Laan. He noticed that she was getting a little nervous again. Why? "I see you're having a great time. She looks good."
  
  
  "My old friend and I met by chance."
  
  
  "Well, she's not that wouldnt either and I'm trying. Moreover, isn't this a body that can be encountered by accident?"
  
  
  Nick also looked at Mata, who was laughing merrily in the company of excited people. She was wearing a cream-and-white evening dress that clung precariously to one shoulder like a sari fastened with a gold pin. With her black hair and brown skin, the effect was stunning. Helmi in a stylish blue dress was a cool model, but still-how do you measure a woman's true beauty? "
  
  
  "She's kind of my spa partner," he said. "I'll tell you all about it later. What kind of room do you have?
  
  
  Helmi looked at him, just laughed, then decided that his serious smile was genuine, and seemed pleased. "The north wing. Second door on the right ."
  
  
  The rice chair was excellent. Twenty-eight guests were seated in two chairs. De Groot and Hasebrook exchanged brief formal greetings with Mata and Nick. Wine, beer, and brandy were brought in crates. It was late when a noisy group of people made their way to the patio, dancing and kissing, or gathering around the roulette chair in the library. Les Dice was run by a polite, burly man who might have been a croupier around Las Vegas. He was good. So good that it took Nick forty minutes to realize that he was playing a bet with a triumphant, half-drunk young man who had placed a stack of bills on the card and allowed himself to bet 20,000 guilders. The guy was waiting for a six, but it turned out to be a five. Nick shook his head. He would never understand people like Van der Laan.
  
  
  He left and found Mata in a deserted part of the porch. At Ego's approach, the white jacket flew away.
  
  
  "It was Fritz," Mata whispered. "We are very close friends now. As well as fighters. The big man's name is Paul Meyer. He hides in a room in the back with two others, whom Fritz calls Beppo and Mark. They are definitely capable of hurting a girl, and Fritz has promised to protect me and maybe make sure she leaves them, but I'll have to get my ego smeared. Cute, he's really cute. Don't hurt him. He'd heard that Paul - or Eddie, as ego was sometimes called - had tried to kill all the houses around Helmy.
  
  
  Nick nodded thoughtfully. "He tried to kill her. I think Phil called it off and that's where they left off. Perhaps Paul had gone too far on his own. But he still missed. He also tried to put pressure on me, but it didn't work."
  
  
  "Something is happening. She was seen several times by Van der Laan going in and out of her office. Then De Groot and Hasebrook went back inside, then outside again. They don't behave like people who sit still in the evenings."
  
  
  'Thank you. Keep an eye on them, but make sure they don't see you. Go to sleep if you want, but don't look for me."
  
  
  Mata kissed him gently. "If it's a business and not a blonde."
  
  
  "Honey, this blonde is a businesswoman. You know as well as I do that I only come home to you, even if it's in a tent. He met Helmy in the company of a gray-haired man who looked very drunk.
  
  
  "It was Paul Mayer, Beppo and Mark who tried to shoot you. They're the same people who tried to question me at my hotel. Van der Laan probably thought we were working together at first, but then he changed his mind."
  
  
  She became stiff as a dummy in ego's hands. ' Oi.'
  
  
  "You already knew that, didn't you. Why don't we take a walk in the garden?"
  
  
  'Yes. I mean, to.'
  
  
  "Yes, you already knew that, and yes, do you want to take a walk?"
  
  
  She stumbled on the stairs as he led her out of the porch and onto a path dimly lit by small colored lights. "Maybe you're still in danger," he said, but he didn't believe it. "Then why did you come here, where they have a good chance of getting you if they want to?"
  
  
  She sat down on a bench in the gazebo and sobbed softly. He held her close and tried to calm her down. "How the hell was she supposed to know what to do?" She said in shock. "My whole world fell to pieces. I never thought of her as Phil... -
  
  
  You just don't want to think about it. If you did this, you would realize that what you have discovered can destroy the ego. So if they even suspected that you had discovered something, you immediately entered the lion's den."
  
  
  "I wasn't sure if they knew. She'd only been in Kelly's office for a few minutes and returned everything just as it was. But when he came in, he gave me such a funny look that I thought for a long time: "He knows - he doesn't know - he knows."
  
  
  Her eyes were wet.
  
  
  "From what happened, we can tell that he really knew, or at least thought that you saw something. Now tell me exactly what you saw."
  
  
  "The ego of the drawing board has been increased by twenty-five or thirty times. On the nen, there was an intricate drawing with mathematical formulas and lots of notes. I only remember the words Us Mark-Martin 108g. hawkeye. Egglayer RE. '
  
  
  "You have a good memory. And this print was an enlargement of some of the trial and detail cards you carried around?
  
  
  'Yes. You couldn't make out anything about the policy itself, or the associated photos, even if you knew where to look. Only if you increase it a lot. Then she realized that her courier was in some spy dell." He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. "I thought Phil had nothing to do with it."
  
  
  "You know that now. Kelly must have called Em and told him what he thought he knew about you when you left.
  
  
  "Who are you, Norman Kent?"
  
  
  "It doesn't matter now, dear."
  
  
  "What does this dot grid mean?"
  
  
  He chose his words carefully. "If you read all the tech magazines about the universe and rockets, and every word in the New York Times, you can figure it out on your own."
  
  
  "But this is not the case. Who would do such a thing?
  
  
  "I'm trying my best, even though I'm already a few weeks behind. Egglayer RE is our new polyatomic head satellite, dubbed Robot Eagle. I think that the information you had with you when you came to Holland, Moscow, or Beijing, or any other high-paying client, could help with the telemetry details.
  
  
  "Is that how it works?"
  
  
  'Even worse. What is the ego, service, and how the ego leads to its goal; radio frequencies that guide the ego and order it to reset the nuclear cluster full name. And this is not pleasant at all, because then you have every chance of getting your own bombs on your head. Try to turn this into an international policy."
  
  
  She began to cry again. 'Oh my God. I didn't know her.'
  
  
  He hugged her. "We can go beyond that." He tried to explain it as well as possible, but at the same time, to provoke her anger. "It was a highly effective information channel that smuggled data around the United States. At least for a few years. Military information, industrial secrets were stolen, and they appeared all over the world as if they had just been mailed. Her, I believe that you have stumbled upon this channel.
  
  
  She used the handkerchief again. When she looked at him, her pretty face was angry.
  
  
  "They may die. I don't believe you got it all all over the New York Times. Can I help her with something?
  
  
  'Perhaps. At this point, I think it's best that you just keep doing what you've been doing. You've been living with this tension for days, so you'll be fine. I'll find a way to get these suspicions out to the U.S. government.
  
  
  They will tell you if you should keep your job at Manson's or take a vacation.
  
  
  Her bright blue eyes met his. He was proud to see her in control again. "You don't tell me everything," she said. "But I believe you'll tell me more if you can."
  
  
  He kissed her. It wasn't a long hug, but it was warm. You can count on an American-Dutch girl working out in the gym in trouble. He muttered: "When you get back to your room, put a chair under the arm of your bed. Just in case. Get back to Amsterdam as fast as you can without angering Fila. Then I'll get in touch with you.
  
  
  He left her on the patio, and went back to his room, where he exchanged his white jacket for a dark coat. He took apart his typewriter, and assembled around its parts first the trigger mechanism for a non-automatic pistol. Then there was the five-round shotgun itself, bulky but reliable, accurate and with a powerful shot on the 12-inch barrel. He also strapped Hugo on his forearm.
  
  
  The next five hours were grueling, but if a lot of information. He slipped out the side door and saw that the evening was drawing to a close. The guests had disappeared inside, and he watched with secret pleasure as the lights went out in the rooms.
  
  
  Nick moved like a dark shadow through the flowery garden. He walked around the stables, garage, and outbuildings. He followed the two men to the sentry from the driveway, and the people who went back to the official residence. He followed one other man, at least along the back road, until he crossed the fence. It was another entrance and exit back. The man used a small flashlight to find Ego Philippe noticeably hotel safe at night .
  
  
  When he returned to the house, he found Paul Meyer, Beppo, and three others in the garage of the office. Van der Laan came to visit ih after midnight. At three o'clock in the morning, a black Cadillac drove down the road at the back of the house, and soon returned afterwards. Nick could hear the mumble of the ship's radio. When the Cadillac came back, it stopped at one of the larger outbuildings and Nick saw three dark figures enter. He was lying face down in a circle of bushes, but he couldn't see anything, because the lights of the big car were shining in his direction.
  
  
  The car was parked again, and the two men got out through the driveway at the back. Nick crawled around the building, squeezed out the back door, then backed up and hid again to see if he'd caused the alarm. But the night was still, and sensing but not seeing the ghostly figure that was engaged crawled past mimmo of the building, regarding him as he had done a moment ago, but with a great sense of direction, as if he knew where to go. The dark figure found that door and waited. Nick got up from the flower bed where he had been lying and stood behind the figure, raising the heavy revolver. "Hey, Fritz."
  
  
  The Indonesian was not impressed. He turned slowly. "Yes, Mr. Kent."
  
  
  "Watching De Groot? Nick asked quietly.
  
  
  A long silence. Then Fritz said softly, " He's not in his room.
  
  
  "It's nice that you're taking such good care of your guests." "With so many people around the house, it's not easy to find an ego. Would you kill him if you had to?"
  
  
  'Who are you?'
  
  
  "A person with a much simpler task than you. You want to catch De Groot and get the diamonds, don't you?
  
  
  Nick heard Fritz say, " Yes."
  
  
  "But here they have three prisoners. Do you think your colleague might be the only one around them?
  
  
  "I don't think so. I think I should go and see.
  
  
  "Believe me when I tell you, do you care about these diamonds?"
  
  
  'Perhaps. .
  
  
  "Are you armed?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  'Her too. Let's go now and see?
  
  
  There is a gym in the building. They entered through the shower room, saw saunas and badminton courts. Then they came to a dimly lit room.
  
  
  "It's IHC," Nick whispered.
  
  
  A fat man was dozing in the hall. "Who is Van der Lahn's men?" muttered Fritz.
  
  
  They worked with him quietly and efficiently. Nick found the rope that he and Fritz quickly used to tie ego up. They covered the emu's mouth with Ego's own handkerchief, and Nick took care of Ego Beretta.
  
  
  In a large gym, they found Ballegoyer, van Rijn, and Nick's old friend, the detective himself, handcuffed to groaning steel rings. The detective's own eyes were red and swollen.
  
  
  "Fritz," Nick said, " go and see if the fat guy at the door has the keys to these handcuffs." He looked at the detective himself. "How did they capture you?"
  
  
  "Gas. It blinded me for a while.
  
  
  Fritz is back. "No keys." He examined the steel ring. "We need tools."
  
  
  "We'd better get this straight first," Nick said. "Mr. van Rijn, do you still want to sell me these diamonds?"
  
  
  "Her hotel would never let her hear about it. But it's not just about profit for me.
  
  
  "No, it's always just a side effect, isn't it? Do you intend to detain De Groot?"
  
  
  "I think he killed my brother."
  
  
  "I feel sorry for you." Nick looked at Balleguire. "Mrs. J, is she still interested in the deal?"
  
  
  Balleguire was the first to regain his composure. He looked cold. "We want De Groot arrested and the diamonds returned to their rightful owners.
  
  
  "Ah, yes, this is a diplomatic matter," Nick sighed. "Is this a measure to calm ih's annoyance that you are helping the Chinese with an ultra-centrifuge problem?"
  
  
  "We need something because we are on the edge of at least three points."
  
  
  "You're very well informed for an Almazov buyer, Mr. Kent," the detective said. Mr. Balleguire and hers are currently working together. Do you know what this person is doing to you?
  
  
  "Fritz? Sure. He's on the opposite team. He's here in the hall to monitor Van der Lahn's courier operations." He handed Beretta to Balleguire, telling the detective, " I'm sorry, but I think he might have used the gun better until your eyes can see properly. Fritz, would you like to find some tools?
  
  
  'Of course.'
  
  
  "Then release ih and come to my office, Van der Laan. The diamonds and maybe what I'm looking for are probably in the hall, in the ego safe. So he and De Groot can hardly be far away.
  
  
  Nick left the exit and ran through the open space. When he reached the flat patio tiles, someone was standing in the dark for a glow from the porch.
  
  
  'Stop!'
  
  
  "This is Norman Kent," Nick said.
  
  
  Paul Meyer answered around the dark. He had one hand behind his back. "It's a strange time to be outside. Where have you been?'
  
  
  'What's for corkscrew? You probably have something to hide, by the way?
  
  
  "I think we'd better go see Mr. Van der Lahn."
  
  
  He pulled out a hand to protect his back. There was something about her.
  
  
  'Not forever! Nick roared.
  
  
  But , of course, Herr Meyer did not obey. Nick aimed the gun, fired, and quickly dove toward Dolly Secunda. An act that Stahl only accomplished through years of training.
  
  
  He rolled over, got to his feet, and ran a few yards to the side, his eyes closed.
  
  
  After the gunshot, the hissing sound might not have been heard, it was more or less muffled by Paul Meyer's groans. The fog spread like a white ghost, and the gas took effect.
  
  
  Nick ran across the outer courtyard and jumped into the inner courtyard.
  
  
  Someone flipped the main switch and colored lights and flashlights flashed into the house. Nick ran into the main hall and hid behind the couch when a gun went off at the doorway on the far side. He caught a glimpse of Beppo, perhaps excited and instinctively firing at the figure that had suddenly appeared around the night, pistol in hand.
  
  
  Nick sank to the floor. Bewildered, Beppo shouted, " Who is this? Show yourself.'
  
  
  The day clapped, people screamed, shaggy thundered down the hallways. Nick didn't want the house to turn into a shooting gallery. He pulled out an unusually thick blue ballpoint pen. A smoke grenade. None of the guests could have accidentally fallen victim. Nick pulled out the igniter and threw it at Beppo.
  
  
  "Get out," Beppo yelled. The orange projectile thundered back to Moan and landed behind Nick.
  
  
  This Beppo was not at a loss. He had the guts to throw it back. Bwooammm!
  
  
  Nick barely had time to open his mouth to accept the pressure of air sampling. Fortunately, he didn't use a frag grenade. He got to his feet and found himself in thick gray smoke. He crossed the room and went out, circling the artificial cloud with the revolver in front of him.
  
  
  Beppo was lying on the ground in shards of pottery. Mata sat over him with the bottom of an oriental vase in her hands. Her beautiful black eyes turned to Nick and shone with relief.
  
  
  "Fine," Nick said, my compliments. "Bystrica-work. But for now, go warm up the Peugeot and wait for me.
  
  
  She ran out into the street. A brave girl, Mata was helpful, but these guys weren't playing games. What she had to do was not only start the car, but also get to nah without a hitch.
  
  
  Nick broke into the office, Van der Laan. De Groot ego landlord was standing by the open safe... Van der Lahn was busy packing papers into a large briefcase. De Groot saw Nick first.
  
  
  There was a small automatic pistol in ego Rook's hand. He sent a well-aimed shot through the door where Nick had been standing a moment earlier. Nick dodged before the small pistol spat out a series of shots and darted into Van der Lahn's bathroom. It was a good thing that De Groot didn't have enough practice shooting to be able to hit by instinct.
  
  
  Nick peered through the knee-high door. Gawking eyes flew blatantly over ego's head. He ducked back in. How many shots did that damn gun fire? He had already counted six.
  
  
  He took a quick look around, grabbed a towel, rolled ego into a ball, then pushed ego through the door at head level. Wam! I tugged at Ego's arm. If only he'd had a moment to aim, De Groot wasn't such a supposedly bad shot. He held out the towel again. Silence. On the second floor, the door slammed shut. Someone shouted. Feet thumped down the corridors again. He couldn't hear if De Groot had put a new magazine in the gun. Nick sighed. Now comes the time to take a chance forever. He leapt into the room and turned to the desk and safe, the gun muzzle in front of him. The window overlooking the patio slammed shut. The curtains moved for a moment.
  
  
  Nick jumped up on the sill and shouldered the window open. In the thin, gray morning light, De Groot could be seen running out through the porch at the back of the house. Nick ran after him and reached the corner where he saw a strange scene.
  
  
  Van der Lahn and De Groot split up. Van der Lahn had his briefcase on, and he ran straight ahead, while De Groot, carrying his usual bag, ran towards the garage. Van Rijn, Ballegoyer, and the detective walked around the gym. Detective Mistletoe told the Beretta that Nick had given Ballegoyer. He shouted to De Groot,"Stop!" he fired almost instantly, then this one. De Groot staggered, but didn't fall. Ballegoyer put his hand on the detective's own and said: "Please."
  
  
  'Here you go.' He handed the gun to Ballegoyer.
  
  
  Ballegoyer took a quick but careful aim and pulled the trigger. De Groot was crouched in the corner of the garage. The game was over for him. The Daf screeched through the garage. Harry Hazebrook was driving. Ballegoyer raised the gun again, took careful aim, but finally decided not to shoot. "We'll catch him," he muttered.
  
  
  Nick saw it all as he walked down the stairs and headed toward Van der Laan. They didn't see him, and they didn't see Philippe Van der Laan running through the mimmo of the seraglio.
  
  
  Where could Van der Lahn have gone? Three gym employees were holding him in a garage with cars, but maybe he still had a car hidden somewhere else. As he ran, Nick thought he should use one of the grenades. Pistol in hand, like a relay runner's baton, Nick ran down the corner of the seraglio. There he saw Van der Lahn sitting in one of the two balloons, while he was busy throwing ballast overboard, and the balloon was rapidly gaining altitude. The big pink balloon was already twenty meters up. Nick took aim, and Van der Lahn had his back to him, but Nick lowered the gun again. He'd killed enough people, but he'd never wanted to. The wind quickly moved the ball out of the weapon's ego's reach. The sun wasn't up yet, and the balloon looked like a mottled, faint pink pearl against the gray dawn sky.
  
  
  Nick ran to another brightly colored balloon. It was attached to four attachment points, but he wasn't familiar with the disconnector. He jumped into a small plastic basket and cut the ropes with a stiletto. He slowly floated up, Van der Laan. But it was rising too slowly. What prevented it? Ballast?
  
  
  Sandbags hung on the edge of the basket. Nick cut the straps with the stiletto, the basket soared up, and he quickly gained altitude and was already level with Van der Laan within a few minutes. The distance between them, however, was at least a hundred yards. Nick cut off his last sandbag.
  
  
  It was suddenly very still and peaceful, except for the gentle hum of the wind through the ropes. The sounds coming from below became quiet. Nick raised his hand and motioned for Van der Lahn to get down.
  
  
  Van der Laan answered by tossing the briefcase over the side - but Nick was convinced it was an empty briefcase.
  
  
  However, Nick's round ball came closer and rose higher than the ball, Van der Lahn. Why? Nick guessed that this was because the ego balloon was a foot too large in diameter, so the wind might have picked it up. Van der Laan chose his new balloon, but it was smaller. Nick threw his shoes, gun, and shirt overboard. Van der Laan responded by throwing off his clothes and everything else. Nick is now almost on trial in Bosnia and Herzegovina convicted by a different person. They looked at each other with an expression like: there's nothing left to throw overboard but themselves.
  
  
  Nick suggested it. - "Go down,"
  
  
  "Go to hell," Van der Lahn shouted.
  
  
  Enraged, Nick stared straight ahead. What a situation. It looks like the wind will soon carry me mimmo it, meaning it might just come down to the ground and disappear. Before he had a chance to come down too, he would have left long ago. Nick looked around at his basket, which was attached to eight ropes going up to meet in the net that was holding the ball together. Nick cut off four ropes and tied ih together. He hoped they were strong enough, because they had passed all the tests, because he was a heavy man. Then he climbed up on the four ropes, and hung like a spider in the first web of the four ropes, and began to cut off the corner ropes that the basket was still holding. The basket fell to the Ground, and Nick decided to look down.
  
  
  Ego balloon went up. A cry rang out beneath him as he felt the contact of his balloon with the one in which Van der Lahn was sitting. He came so close to Van der Laan that he could have touched the ego with a fishing rod. Van der Lahn looked at him with wild eyes. "Where is your shopping cart" .
  
  
  'On earth. You have more fun that way."
  
  
  Nick went further up, the ego balloon shaking the other balloon, and the ego opponent sat gripping the basket with both hands. As he slid toward the other ball, he drove the stiletto into the fabric of the ball and began to cut the ego. The balloon released gas, shook for a moment, and then went down. Without valuing anything above the ego head, Nick found the valve. Very carefully, he used the ego and the ego balloon began to descend.
  
  
  Below him, he saw that the canvas of the torn balloon had gathered together in a web of ropes, forming a kind of parachute. He remembered that this was a common occurrence. It saved the lives of hundreds of balloonists. He released even more gas. When he finally fell into an open field, he saw a Peugeot with Matty at the wheel driving down a country lane.
  
  
  He ran to the car, waving his arms. "Excellent timing and location. Did you see where this balloon landed?
  
  
  'Yes. Come with me."'
  
  
  When they were on their way, she said, " You scared the little girl. I couldn't see the balloon fall.
  
  
  "Did you see him come down?"
  
  
  'Not really. But did you see something?'
  
  
  'No. The trees hid ego from view when he landed.
  
  
  Van der Lahn lay entangled in a tangle of cloth and rope.
  
  
  Van Rijn, Ballegoyer, Fritz, the detective tried to untangle the ego, but then they stopped. "He's hurt," the detective said. At least he probably broke his leg. Let's just wait for the ambulance to arrive. He looked at Nick. "Did you lose your ego?"
  
  
  "I'm sorry," Nick said honestly. 'Its had to do this. Ego could have shot her, too. Did you find the diamonds at De Groot's?"
  
  
  'Yes. He handed Nick a cardboard folder tied together with the two ribbons they'd found in the sad remains of such a bright balloon. "Is this what you wanted?"
  
  
  It contained sheets of paper with detailed information about prints, photocopies, and a roll of film. Nick was studying the irregular pattern of dots on one of the magnification software.
  
  
  "This is what her hotel is about. It starts to look like he would be making copies of everything that came through ego hands. Do you know what this means?
  
  
  "I believe I know. We have been observing for several months. He supplied information to many spies. We didn't know what he was getting, where he was getting it, or from whom. Now we know ."
  
  
  "Better late than never," Nick replied. "At least now we can understand what we've lost and then change everything where necessary. It's good to know what the opponents know.
  
  
  Fritz joined them. Nick's face was red. Fritz saw it. He picked up de Groot's brown bag and said, " We all got what we got in the dorms, didn't we?"
  
  
  "If you want to see it that way," Nick said, " but maybe Mr. Ballegoyer has other ideas about it ..."
  
  
  "No," Ballegoyer said. "We believe that in the framework of international cooperation, when it comes to such a crime. Nick wondered what Mrs. J should say.
  
  
  Fritz looked pityingly at the helpless Van der Lahn. "He was too thirsty. He should have kept De Groot more under control.
  
  
  Nick nodded. "This spy channel is closed. Are there any other diamonds where these were found?
  
  
  "Alas, there will be other channels. They always were and always will be. As for Almazov, I'm sorry, but this is classified information.
  
  
  Nick chuckled. You should always have admired a witty opponent. But not with microfilms anymore. Smuggling in this direction will be checked more closely. Fritz lowered his voice to a whisper. "There is one final piece of information that so far the ferret has not been delivered. I can pay you a small fortune.
  
  
  "Are you referring to the Mark-Maarten 108G plans?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Fritz. Its damn glad you don't get ih. Vote what makes my work worthwhile-if you know that you're not just collecting old news.
  
  
  Fritz shrugged and smiled. They went to the cars together.
  
  
  The following Tuesday, Nick saw Helmy off on a plane to New York. It was a warm farewell with promises for the future. He went back to Mati's apartment for lunch and thought, " Carter, you're fickle, but it's nice."
  
  
  She asked him if he knew who these people were who tried to rob ih on the road. He assured her they were thieves, and I knew Van Rijn would never do that again.
  
  
  Paula, Mata's friend, was an angelic beauty with a quick, innocent smile and big eyes. After three drinks, they were all on the same level.
  
  
  "Yes, we all loved Herbie," Paula said. He was a member of the Red Pheasant Club.
  
  
  You know what it is - with pleasure, socializing, music, dancing, and so on. He wasn't used to booze and drugs, but he tried anyway.
  
  
  He should be the one around us, her know what happened. He was denounced by the public when he said: "I'm going to go home and rest." We never saw the ego again after that. Nick frowned. "How do you know what happened?"
  
  
  "Ah, it sometimes happens, though it's often used as an excuse by the police," Paula said sadly, shaking her pretty head. "They say that he Stahl was so mad with drugs that he thought he could fly and wanted to fly across the canal. But you will never know the truth.
  
  
  "So, could someone push the ego into the water?"
  
  
  "Okay, we didn't see anything. Of course, we don't know anything. It was so late ..."
  
  
  Nick nodded gravely and said, reaching for the phone, " You need to talk to a friend of mine. I have a feeling that he will be very happy to meet you when he has the time.
  
  
  Her pale eyes sparkled. "If he's like you, Norman, I think I'll like him too."
  
  
  Nick chuckled, then called Hawke.
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  Temple of Fear
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Temple of Fear
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to the people of the Secret Services of the United States of America
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  This was the first time that Nick Carter was tired of sex.
  
  
  He didn't think it was possible. Especially at midday in April, when the sap is moving through the trees and people, and the sound of the cuckoo, at least figuratively speaking, drowns out the agony of the Washington movement.
  
  
  Still, this gaudy lady in the pulpit made sex tiresome. Nick settled his thin body a little deeper into the uncomfortable study chair, stared at the toes of his handmade English shoes, and tried not to listen. It wasn't so bad. Dr. Murial Milholland had a light but penetrating voice. Nick had never, as far as he could remember, made love to a girl named Murial. It is written with an "a". He stole a glance at the mimeographed map on the arm of his chair. It is written with an "a". Like a cigar?" And the lady talking was sexy as a cigar ...
  
  
  "The Russians, of course, for some time opened sex schools together with their spy agencies. The Chinese, as far as we know, have not yet imitated them, perhaps because they consider the Russians, as well as ourselves in the West, a decadent people. Whatever it is, however, the Russians do use sex, both heterosexual and homosexual, as the most important weapon in their espionage operations. It's just a weapon, and it's proven very well. They have invented and implemented new techniques that make Mali Khan look like an amateur teenager.
  
  
  "The two most important factual sources of information obtained through sex are, in terms of timing, information obtained through reservations during exciting foreplay and in the lulling, apathetic and very unexpected moments immediately after orgasm. Taking the basic figures, in addition, and combining ih with Sykes 'data in the ego-important work" Pairs of Preludes to Successful Coitus leading to a double Orgasm", we find that the average prelude is just under fifteen minutes, and the average time to active coitus is approximately three minutes, and the average time or duration of the consequences of sexual intercourse is approximately three minutes. euphoria is just over five minutes old. Now let's take a balance and find that in the average human sexual encounter in which at least one of the participants is an agent seeking information from a partner - there is a period, for example, nineteen minutes and five seconds, during which the participant, whom we will call the "seeker", is most unawares, and during, in which the advantage and opportunity are all on the side of the "seeker". "
  
  
  Nick Carter's eyes had long since closed. He could hear the chalk scratching on the blackboard, the tapping of fingers, but he wasn't looking. He didn't dare. He didn't think he could take the disappointment any longer. He always thought sex was fun! Damned Hawk, anyway. The old man must be losing his grip at last, no matter how unlikely it seems to us. Nick kept his eyes tightly closed and frowned, drowning out the hum of "teaching" and the rustling, coughing, scratching, and clearing throats of his fellow sufferers attending this so-called sex-as-a-weapon workshop. Ih was plentiful-CIA, FBI, CIC, T-men, Army, Navy, and Air. There was also, and this was a source of deep amazement for AXEman, a high-ranking official of the post office! Nick knew the man a little, knew exactly what he was doing in the PO, and his confusion only deepened. Did the enemy also come up with a ploy to use the mail for sexual purposes? Mere lust? In the latter case, the police officer would be very disappointed. Nick drifted off, sinking deeper into his own thoughts ...
  
  
  David Hawke, the ego boss at AX, had pitched the idea to Em that morning in a dingy little office in Dupont Circle. Nick, who had just returned from a week's vacation at his farm in Indiana, was lounging in the only hard chair in the room, dropping ash on the Hawk linoleum and listening to Delia Stokes ' typewriter pounding on the waiting room. Nick Carter was doing very well. He spent most of his Sundays chopping, sawing, and hooking up wood on the farm, drinking a little, and having a little romance with an old friend from Indiana. Now he was dressed in a light tweed suit, sported a discreetly bold Sulka tie, and felt his oats. He was ready for action.
  
  
  The hawk said: "I'm sending you to sex school, boy."
  
  
  Nick dropped his cigarette and stared at his boss. "What are you sending me to do?"
  
  
  Hawk swirled a dry unlit cigar in his thin-lipped mouth and repeated: "I'm sending you to a sex school. They call it a sexual what-you-call-it seminar, something like that, but we'll call it a school. Be there at two o'clock in the afternoon. I do not know the room number, but it is somewhere in the basement of the old Treasury building. Hers, I'm sure you'll find it ok. If not, ask the security guard. Oh, yes, Dr. Murial Milholland is giving the lecture. I am told that it is very good.
  
  
  Nick looked down at his fallen cigarette, still smoldering on the linoleum floor. He was too stunned to reach out and crush her leg. Finally, bad, all he could summon was... " Are you kidding me, sir?"
  
  
  The ego boss looked at him like a basilisk and cracked his false teeth around his cigar. "Just kidding? In no way, son, I actually feel like I did the wrong thing by not sending you sooner. You know as well as I do that the point of this business is to keep up with the other guy. in AX, it should be greater than this. We have to get ahead of the other guy, or we're dead. Russians have been doing very interesting things with sex lately ."
  
  
  "I'll bet you that," Nick muttered. The old man wasn't joking. Nick knew Hawke's mood, and it was serious. Somewhere in nen, there's only evil needle soup: Hawk could play it pretty deadpan when he wanted to.
  
  
  Nick tried another trick. "I still have a relaxing Sunday ahead of me."
  
  
  Hawk looked innocent. "Of course. I know her. So? A couple of hours a day will not interfere with your vacation in any way. Be there. And pay attention. You can learn something."
  
  
  Nick opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Hawk said: "That's an order, Nick."
  
  
  Nick closed his mouth, then said, " Yes, sir!"
  
  
  Hawk leaned back in his creaking swivel chair. He stared at the ceiling and bit down on his cigar. Nick stared at him. The sly old bastard is up to something! But what? Hawk never said anything to you until he was ready.
  
  
  Hawk scratched his skinny, cross-hatched old farmer's neck, then glanced at his boy number one. This time, there was a hint of kindness in the ego rubble tones, and a glint in the frosty eyes.
  
  
  "We are all around us." "We'll have to keep up with the limes, my boy," he said sententiously. If we don't, we'll be left behind, and in our work here at AX, that's usually fatal. You know that. I know that. All our enemies know this. I love you like a father, Nick, and I don't want anything to happen to you. Her, I want you to stay attentive, keep up with the latest techniques, don't let the cobwebs gather and ... "
  
  
  Nick stood up. He raised his hand. "Please, sir. You wouldn't want me to throw up on this beautiful linoleum floor. I'll go now. With your permission?"
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "With my blessing, son. Just don't forget to come to that seminar today, not when. It's still an order."
  
  
  Nick staggered all day. "Yes, sir. An order, sir. Go to sex school, sir. Back to kindergarten."
  
  
  "Nick!"
  
  
  He stopped for a day and looked back. Hawke's smile subtly changed from kind to enigmatic. "Yes, I'm trying massa?"
  
  
  "This school, seminar, is designed for eight hours. Four days. Two hours every day. At the same time. Today is Monday, really?"
  
  
  "That was when she came in. Now it is not quite clear. With them ferrets, as he walked through that door, a lot happened."
  
  
  "Today is Monday. I want you to come here on Friday morning, at nine o'clock in the morning, ready for work. We have a very interesting case ahead of us. It can be a tough guy, a real killer."
  
  
  Nick Carter glared at his boss. "I'm glad to hear it. Then visits, a full-time sex school should be nice. Good-bye, sir."
  
  
  "Good - bye, Nicholas," Hawk said softly.
  
  
  As Nick passed through the reception area, Delia Stokes looked up from her chair. "Goodbye, Nick. Have a good time at school."
  
  
  He waved his hand at her... I'll do it! And I also put her in a voucher for milk money."
  
  
  As he closed the door behind him, he heard her burst into muffled laughter.
  
  
  David Hawke, in a quiet and dark little office, was drawing in a disposable notebook and glanced at an old Western Union clock. It was almost eleven o'clock. The Limeys were supposed to give up at twelve-thirty. Hawk tossed the chewed cigar into the wastebasket and removed the cellophane from the new one. He thought of the scene he'd just played with Nick. It was easy fun - em liked to poke fun at his best man from time to time-and it also ensured that Carter would be there when needed. Nick, especially when he was on vacation, had a way of disappearing into thin air, unless the emu was specifically ordered not to. Now he had his orders. He'll be there on Friday morning, ready to go. And the case was really grim ...
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Mr. Carter!"
  
  
  Did someone call em? Nick stirred. And where the hell was he?
  
  
  "Mr. Carter! Wake up, please!"
  
  
  Nick jerked awake, fighting the urge to reach for his luger or stiletto. He saw the dirty floor, his ballet slippers, a pair of thin ankles under a midi skirt. Someone was touching the ego, shaking the ego by the shoulder. He's fallen asleep, damn the tailor!
  
  
  She sat very close to him, exuding soap, water, and healthy female flesh. She probably wore heavy linen underwear and ironed it herself. And yet those ankles! Even the basement is available at a bargain price.
  
  
  Nick stood up and gave her his best smile designed for charm, one that has already charmed thousands of willing women around the outdoor pool.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he said. He meant it. He was rude and frivolous, and he wasn't a gentleman at all. Now, to add to the damage, the emu had to stifle a yawn with all its might.
  
  
  Em managed to contain it, but he didn't fool Dr. Murial Milholland. She stepped back and looked at him through her thick horn-rimmed glasses.
  
  
  "Was my lecture program really that boring, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  He looked around, and his ego and embarrassment grew. And Nick Carter was hard to be embarrassed about. He made a fool of himself and, by accident, sl. A poor, harmless young maiden who probably had to earn a living and whose web fault was her ability to make a vital subject as boring as water through ditches.
  
  
  They were alone. The room was deserted. Oh my God! Did he snore in class? One way or another, he had to fix it. Prove to hey that he's not exactly a cad.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he said, hey again. "I'm truly sorry, Dr. Milholland. I'm not sure what the hell happened. But it wasn't your lecture. I found it most interesting and..."
  
  
  "As many as you've heard?" She looked at him speculatively through heavy glasses. She tapped the folded sheet of paper-the list of the class where she must have marked her name-against her teeth, which were surprisingly white and even. Her mouth was a little wide, but well-formed, and she didn't wear makeup on her lips.
  
  
  Nick tried to grin again. It felt like a horse's ass to cum all the horse's asses. He nodded. "As far as I've heard," he admitted timidly. "I can't understand it, Dr. Milholland. I really can't do it. I did have a late night, and it's springtime now, and its the first time I've been back to school in a long time, but all of this is not the case. sorry. This was extremely rude and rude of me. I can only ask you kindly, Doctor." Then he stopped smiling and smiled, em really wanted to smile, and said: "I'm not always such a fool, and he'd love you to let me prove it to you."
  
  
  Pure inspiration, an impulse that sprang up in the ego heads around out of nowhere.
  
  
  Ee white lobe frowned. Her skin was clear and milky white, and her hair was jet-black, combed into a chignon, slicked back tightly and pulled back in a bun at the nape of her slender neck.
  
  
  "Can you prove it to me, Mr. Carter? How?"
  
  
  "By coming out for a drink with me. Open now? And then dinner? And then, well, whatever you want to do."
  
  
  She didn't hesitate as long as he thought she could. With the faintest hint of a smile, she agreed, showing her beautiful teeth again, but added: "I don't quite see how a drink and dinner with you will prove that my lectures aren't boring."
  
  
  Nick laughed. "That's not the point, Doctor. I'm trying to prove to her that I'm not a drug addict."
  
  
  She laughed for the first time. A small effort, but a laugh.
  
  
  Nick Carter took her hand. "Shall we go, Dr. Milholland? I know a little open-air place near the mall where martinis aren't around this world."
  
  
  By the second martini, they had developed a sort of rapport, and both felt more comfortable. Nick thought the martinis would work. Most often it was. It was a strange fact. he was genuinely interested in that tasteless Dr. Murial Milholland. One day, she took off her hair to brush her eyes, and her eyes were wide-spaced gray flecks with green and amber spots. Her nose was normal, with small freckles, but her cheekbones were high enough to flatten the flatness of her face and give her face a triangular hue. He thought it was a simple face, but definitely interesting. Nick Carter was an expert, a connoisseur of beautiful women, and this one, with a little grooming and some fashion tips, might have been...
  
  
  "No. Nick. No. Not at all what you think."
  
  
  He looked at Nah with a puzzled expression. "What was he thinking, Murial?" After the first martini, the first names appeared.
  
  
  Gray eyes, floating behind thick lenses, studied ego over the rim of his martini glass.
  
  
  "That I'm actually not as tasteless as I look. How I look. But its like this. I assure you that I am. Everything is the same. Her real name is Regular Jane, Nick, so just make that decision. . "
  
  
  He shook his head. "I still don't believe the ferret in it. I'll bet it's all camouflage. You probably do this so that men don't attack you."
  
  
  She fiddled with the olives in her martini. He wondered if she was used to drinking, if the alcohol didn't reach her. She looked sober enough.
  
  
  "You know," she said, " this is pretty corny, Nick. Like in movies, and plays, and TV shows, where the clumsy maiden always takes off her clothes and turns into the golden girl. Metamorphoses. Caterpillar in a gilded butterfly. No, Nick. I am so sorry. Stronger than you think. I think I would have liked that. But this is not the case. Hers is just a clumsy Ph. D. specializing in sexology. I work for the Government and give him boring lectures. Maybe important lectures, but boring ones. Really, Nick? "
  
  
  Then he realized that jin was starting to get to nah. He wasn't sure if emu liked it, because he was genuinely enjoying himself. Nick Carter, the ultimate AX killer, had a dime a dozen beautiful ladies. Yesterday there was one; probably tomorrow there will be another. This girl, this woman, this Murial was different. A small tremor, a small shock of recognition, moved in the ego's brain. Has he started to age?
  
  
  "Isn't that right, Nick?"
  
  
  "Don't you know what, Murial?"
  
  
  "I give boring lectures."
  
  
  Nick Carter lit one of his gold - tipped cigarettes - Muriel didn't smoke-and looked around. The small cafe on the sidewalk was crowded. A late April day, soft and impressionistic like Monet's, was fading into a transparent twilight. The cherry trees along the mall shone with bright colors.
  
  
  Nick pointed his cigarette at the cherry trees. "You got me, honey. Cherry trees, and Washington - how can I lie? Tailor, yes, your lectures are boring! But this is not the case. To us in no way. And remember , I can't lie about these things under any other circumstances."
  
  
  Murial has taken off her thick glasses and is placing an ih on the tiny table. She puts her small hand on his big one and smiles. "It may not sound like a big compliment to you," she said, " but it's a hell of a big compliment to me. That's one hell of a compliment. A tailor? Did you tell her that?"
  
  
  "You did it."
  
  
  Muriel giggled. "I haven't sworn in years. Or had fun for years, like today, not when. You're a good man, Mr. Nick Carter. A very good man."
  
  
  "And you're a little loaded," Nick said. "You'd better give up drinking if we're going to take over the city tonight. I don't want you to have to drag yourself to and from nightclubs."
  
  
  Murial was wiping her eyes with a napkin. "You know, I really need these damn things. I don't see her and the yards without them." She put on her glasses. "Can I get her another drink, Nick?"
  
  
  He got up and put the money on the chair. “no. Not now. Let's take you home and change into the evening dress you bragged about."
  
  
  "I wasn't bragging. I have one. Just one thing. And it wasn't worn by ego for nine months. I didn't need it. Until tonight."
  
  
  She lives in an apartment just over the border in Maryland. In the taxi, she rested the emu's head on her shoulder and wasn't very talkative. She seemed to be deep in thought. Nick hadn't tried to kiss her, and she didn't seem to expect it.
  
  
  Ee-the apartment was small, but richly furnished with taste and in an expensive area. He believes that there was no shortage of money for Nah.
  
  
  A moment later, she left ego in the living room and disappeared. He'd just lit a cigarette, frowning and thinking - hating himself for them-but there were three more sessions of that damn stupid seminar, emu was ordered to attend, and it might just be tense and awkward. What the hell was he wearing?
  
  
  He looked up. She was sitting in the doorway, naked. And he was right. Under the modest clothes, this gorgeous white body with a small waist and soft curves, with high breasts, was hidden all this time.
  
  
  She smiled at em. He noticed that she was wearing lipstick. And not just in her mouth; she'd painted her small nipples.
  
  
  "I've decided," she said. "To hell with the evening dress! I won't need it today either. She never liked night clubs."
  
  
  Nick stubbed out his cigarette and took off his jacket.
  
  
  She came up to him, nervous, not so much walking as gliding over her stripped clothes. She stopped about six feet away from him.
  
  
  "Do you like him that much, Nick?"
  
  
  He couldn't understand why his throat was so dry. Not that he was a teenager who had his first woman. It was Nick Carter! Best employee of AX. Professional agent, licensed assassin of his country's enemies, veteran of a thousand boudoir fights.
  
  
  She put her hands on his slender hips and pirouetted deftly in front of him. The holy light from a single lamp flickered down the inside of her thighs. The flesh was like translucent marble.
  
  
  "Do I really like you that much, Nick?"
  
  
  "I love you so much." He started to take off his clothes.
  
  
  "Are you sure? Some men don't like naked women. I can wear stockings if you want. Black stockings? Garter belt? A bra?"
  
  
  He kicked the last shoe across the living room. He had never been more prepared in his life, and he needed nothing more than to fuse his own flesh with that of this tasteless little sex teacher who had, after all, suddenly turned into a golden girl.
  
  
  He reached for her. She eagerly entered the ego's embrace, her mouth wanting the ego, her tongue cutting through the ego's own. Her body was cold and flaming, and it was trembling along its entire length.
  
  
  After a moment, she pulled back enough to whisper. "I'll bet you won't fall asleep during this lecture, Mr. Carter!"
  
  
  He tried to pick her up, carry her to the bedroom.
  
  
  "No," said Dr. Murial Milholland. "Not in the bedroom. "Right here on the floor."
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  At eleven-thirty in Rivne, Delia Stokes escorted the two Englishmen to Hawk's office. Hawk expected Cecil Aubrey to arrive on time. They were old acquaintances, and he knew that the big Brit knew he wasn't late. Aubrey was a broad-shouldered man in his sixties, and it was only now that nen was beginning to show signs of a new life. He will still be a strong man in battle.
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey was the head of Britain's MI6, that famous counterintelligence organization for which Hawke had great professional respect.
  
  
  The fact that he had personally come to the dark chambers of the AX as if to beg made Hawke - if he hadn't already suspected it - realize that this corkscrew was of the utmost importance. For the British, at least, Hawke was willing to trade a little cunningly for horses.
  
  
  If Aubrey felt any surprise at the smallness of Hawk's quarters, he hid it well. Hawk knew he didn't live in the grandeur of Whitehall or Langley, and Em didn't care. His budget was limited, and he preferred to invest every working dollar in real operations and let the facade collapse if necessary. The fact is that at the moment AX had not only financial problems. There was a lot of bad luck, as sometimes happened, and Hawke lost three top agents in a month. Dead. Cut throat in Istanbul; "a knife in the back in Paris; one found in Hong Kong harbor, so swollen and eaten by fish that the cause of death was difficult to determine. At this point, Hawke only has two Killmasters left. Number Five, a young man he didn't want to risk on a difficult mission, and Nick Carter. The Best Men. In this upcoming mission, emu needed to use Nick. That was one of the reasons he was going ego to this crazy school, to keep ego around.
  
  
  The amenities were short-lived. Cecil Aubrey introduced his companion as Henry Terence. Terence, it turned out, was an MI5 operative who worked closely with Aubrey and MI6. He was a thin man with a hard Scottish face and a tic in his left eye. He smoked a fragrant pipe, from which Hawke actually lit a cigar in self-defense.
  
  
  Hawk was telling Aubrey about Ego's upcoming knighthood. One of the things that surprised Nick Carter about ego boss was that the old man had read the reward list.
  
  
  Aubrey laughed awkwardly and waved it away. "A nasty nuisance, you know. Rather, it puts one together with the Beatles. But you can hardly refuse. Anyway, David, I didn't fly across the Atlantic to talk about some bloody chivalry."
  
  
  Hawk blew blue smoke at the ceiling. He really didn't like smoking cigars.
  
  
  "I don't think you did, Cecil. You want something from me. From AX. You always want to. That means you're in trouble. Tell me about it and we'll see what we can do."
  
  
  Delia Stokes brought Terence another chair. He sat down in a corner, perched like a crow on a rock, and said nothing.
  
  
  "This is Richard Filston," Cecil Aubrey said. "We have good reasons to believe that he is finally leaving for the whole of Russia. We want an ego, David. How we want an ego! And this may be our only chance."
  
  
  Even Hawk was shocked. He knew that when Aubrey appeared, hat in hand, it was something big - but so big! Richard Filston! The second ego thought was that the British were willing to give up quite a lot to help get Filston. However, his face remained serene. Not a single frown betrayed ego excitement.
  
  
  "That must not be true," he said. "Maybe for some reason, this traitor. Filston will never be released all over Russia. This man isn't an idiot, Cecil. We both know that. We have to do this. He's been deceiving us all for thirty years."
  
  
  From around the corner, Terence growled the Scotsman's curse deep in his throat. Hawk could sympathize. Richard Filston made the Yankees look pretty stupid - for a while, he actually served as the head of British intelligence in Washington, successfully pulling information on the FBI and CIA - but he made his own people, the British, look like absolute morons. Once ego was even suspected, tried, acquitted, and immediately returned to spying for the Russians.
  
  
  Hawke knew how much the British loved Richard Philston.
  
  
  Aubrey shook his head. "No, David. I don't think it's untrue, or a setup. Because we still have something that can be done - some kind of deal is being made between the Kremlin and Beijing. Something really, really big! We are sure of that. At the moment, we have a very good person in the Kremlin, he is in every way better than Penkovsky has ever been. He's never been wrong, and now he's telling us that the Kremlin and Beijing are preparing something important. that might have blown the lid off. But to do this, they, the Russians, will have to use their own agent. Who else but Filston? "
  
  
  David Hawk removed the cellophane from a new cigar. He was watching Aubrey intently, his own withered face as impassive as a stuffed animal's.
  
  
  He said: "But your big man in the Kremlin doesn't know what the Chinese and Russians are planning? That's it?"
  
  
  Aubrey looked a little unhappy. Vote and that's it. But we know where. Japan".
  
  
  Hawk smiled. "You have good connections in Japan. I know that. Why can't they handle it?"
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey got up from his chair and began to pace the narrow room. At the moment, he is absurdly dismissive of reports in the media about Hawke, the character actor who played Watson in "Holmes" Basil Rathbone. Hawk could never remember the man's name. Still, he didn't underestimate Cecil Aubrey. Never. The man was good. Maybe even as good as Hawke himself.
  
  
  Aubrey stopped and towered over Hawke's desk. "For a good reason," he exploded, " that a Filston is a Filston! He studied
  
  
  my department for years, man! He knows every code, or knew it. It doesn't matter. This is not a corkscrew of codes or similar nonsense. But he knows these tricks, these methods of organizations, our MO - tailor take it, he knows everything about us. He even knows a lot of our men, at least the old-timers. And I daresay he's constantly updating his dossier - the Kremlin must be making egos work for a living-and that's why he knows a lot of our new people, too. No, David. We can't do that. The emu needs an outsider, another person. Can you help us? "
  
  
  Hawk studied his old friend for a long moment. Finally he said: "You know about it, Cecil. Officially, you don't have to know, but know. And you, come to me. J AX. Do you want Filston killed?"
  
  
  Terence broke the silence long enough to growl. "Yes, my friend. That's exactly what we want."
  
  
  Aubrey ignored his subordinate. He sat down again and lit a cigarette with his fingers, which Hawk noticed with some surprise were shaking slightly. He was puzzled. It took a lot to get Aubrey around her. It was then, for the first time, that Hawk distinctly heard the clicking of gears inside the wheels, which he was listening for.
  
  
  Aubrey made a cigarette like a smoking stick. "For our ears, David. In this room and only for our own ears-yes, I want to kill Richard Filston."
  
  
  Something stirred in the back of Hawke's mind. Something that clung to the shadow and didn't fly out. A long time ago in a whisper? A rumor? A story in the press? A joke about the men's room? Who's the tailor? He couldn't summon the ego. So he pushed the ego back to leave the ego in the subconscious. It will appear when it is ready.
  
  
  Meanwhile, he put into words what was so obvious. "You want him dead, Cecil. But your government, the Forces, they don't do it? They want him alive. They want ego to be caught and sent back to England to be tried and hanged properly. Isn't that right , Cecil? "
  
  
  Aubrey met Hawke's gaze squarely. "Yes, David. Vote and that's it. The Prime Minister - the case has gone so far-agrees that Philston should be taken, if possible, and brought to England for trial. This decision was made quite a long time ago. It was assigned a supervisor. Until now, the ferret, with Filston safe in Russia, had nothing to control. But now, I swear to God, it's coming out, or we think it is, and I want to get it. God, David, I want to do this. "
  
  
  "Dead?"
  
  
  "Yes. Killed. The Prime Minister, the Parliament, even some through my superiors, are not as professional as we are, David. They think it's just a matter of catching a slick man like Philston and bringing his ego back to England. There would be too many complications, too many chances of missing, too many opportunities for him to escape again. He's not alone, you know. The Russians won't just stand by and let us arrest ego and bring ego back to England. They will kill the ego first! He knows too much about them, he'll try to make a deal, and they know it. No, David. It has to be a direct murder, and you're the only one I can turn to."
  
  
  Hawk said it more to clear the air for it to be said than because the emu cared. He launched AX. And why shouldn't this elusive thought, this shadow lurking in the ego's brain, come out again? Was it also so scandalous that I had to bury myself?
  
  
  He said: "If you agree with this, Cecil, it should definitely stay between the three of us. One hint that I'm using AX to do someone else's dirty work, and Congress will demand my head on a platter. and even get it, if they can prove it. "
  
  
  "Will you do it, David?"
  
  
  Hawk stared at his old friend. "I really don't know her yet. What will it be for me? For AX? Our fees for such things are very high, Cecil. There will be a very high payment for the service - a very large one. Do you understand that? "
  
  
  Aubrey looked unhappy again. Unhappy, but determined. "I understand that. She was expecting this, David. I'm not an amateur, just another one. I expect to pay it."
  
  
  Hawk took out a new cigar around the box on the table. He wasn't looking at Aubrey yet. He found himself sincerely hoping that the debugging team - they made a thorough inspection of AX headquarters every two days-had done a good job, because if Aubrey met his conditions, Hawk decided to take the job. Do MI6's dirty work for them. This will be a locality in Russia, and it probably won't be as difficult to complete as Aubrey imagined. Not for Nick Carter. But Aubrey will have to pay a price.
  
  
  "Cecil," Hawk said softly , " I think maybe we can make a deal. But I need the name of the person you have in the Kremlin. I promise I won't try to contact him, but I need to know his name. And I want an equal, full share of everything it sends. In other words, Cecil, your man in the Kremlin will also be my man in the Kremlin! Do you agree with this? "
  
  
  In his corner, Terence made a strangled sound. He seemed to have swallowed the pipe.
  
  
  The small office was quiet. The Western Union clock was ticking like a tiger. Hawk waited. He knew what Cecil Aubrey was going through.
  
  
  A high-ranking agent, a person that no one suspected in the highest Kremlin circles, was worth more than all the gold and regulations; - identify in the world.
  
  
  All platinum. Total uranium reserves. It took years of hard work and all the luck in the world to establish such a contact that it remained fruitful and invulnerable. So it was, at first glance. impossible. But once it was done. Penkovsky. Until finally, he slipped and ego got shot. Now Aubrey was telling him - and Hawk Emu trusted him-that MI6 had another Penkovsky in the Kremlin. It just so happens that Hawk knew that the United States didn't know. The CIA tried to do this for years, but never succeeded. Hawk waited patiently. This was the real deal. He couldn't believe Aubrey would agree.
  
  
  Aubrey almost choked, but he got the words out. "All right, David. This is the deal. You're making a tough deal, man."
  
  
  Terence regarded Hawke with something very close to awe, and certainly respect. Terence was a Scot who knew another Scot, at least by inclination, if not by blood, when he saw him.
  
  
  "You understand," Aubrey said,"that I need to have irrefutable proof that Richard Filston is dead."
  
  
  Hawke's smile was dry. "I think that can be arranged, Cecil. Although I don't think ego could kill her in Times Square, even if we could get ego there. How about sending your ego's ears, neatly tucked in, to your office in London?"
  
  
  "Seriously, David."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "Take photos?"
  
  
  "If they're good. I'd prefer her to have finger prints, if possible. This will be an absolute certainty."
  
  
  Hawk nodded again. It's not the first time Nick Carter has brought home such souvenirs.
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey pointed to the quiet man in the corner. "All right, Terence. Now you can take responsibility. Explain what we have so far and why we think Philston is going there."
  
  
  To Hawke, he said: "Terence is on MI5, as I said, and he deals with the surface aspects of this Beijing-Kremlin problem. I tell her to be superficial, because we think it's a cover - up, a cover-up for something bigger. Terence ..."
  
  
  The Scotsman took out his pipe around his big brown teeth. "It's just as Mr. Aubrey says, sir. We don't have much information at this point, but we're pretty sure the Russians are sending Philston to help the Chinese organize a giant sabotage campaign all over Japan. Especially in Tokyo. There they plan to arrange a massive power outage, the same as you had in New York not so long ago. The Chikomas are planning to play an all-powerful force, you know, and either stop or burn everything in Japan. Mostly. Anyway. One story that we've already had is that Beijing is insisting that Philston lead the "work or deal" effort. "Why should he leave for Russia and... "
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey intervened. "There is another story - Moscow insists that Philston should be responsible for sabotage in order to prevent failure. They don't really trust the Chinese for efficiency. That's another reason why Philston will have to risk her neck and get out."
  
  
  Hawk looked from one person to the other. "Something tells me that you don't buy us one around the stories."
  
  
  "No," Aubrey said. "We don't do that. At least, I do not know. This job isn't big enough for Philston! Wrecking, yes. Burning down Tokyo and all that will have a huge impact and be a good thing for the Chicomes. I agree with her. But in fact-the dell - this is not the direction of Filston's work. And not only is it not big enough, not important enough to lure the ego out of Russia - I know something about Richard Filston that few people know about. Ego knew her, you remember, and worked with him at MI6 when he was at the height of his career. Back then, he was just an assistant, but he didn't forget anything about that damned bastard. He was a murderer! An expert ."
  
  
  "Damn her," Hawk said. "Live and learn. I didn't know that. I've always thought of Filston as a sort of ordinary spy. Damn effective, deadly, but in striped pants."
  
  
  "Not at all," Aubrey said grimly. "He planned several murders. Ih also implemented well. The voice left her, certain that if he was finally leaving for Russia, it would be for something more important than sabotage. Even great sabotage. I have a feeling, David, and you should know what that means. You've been in this mail business longer than her."
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey walked over to his chair and sat down. "Go on, Terence. Your ball. I'll keep my mouth shut."
  
  
  Terence reloaded the phone. To Hawke's relief, he "didn't light it. Terence said:" The thing is, the Chickoms didn't do all their dirty work, sir. In fact, not very much. They do the planning, but they force others to do the really dirty and bloody work. Of course, they use terror."
  
  
  Hawk must have looked puzzled, because Terence paused for a moment, frowned, and continued. "Do you know about this, sir? Some call ih Buracumins. This is the lowest-ranked line-up in Japan, the Untouchables. Outcasts. Ih is over two million, and very few people, even Japanese, know that the Japanese government keeps nu in ghettos and hides it from tourists. The fact is that the government has not tried to ignore this problem until now. The official policy is fure-noy - don't touch it. most Eta's are in state aid. This is a serious problem,
  
  
  In fact, the Chinese are making the most of it. A disgruntled minority like this would be foolish not to."
  
  
  All this was familiar to Hawke. The ghetto has been getting a lot of news lately. And communists of one kind or another exploited minorities in the States a little.
  
  
  "It's a great opportunity for the Chicoms," he said. "Sabotage, in particular, was carried out under the guise of riots. This is a classic technique - communists plan the ego and allow this group to carry out all the blame. But aren't they Japanese? Just like in the rest of the country? I mean, if there isn't a color problem like ours, and ... "
  
  
  After all, Cecil Aubrey couldn't keep his big mouth shut. He interrupted.
  
  
  "They are Japanese. One hundred percent. This is really a tailspin of traditional caste prejudice, David, and we don't have time for anthropological deviations. But the fact that this one is Japanese and looks and talks like everyone else helps them. Shikam is incredible. This one can go anywhere and do anything. This is not a problem. Many around them "pass", as you say here in the States. The fact is that very few Chinese agents, well organized, can control a huge amount of It and use ih for their own purposes. Mostly sabotage and murder. Now, with this big... "
  
  
  Hawk interrupted. "You're saying the Chicoms control Eta with terror?"
  
  
  "Yes. Among other things, they use a car. Something like a device, an improved version of the old Death of a Thousand Cuts. This is called the Blood Buddha. Any Eta person who disobeys them or betrays ih is placed in the machine. and..."
  
  
  But this time, Hawk didn't pay too much attention. It just came to him. Around the fog of years. Richard Philston was one hell of a womanizer. Hawk remembered that now. At the time, it was well hushed up.
  
  
  Philston took Cecil Aubrey's young wife and then abandoned her. A few weeks later, she committed suicide.
  
  
  Ego old friend, Cecil Aubrey, used the Goshawk and AX to settle a private vendetta!
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  It was a few minutes past seven in the morning. Nick Carter had left Muriel Milholland's apartment an hour ago, ignoring the curious stares of the milkman and the newsboy, and driven back to his room at the Mayflower Hotel. It was a little better for him. He and Murial switched to brandy, and in between making love - they eventually moved into the bedroom - he drank quite a lot. Nick never got drunk and had Falstaff's powers; he never had a hangover. However, he felt a little fuzzy that morning.
  
  
  Looking back later, it was also his fault that Dr. Murial Milholland's ego was more than a little confused. The usual Jane with a gorgeous body who was always such a demon in the past. He left her snoring softly, looking attractive in the morning light, and as he left the apartment, he knew he'd be back. Nick couldn't understand it. She's just not my type! And yet... and yet...
  
  
  He was shaving slowly, thoughtfully, and half - wondering what it would be like to be married to a smart, mature woman who was also an expert in sex, not only in the department, but also in it, when the doorbell rang. . Nicky was wearing only a robe.
  
  
  He glanced at the large bed as he crossed the bedroom to open the door. He actually thought of the Luger, the Wilhelmina, and the Hugo, the stiletto hidden in the zipper on the mattress. While they were resting. Nick didn't like walking around Washington with a heavy load. And Hawk didn't approve. Sometimes Nick did carry a small .380-caliber Beretta Cougar with him, which was quite powerful at close range. He hadn't even worn a shoulder brace in the last two days, because they were repairing it.
  
  
  The door buzzer sounded again. Persistent. Nick hesitated, glanced at the bed where the luger was hidden, and then thought, ego be damned. Eight o'clock on a typical Tuesday morning? Whatever it was, he could take care of himself, he had a safety chain, and he knew how to approach it. It was probably just Hawk, who had sent a lot of information materials by special messengers. The old man did this occasionally.
  
  
  Buzz - buzz - buzz
  
  
  Nick walked up to Day's side, close to moan. Anyone who shoots through the door, the ego won't notice.
  
  
  Buzz - buzz - buzz-pointed, - buzz
  
  
  "All right," he exclaimed with sudden exasperation. Good. Who is it?"
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Then: "Kyoto Girl Scouts. Do you buy cookies in advance?"
  
  
  Ego's hearing was always sharp. But he could have sworn it ...
  
  
  "Girl scouts all over Japan. Here at the Cherry Festival. Buy cookies. Are you buying, in advance?"
  
  
  Nick Carter shook his head to clear it up. Good. He had drunk so much brandy. But he had to see for himself. The chain was snapped shut. He opened the door a crack, keeping to one side, and peered cautiously out into the corridor. "Girl Scouts?"
  
  
  "Yeah. There are very good cookies on sale. Are you buying?"
  
  
  She bowed.
  
  
  Three more bowed. Nick almost bowed. Because, damn it, they were girl Scouts. Japanese girl scouts.
  
  
  Ih four. They're so beautiful, they look like they came out of a silk photograph. Modest ones. Figure-hugging little Japanese dolls in girl scout uniforms, with perky bungee ropes on their smooth dark heads, mini-skirts and knee-length socks. Four pairs of glowing, slanting eyes watched him impatiently. Four perfect pairs of teeth flashed in front of him, an old oriental aphorism. Buy our hooks. They were as cute as a litter of speckled puppies.
  
  
  Nick Carter laughed. He couldn't help it. Wait until he tells Hawke - or should he tell the old man? Nick Carter, the main man in AX, a Killmaster himself, is very wary and carefully gets close to the day to confront-a bunch of girl Scouts selling cookies. Nick made a gallant attempt to stop laughing, to keep a straight face, but it was too much. He laughed again.
  
  
  The girl who was doing the talking - she had been sitting there licking for just one day and was carrying a stack of cooking boxes that she held under her chin-stared at AXman in disbelief. The other three girls were carrying boxes of cookies, and the children looked on in polite amazement.
  
  
  The girl said: "We don't understand, sir. Are we doing something funny? If so, we are alone. They didn't come here to joke - they started selling cookies for our trip to Japan. You buy, in advance. Not really. We love the United States very much, we were here for the Cherry Festival, but now we have to return to our country with great regret. Do you buy cookies? "
  
  
  He was being rude again. Like he was with Murial Milholland. Nick wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe and removed the chain. "I'm so sorry, girls. Very sorry. It's not you. This is her. This is the one around my crazy mornings."
  
  
  He wanted a Japanese word, tapping his temple with his finger. "Kichigai. This is her. Kichigai!"
  
  
  The girls looked at each other, then back at him. No one around them spoke. Nick pushed open the door. "It's fine, I promise. Its harmless. Come on in. Bring some cookies. I'll buy it if that's all. How much do they cost?" He gave Hawke a dozen boxes. Let the old man think about it.
  
  
  "One dollar box."
  
  
  "It's cheap enough." He stepped back as they entered, bringing with him the delicate scent of cherry blossoms. He thought there were only about fourteen or fifteen of them. Cute. They are all well-developed for teenagers, ih small breasts and buttocks bouncing under the immaculate green uniform. The skirts, he thought as he watched them place cookies on the coffee table, looked small and miniature for girl Scouts. But maybe in Japan ...
  
  
  They were nice. So was the small Nambu pistol that suddenly appeared in the hand of the girl who was speaking. She made the ego open on Nick Carter's flat hard life.
  
  
  "Raise your hands, please. Keep perfectly still. I don't want to cause you in all the houses around. What do you mean, a door?"
  
  
  One of the girls was gliding around Nick, staying away from him. The door closed softly, the lock clicked, and the safety catch slid into the nasi.
  
  
  Really cheated, Nick thought. Taken. His professional admiration was genuine. It was a masterful job.
  
  
  "Matu-close all the curtains. Sato-search the rest of the apartment. Especially in the bedroom. He might have a lady here."
  
  
  "Not this morning," Nick said. "But thanks for the compliment anyway."
  
  
  Nambu winked at emu. It was the evil eye. "Sit down," glavnvya said coldly. "Please sit down and remain silent until you are ordered to speak. And don't try any tricks, Mr. Nick Carter. I know all about you. A lot about you."
  
  
  Nick walked over to the designated chair. "Me even because of my insatiable appetite for girl Scout cookies - at eight o'clock in the morning?"
  
  
  "I said quiet! You will be allowed to say as much as you like - after you have heard what I have to say."
  
  
  Nickname sel. He muttered to himself: "Banzai!" He crossed his long legs, realized that the robe was gaping, and hastily buttoned it up. The girl with the gun noticed this and smiled faintly. "We don't need false modesty, Mr. Carter. We're not really girl scouts on the dell."
  
  
  "If I was allowed to speak , I would say that it began to understand me."
  
  
  "Quiet!"
  
  
  He shut up. He nodded thoughtfully at the pack of cigarettes and lighter in the nearest campsite.
  
  
  "No way!"
  
  
  He watched in silence. It was the most efficient small group. The door was checked again, the curtains were drawn, and Brylev flooded the room. As I returned and reported that there was no back door. And that, Nick thought with some bitterness, should have provided extra security. Well, you can't beat all ih. But if he gets out of it alive, the ego's biggest problem will be keeping the ego a secret. Nick Carter was picked up by a girl scout bitch in his own apartment!
  
  
  All was quiet now. The Nambu girl sat across from Nick Irene, while the other three dutifully sat side by side. Everyone was looking at him seriously. Four schoolgirls. It was a very strange Mikado.
  
  
  Nick said, " Tea, anyone?"
  
  
  She didn't say
  
  
  emu keep quiet, and she didn't shoot him. She crossed her legs, revealing a fringe of pink panties under her miniskirt. Her legs, all of them-now that he'd really noticed it - were a little more developed and slender than those usually found in girl Scouts. He suspected they were also wearing rather tight bras.
  
  
  "Her Tonaka," the girl with the Nambu gun said.
  
  
  He nodded gravely. "Satisfied."
  
  
  "And this, "she pointed to the others," is..."
  
  
  "I know. Matu, Sato and How. Cherry blossom sisters. Nice to meet you girls."
  
  
  All three of them smiled. How she giggled.
  
  
  Tonaka frowned. "I like to joke, Mr. Carter. It would be better if you didn't do it. This is a very serious tailspin."
  
  
  Nick knew that. He could tell by the way she was holding the small gun. The most professional one. But he needed time. Sometimes Badinage has time. He was trying to calculate angles. Who are they? What do they want from him? He hadn't been to Japan in over a year, and as far as he knew, it was clean. What then? He continued to draw blanks.
  
  
  "I know, "he said, hey. Believe me, I know her. It's just that I have such courage in the face of certain death, and ..."
  
  
  The girl named Tonaka spat like a wildcat. Her eyes narrowed, and she wasn't pretty at all. She pointed nambu at him like an accusing finger.
  
  
  "Please keep your mouth shut again! I didn't come here to make a joke."
  
  
  Nick sighed. Failed again. He wondered what had happened.
  
  
  Tonaka reached into the pocket of her Scout Girl blouse. It hid what AXE could see, now he could see, there was a very well-developed left chest.
  
  
  She turned what looked like a coin at him, " Do you recognize this, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  He did. Instantly. The emu follows. He did it in London. Made by an experienced worker in a gift shop in the East End. He gave ego a math class that saved emu's life in an alley in the same East End. Carter had come very close to being killed that night at Limehouse.
  
  
  He lifted the heavy locket in his hand. It was surrounded by gold, about the size of an antique silver dollar, with a jade insert. The jade turned into letters, forming a scroll under the tiny green hatchet. axe.
  
  
  The letters were: Esto Perpetua. Let it be forever. It was an ego friendship with Kunizo Matu, his old friend and long-time judo-karate teacher. Nick frowned at the locket. That was a long time ago. Kunizo had long since returned to Japan. Now he will be an old man.
  
  
  Tonaka stared at him. Nambu did the same.
  
  
  Nick tossed the locket and caught ego. "Where did you get this?"
  
  
  "My father gave me this."
  
  
  "Kunizo Matu is your father?"
  
  
  "Yes, Mr. Carter. He was probably talking about you. I've heard the name of the great Nick Carter since I was a kid. Now I come to you to ask for help. Or rather, my father sends for help. very much believes and trusts you. He is sure that you will come to our aid."
  
  
  Suddenly Em needed a cigarette. I really needed it. The girl allowed him to light a cigarette. The other three, now solemn as owls, stared at him with unblinking dark eyes.
  
  
  Nick said: "I owe it to your father. And we were friends. Of course I'll help. Her, I'll do what I can. But how? When? Is your father in the States?"
  
  
  "He's in Japan. In Tokyo. He is now old, ill, and unable to travel. That's why you must come with us immediately."
  
  
  He closed his eyes and squinted through the smoke, trying to catch the thing in his head. The ghosts around the past can be confusing. But duty is duty. He owed his life to Kunizo Mata. Emu will have to do everything he can. But first...
  
  
  "All right, Tonaka. But I'll tell you everything in order. One at a time. The first thing you can do is put the gun away. If you're Kunizo's daughter, you don't need him..."
  
  
  She held the gun to nen. "I think maybe yes, Mr. Carter. We'll see. I will put it off when I have your promise to come to Japan to help my father. And Japan."
  
  
  "But I already told you! I will help. This is a solemn promise. Now let's stop playing cops and robbers. Put the gun away and tell me everything that happened to your father." do it as soon as I can. Her ... "
  
  
  The gun was still on his stomach. Tonaka looked ugly again. And very impatient.
  
  
  "You still don't understand, Mr. Carter. You are going to Japan now. At this moment-or at least very soon. My father's problems aren't people going to come wait for him. There is no time for channels or officials to confer about various services. Please consult about the steps that need to be taken. You can see that I understand something about these matters. My father, too. He's a longtime employee of my country's secret service, and he knows that red tape is the same everywhere. That's why he gave me the locket and told me to find you. Ask you to come immediately. They found her to do it."
  
  
  Little Nambu winked at Nick again. He was getting tired of the courtship. The impiety is that she mistletoe meant just that. She's mistletoe in the mind of every damn word! Currently!
  
  
  Nick had an idea. He and Hawk both had a voicemail
  
  
  the code they sometimes used. Maybe he can warn the old man. Then they can get these Japanese scouts under control, get ih to talk and make sense, and start working to help each other's ego. Nick took a deep breath. Emu just needed to admit to Hawke that ego was snatched up by a gang of nutty girl Scouts, and ask his fellow countrymen at AX to pull ego around for it. Maybe they couldn't do it. The CIA might need it. Or the FBI. Maybe the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. He just didn't know ...
  
  
  He said: "All right, Tonaka. Do it your way. Immediately. As soon as I can get dressed and pack my suitcase. And make a phone call."
  
  
  "No phone calls."
  
  
  For the first time, he thought about taking the gun from Nah. It was getting ridiculous. The killmaster must be able to take the weapon from the girl scout! That's the problem - she's not a scout girl. We didn't have one around them. Because now everyone else, like Sato and Matu, has reached under those cut-off skirts and pulled out Nambu pistols. Everyone was pointing at Carter.
  
  
  "What's the name of your squad, girls? Angels of death?"
  
  
  Tonaka pointed the gun at him. "My father told me that you will have a lot of tricks, Mr. Carter. He is confident that you will keep your promise and your friendship with him, but warned me that you will insist on doing so on your own. This can't be done. This should be done in our way - in complete secrecy ."
  
  
  "But it could be," Nick said. "I have a great organization at my disposal. Many are around them if I need them. I didn't know Kunizo was in your secret service - congratulations to emu for keeping a well - kept secret-but then he should definitely know the value of organizations and collaborations. They can do the work of thousands of people - and security is not a problem and ... "
  
  
  The gun stopped him. "You are very eloquent, Mr. Carter ... And you're very wrong. My father, for estestvenno, understands all these things, and that's exactly what he doesn't want. Or what it needs. As for channels - you, like me, you know that you are always under surveillance, even if it is regularly, as with your organization. You can't take a single step without someone noticing and passing on the ego. No, Mr. Carter. No phone calls. No official help. This is a job for one person, a friend who can be trusted, and who will do what my father asks without asking too many questions. You're the perfect man for what needs to be done - and you owe your life to my father. I can return her locket, please. "
  
  
  He tossed her the locket. "Good," he admitted. "You seem determined, and you have a gun. You all have guns. It looks like her education is with you in Japan. Open now. I throw it all, but I don't fly away. You understand, of course, that if I just disappear, there will be a worldwide alert in a few hours? "
  
  
  Tonaka allowed himself a tiny smile. He noticed that she was almost beautiful when she smiled. "We'll worry about that later, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  "What about passports? Customs offices?"
  
  
  "No problem, Mr. Carter. Our passports are in perfect order. I'm sure you have a lot of passports, " my father assured her. What you will have. You probably have a diplomatic passport, which is enough for this. any objections? "
  
  
  "Travel? There are things like tickets and reservations."
  
  
  "We've taken care of everything, Mr. Carter. Everything from a young age. We'll be in Tokyo in a few hours."
  
  
  He was beginning to believe it. I actually believe that. They probably had a spaceship waiting on the Mall. O brother! Hawke will love it. It was going to be a big locality in Russia-Nick knew the signs - and Hawk had kept his ego ready until the thing matured, and now this. There was also a minor lady case, Muriel Milholland. He had a date with her tonight. The least a gentleman could do was call and ...
  
  
  Nick looked at Tonaka pleadingly. "Just one phone call? Mistress? I don't want her to get up."
  
  
  Little Nambu was adamant. "No way."
  
  
  NICK CARTER IS REMOVED - A DESCENDANT OF ZASTROZHENA...
  
  
  Tonaka stood up. As, Matu and Sato stood up. All the little guns blinked at Nick Carter.
  
  
  "Now," Tonaka said,"we'll go to the bedroom, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  Nick blinked.
  
  
  "To the bedroom, please. Immediately!"
  
  
  Nick stood up and pulled his robe around him. "If you say so."
  
  
  "Raise your hands, please."
  
  
  He was a little tired of the Wild West. "Listen, Tonaka! I cooperate with her. She's a friend of your father's, and I'll help, even if I don't like the way we do business. But let's get rid of all this madness..."
  
  
  "Hands up! Keep ih high in the air! March to the bedroom."
  
  
  He went. Hands high in the air. Tonaka followed him into the room, keeping a professional distance. Kak, Matu, and Sato came in from behind.
  
  
  He imagined another headline: "Carter raped by girl Scouts ..."
  
  
  Tonaka moved the gun to the bed. "Please lie down on the bed, Mr. Carter. Remove your robe. You lie face up."
  
  
  Nick watched. The words he said to Hawke just yesterday came back, and he repeated ih. "You must be joking!"
  
  
  No smile on the pale lemon-brown faces.
  
  
  the slanted eyes all stare intently at him, and the ego is a big body.
  
  
  "No kidding, Mr. Carter. On the bed. Immediately!" The gun moved in her small hand. Her trigger finger was white around the knuckle. For the first time in all this fun and play, Nick knew that she would shoot him if he didn't do exactly what the emu was told. Exactly.
  
  
  He dropped his robe. How she hissed. Matou smiled grimly. Sato giggled. Tonaka laughed and glanced at them, and they went back to business. But there was approval in her own dark eyes as they briefly slid up and down the ego of a slender two hundred pounds. She nodded. "Great body, Mr. Carter. As my father said, so it will be. He remembers very well how much he learned about you and how much he prepared you. Maybe another time, but it doesn't matter now. On the bed. Face up.."
  
  
  Nick Carter was confused and confused. He wasn't a liar, especially not to himself, and she admitted it. There was something unnatural, even a little obscene, about lying fully exposed to the keen eyes of the four girl Scouts. Four pairs of epicanthoid eyes that didn't miss anything.
  
  
  The only thing he was grateful for was that it wasn't a sexual situation at all, and the emu wasn't in danger of a physical reaction. He shuddered inwardly. A slow climb to the top in front of all these eyes. It was unthinkable. Sato would have giggled.
  
  
  Nick stared at Tonaka. She held the gun across his stomach, now completely naked, and her mouth twitched in an initial smile. She successfully resisted.
  
  
  "I only regret," said Nick Carter,"that I have only one dignity for my country."
  
  
  Suppressed fun, Like. Tonaka glared at Nah. Silence. Tonaka glared at Nick. "You're a fool, Mr. Carter!"
  
  
  "Sans doute".
  
  
  Under his left buttock, he could feel the hard metal of the mattress's zipper. In the nen was a Luger, that nasty hot rod, a stripped-down 9mm homicide pistol. Also on the stiletto. Thirsty Hugo. The blade of the death needle. Nick sighed and forgot about it. He could probably get to them, so what? What then? Kill four little girl scouts in Japan? And why did he keep thinking of them as girl Scouts? The uniform was authentic, but that's all. They were four maniacs from some Tokyo yo-yo academy. And he was in the middle. Smile and suffer.
  
  
  Tonaka was there. urgent orders. "How-look at the kitchen. Sato, in the bathroom. Mata-ah, the voices, that's all. These ties will be just that."
  
  
  Matu owned several of Nick's best and most expensive ties, including a Sulka that he only wore once. He sel in protest. "Hey! If you need to use ties, use the old ones. It's just ..."
  
  
  Tonaka quickly slammed the ego pistol into his forehead. It was fast. Going in and out before he could grab the gun.
  
  
  "Get down," she said sharply. "Quiet. No more talking. We must continue our work. There's already been too much nonsense - our plane leaves in an hour."
  
  
  Nick looked up. "I agree about the stupidity. Its..."
  
  
  Another blow to the forehead. He lay sullenly as they tied him to the bedposts. They were very good at tying knots. He could break the shackles at any moment, but then again, for what purpose? It was part of this whole crazy operation - he was finding himself more and more unwilling to hurt them in all the houses around. And since he was already so deep in Goofyville, he had a real curiosity to find out what they were doing.
  
  
  It was a painting that he wanted to take to the grave. Nick Carter tied his ties, sprawled on the bed, his mother naked, exposed to the dark gazes of four little Eastern girls. An excerpt from his favorite old song flashed across his mind: they'll never trust me.
  
  
  He could hardly believe what he saw next. Feathers. Four long red feathers poked out from under her miniskirts.
  
  
  Tonaka and Kak sat on one side of the bed, Matu and Sato on the other. If they all get close enough, Nick thought, I can break this bond, break ih stupid heads, and ih stupid heads...
  
  
  Tonaka dropped her quill and stepped back, nambu returning to her flat world. Professionalism was again shown. She gave Sato a curt nod. "Shut the emu up."
  
  
  "Now look at this," Nick Carter said... ghouls... mmm... A clean handkerchief and another tie did the trick.
  
  
  "Start," Tonaka said. "Like, take ego legs. Matu, take care of your ego armpits. Sato-sexual organs".
  
  
  Tonaka took a few more steps back and pointed the gun at Nick. She allowed herself a smile. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Carter, that we have to do this - like this. I know it's unworthy and ridiculous."
  
  
  Nick nodded vigorously. "Hmmmmmmfj... guuuuuuuuu..."
  
  
  "Try to stand it, Mr. Carter. It won't take long. We're going to feed you drugs. You see, one of the properties of this drug is that it supports and expands the mood of the person to whom the ego is given. We want you to be happy, Mr. Carter. We want you to laugh all the way to Japan! "
  
  
  He knew from the start that there was a method to this madness. Final change in perception
  
  
  They would still kill him if he resisted. This Tonaka guy was crazy enough to do that. And now the point of resistance has been overcome. Those feathers! It was an I try Chinese torture, and he never realized how effective it was. It was the sweetest agony in the world.
  
  
  Sato very carefully traced the feather across his chest. Nick shuddered. Matu worked hard on his armpits. Oooooooh ...
  
  
  How to use a long experienced kick on the soles of the ego foot. Nick's toes began to flex and cramp. He couldn't take it any longer, dammit. Whatever it is, he's been playing along with this crazy quartet long enough. Any second now, emu will just have to - ахххоооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооо ...
  
  
  Her timing was perfect. He was abducted by Rivnenskaya enough for her to do the real thing. Needles. A long shining needle. Nick saw it and then didn't. Because it was embedded in the relatively soft tissue of the ego of the right buttock.
  
  
  The needle went deep. Deeper. Tonaka stared at him as she pushed the plunger all the way in. She smiled. Nick arched up, laughing and laughing and laughing.
  
  
  The drug hit the ego hard, almost instantly. The ego blood flow picked up the ego and rushed to the ego brain and motor centers.
  
  
  Now they've stopped tickling the ego. Tonaka smiled and gently patted ego's face. She put the small pistol away.
  
  
  "Here," she said. "How do you feel now? Is everyone happy?"
  
  
  Nick Carter smiled. "Never better in my life." He laughed... " You know, something - I want a drink. For example, drink a lot. What do you say, girls?
  
  
  Tonaka clapped her hands. How demure and sweet she is, Nick thought. How sweet. He wanted to make her happy. He would do anything she wanted - anything.
  
  
  "I think it will be a great ending to a wartime adventure," Tonaka said. "Isn't that right, girls?"
  
  
  Kaka, Sato and Matu thought it would be great. They clapped their hands and giggled, and each and every one of them insisted on kissing Nick. Then they retreated, giggling, smiling, and talking. Tonaka didn't kiss him.
  
  
  "You'd better get dressed, Nick. Faster. You know we have to go to Japan."
  
  
  Nick sel while they were untying the ego. He laughed. "Of course. I forgot it. Japan. But are you sure you really want to go, Tonaka?" We could have good fun openly here in Washington."
  
  
  Tonaka stepped right up to him. She leaned down and kissed him, pressing her lips to his for a long time. She stroked ego's cheek. "Of course I want to go to Japan, Nick dear. Hurry up. We'll help you get dressed and pack. Just tell us where everyone is."
  
  
  He felt like a king, sitting naked on the bed and watching them scurry around. Japan is going to be a lot of fun. It's been a long, long time since he's had such a real relax. Without any liability. Make it free as air. He might even send Hawke a postcard. Maybe not. To hell with Hawk.
  
  
  Tonaka was rummaging through a dresser drawer. "Where's your diplomatic passport, Nick dear?"
  
  
  "In the closet, dear, in the lining of Knox's hatbox. Let's hurry up! Japan is waiting."
  
  
  And then, all of a sudden, emu wanted that drink again. The hotel is this worse than ever in your life hotel drink. He grabbed a pair of white boxers from Sato, who was packing a suitcase, and went into the living room to grab a bottle of whiskey from the portable bar.
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  On very rare medical occasions, Hawk would call Nick in to consult on top-level decisions. Killmaster wasn't paid to make top-level decisions. Emu was paid ih to perform - which he usually did with tiger cunning and ego rage when needed. Hawk respected Nick's abilities as an agent and, if necessary, as an assassin. Carter was almost the best man in the world today, the main man in this bitter, dark, bloody, and sometimes mysterious corner where decisions were made, where directives finally turned into bullets and knives, poisons and ropes. And death.
  
  
  Hawke had a very bad night. He barely slept, which is very unusual for him. At three in the morning, he found himself pacing his slightly drab living room in Georgetown and wondering if he had any right to involve Nick in this decision. It wasn't really Nick's workload. It was Hawk. Hawke was the head of AX. Hawke was paid - not enough-to make decisions and bear the burden of mistakes. There was a burden on his stooped shoulders of seventy-odd years, and he really had no right to shift some of that burden to another.
  
  
  Why not just decide whether to play Cecil Aubrey's game or not? Admittedly, it was a bad game, but Hawke played worse. And the payoff was incomprehensible - one's own man in the Kremlin. Hawke, professionally speaking, was a greedy man. Kids are ruthless. Over time - though now he continued to think from a distance - he realized that whatever it was, he would find the means,
  
  
  to gradually distract the Kremlin man more and more from Aubrey. But that was all in the future.
  
  
  Did he have the right to bring in Nick Carter, who had never killed a man in his life, except in his own country and in the line of duty as a juror? Because the actual murder was supposed to be committed by Nick Carter.
  
  
  It was a difficult moral tailspin. Slippery. It had a million aspects, and you could rationalize and invent almost any rheumatism you wanted.
  
  
  David Hawke is not used to complex moral questions. For forty years, he waged a deadly struggle and suppressed hundreds of enemies of himself and his country. According to Hawke, it's the same thing. Ego enemies and enemies of the country's ego were one and the same.
  
  
  At first glance, it was quite simple. He and the rest of the Western world would be safer, and they would sleep better with Richard Filston dead. Philston was an outspoken traitor who caused unlimited damage. There was really no argument with this.
  
  
  So, at three in the morning, Hawke poured himself a very weak drink, and argued with it.
  
  
  Aubrey Schell against the order. He admitted it in Hawk's office, though he gave good reasons for going against his ego orders. His superiors demanded that Filston be arrested and tried properly and, as expected, executed.
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey, though the wild horses would not have dragged ego away from him, was afraid that Philston would somehow untie the hangman's knot. Aubrey thought as much of his dead young Jean as he did of his duty. Ego didn't care that the traitor would be punished in open court. He only wanted Richard Filston dead in the shortest, fastest, and ugliest way possible. To do this, and get AX's help in getting revenge, Aubrey was willing to give up one of his country's most valuable assets - an unexpected source in the Kremlin.
  
  
  Hawk took a small sip of his drink and draped his faded robe around his neck,which was getting thinner every day. He glanced at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Almost four o'clock. He had promised himself to make a decision even before he arrived at the office that day. I promised, and Cecil Aubrey.
  
  
  Aubrey was right about one thing, " Hawk admitted as he walked. AX, almost any Yankee service, handled this better than the British. Philston would know every move and trap that MI6 has ever used or thought of using. You might have a chance. Of course, if he used Nick Carter. If Nick couldn't do it, this can't be happening.
  
  
  Could he have used Nick in a private vendetta for another person? Problems didn't try to disappear or resolve themselves. It was still there when Hawke finally found the pillow again. The drink helped a little, and he fell into a restless foreground sleep while watching the birds in the forsythia outside the window.
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey and the man across the MIS, Terence, were scheduled to show up again Tuesday at Hawk's office at eleven - Hawk was in the office at a quarter past eight. Delia Stokes wasn't here yet. Hawk hung up his light raincoat - it was starting to drizzle outside - and went straight to the phone and called Nick at Mayflower's apartment.
  
  
  Hawke made up his mind as he drove to the office in Georgetown. He knew he was indulging a little and shifting the burden a little, but now he could do it with a pretty clear conscience. Tell Nick all the facts in front of the English and let Nick make his own decision. It was the best thing Hawke could do, given his ego, greed, and temptation. He would be honest. He swore it to himself. If Nick refuses the mission, that will be the end of it. Let Cecil Aubrey find the hangman somewhere else.
  
  
  Nick didn't answer. Hawk swore and hung up. He took off his first cigar of the morning and popped it into his mouth. He tried to get to Nick's apartment again, letting the call continue. No response.
  
  
  Hawk hung up the phone again and stared at Nah. Fucking again, he thought. Stuck. In the hay with a beautiful doll, and he'll report back when he's damn good and ready. Hawk frowned, then almost smiled. You can't blame the boy for reaping rosebuds while he could. God knew it didn't last long. Not long enough. It had been a long time since the ferret had been able to reap rosebuds. Ah, the golden girls and the steam ones should crumble to dust ...
  
  
  To hell with it! When Nick didn't answer on the third attempt, Hawke checked the logbook on Delia's desk. The night watchman was supposed to keep the ego informed. Hawk ran a finger down the list of neatly written notes. Carter, like all top executives, was in touch twenty-four hours a day and had to call and check in every twelve hours. And leave an address or phone number where you can contact them.
  
  
  Hawke's thumb stopped at the entrance: N3-2204 hr. - 914-528-6177... It was a Maryland prefix. Hawk scribbled the number on a piece of paper and went back to his office. He dials a number.
  
  
  After a long series of phone calls, the woman said,"Hello?" It sounded like a dream and a hangover.
  
  
  The hawk slammed right into him. Let's pull Romeo around the bag.
  
  
  "Let me talk to Mr. Carter, please."
  
  
  A long pause. Then coldly, " Do you want to talk to Hema?"
  
  
  Hawk bit down hard on his cigar. "Carter. Nick Carter! It is very important. Urgent. Is he there?"
  
  
  More silence. Then he heard her yawn. Her voice was still cold as she said ," I'm sorry. Mr. Carter left some time ago. Its really don't know when. But how the hell did you get that number?" Her..."
  
  
  "Sorry, lady." Hawk hung up again. The tailor! He sat down, propped his feet up on a chair, and stared at the bilious red walls. The Western Union clock was ticking in defense of Nick Carter. He didn't miss the call. There's still about forty-odd minutes left. Hawk cursed under his breath and couldn't understand his own concern.
  
  
  A few minutes later, Delia Stokes came in. Hawk, masking his unease - for which he couldn't give any good reason - made ee call the Mayflower every ten minutes. He switched to another line and began making careful inquiries. Nick Carter, Hawk knew well, was a swinger, and his circle of egos was long and Catholic. He may be in Bain County with a senator, having breakfast with the wife and / or daughter of some diplomatic representative-or he may be in Gout Hill.
  
  
  Time passed in vain. Hawk kept glancing at the wall clock. He promised Aubrey a solution today, tailor take it, boy! Now he was officially late for a phone call. Not that Hawke cared about such a small matter - but he wanted to settle this affair one way or another, and he couldn't do it without Nick. He was more determined than ever that Nick should have the final say in the murder or no murder of Richard Filston.
  
  
  At ten past eleven, Delia Stokes came into his office with a puzzled look on her face. Hawk had just thrown away his half-chewed cigar. He saw her expression and said: "What?"
  
  
  Delia shrugged. "I do not know what it is, sir. But I don't believe it - and you won't believe it."
  
  
  Hawk frowned. "Test me."
  
  
  Delia cleared her throat. "I finally got to the master of ringing on the Mayflower. I had a hard time finding ego, and then he didn't want to talk - em likes Nick, and I guess he was trying to protect her - but she finally got something-that Nick dragged away, around the hotel this morning a little after nine. He was drunk. Very drunk. And-this is the part of me that you won't believe - he was with four girl Scouts."
  
  
  The cigar sank. Hawk stared at Nah. "Was he with Hema?"
  
  
  "I told you-he was with four girl scouts. Japanese girl scouts. He was so drunk that the scouts, the Japanese girl scouts, had to help him through the hall."
  
  
  Hawk just blinked. Three times. Then he said: "Who do we have in place?"
  
  
  "There's Tom Ames. And..."
  
  
  "Ames will do. Send the Mayflower ego open now. Confirm or deny the master story. Shut up about this, Delia, and start the usual procedure of asking missing operatives. Vote and that's it. Oh, when Cecil Aubrey and Terence showed up, let them in. "
  
  
  She went out and closed the door. Delia knew when to leave David Hawk to his own bitter thoughts.
  
  
  Tom Ames was a good man. Carefully, carefully, not missing anything. It was one o'clock when he reported to Hawke. Meanwhile, Hawk stopped Aubrey again - and kept the wires hot. Nothing yet.
  
  
  Ames was sitting in the same hard chair that Nick Carter had sat in yesterday morning. Ames was a rather sad man with a face that reminded Hawke of a lone bloodhound.
  
  
  "It's true about the Girl Scouts, sir. Ih was four. Girl scouts all over Japan. They sold cookies at the hotel. This is usually forbidden, but the assistant manager skipped ih. Good neighborhood relations, and all that. this. And they sold cookies. Her ... "
  
  
  Hawke couldn't help himself. "Cut out the cookies, Ames. Stick to the Crankcase. Did he leave with those girl Scouts? Was Ego seen walking with them through the lobby? Was he drunk?"
  
  
  Ames swallowed. "Well, yes, sir. The ego has definitely been noticed, sir. He fell three times as he passed through the lobby. The Emus were supposed to be helped by, uh, girl scouts. Mr. Carter sang and danced, sir, and shouted. a little bit. It also looks like he had a lot of cookies, sorry sir, but that's what I understand - he had a lot of cookies and was trying to sell ih in the lobby."
  
  
  Hawk closed his eyes. This profession was getting crazier and crazier every day. "Continue."
  
  
  "Voice and all, sir. Vote on what happened. Well confirmed. I got statements from the foreman, the assistant manager, two maids, and Mr. and Mrs. Meredith Hunt, who were just checking in from Indianapolis.
  
  
  Hawk raised a slightly shaky hand. "Skip that, too. Where did Carter and ego go?.. ego environment after that? I assume they didn't take off in a hot air balloon or something?
  
  
  Ames slid the stack of statements back into his inner pocket.
  
  
  "No, sir. They took a taxi."
  
  
  Hawk opened his eyes and stared expectantly. "All right?"
  
  
  
  "Nothing, sir. The usual routine did nothing. Otedya's manager watched as the girl scouts helped Mr. Carter into a taxi, but he didn't notice anything special about the driver and didn't think to get the license plate. Her, talked to other drivers, of course. Bad luck. At that time, there was only one other taxi, and the driver was napping. However, he noticed it because Mr. Carter was making so much noise, and, well, it was a little unusual to see the girl Scouts drunk."
  
  
  Hawk sighed. "A little, yes. So?"
  
  
  "It was a strange taxi, sir. This man said he had never seen it before - ego in a row. He didn't get a good look at the driver."
  
  
  "That's good," Hawk said. "It was probably a Japanese Sandman."
  
  
  "Sir?"
  
  
  Hawk waved a hand. "Nothing. All right, Ames. That's all for now. Get ready for new orders."
  
  
  Ames was gone. Hawk sat and stared at the dark blue walls. On the surface, Nick Carter is currently contributing to juvenile delinquency. Four minors. Girl scouts!
  
  
  Hawke reached for the phone, intending to release a special AX APB, then pulled his hand away. Let it cook a little *. Look what happened.
  
  
  One thing he was sure of. It was openly the opposite of what it looked like. These girl Scouts were somehow instrumental in Nick Carter's actions.
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  The little man with the hammer was merciless. He was a dwarf, wearing dirty brown clothes and swinging a hammer. Gong was twice the size of the little man, but the little man had big muscles, and he meant business. He hammered the medi - boingg - boingg - boingg - boingggg again and again...
  
  
  It's a funny thing. The gong was changing shape. It was beginning to look like Nick Carter's head.
  
  
  BOINGGGGGG - BOINGGGGGGG
  
  
  Nick opened his eyes and closed them as quickly as possible. The gong rang again. He opened his eyes, and Goon stopped. He was lying on the floor on a futon, a blanket thrown over him. There was a white enamel pot next to ego's head. Foresight on someone's part. Nick raised his head above the pot, and emu felt sick. Very ill. For a long time. When he vomited, he pressed a pillow off the floor and tried to focus on the ceiling. It was an ordinary ceiling. Gradually, he stopped spinning and calmed down. He began to hear music. Frantic, distant, trampling go-go music. It was, he thought as his purpose became clear, not so much in the sound as in the vibration.
  
  
  The door opened and Tonaka walked in. No girl scout uniforms. She was wearing a brown suede jacket over a white silk blouse-apparently without a bra underneath - and tight black trousers that hugged her slender legs lovingly. She was wearing light makeup, lipstick, and a bit of blush, and her glossy black hair was styled on top of her head with mock carelessness. Nick admitted that it was a real dish.
  
  
  Tonaka softly emu smiled. "Good evening, Nick. How are you feeling?"
  
  
  He gently touched his head with his fingers. He didn't fall.
  
  
  "I could just live like this," he said.
  
  
  She was laughing. "I'm so sorry, Nick. Her truth. But it seemed" the only way to fulfill my father's wishes. The drug we gave you-it doesn't just make a person extremely docile. It also gives him a huge thirst, a desire ." on alcohol. You were really quite drunk before we even put you on the plane."
  
  
  He stared at nah. Everything was clear now. He rubbed the back of his neck gently. "I know it's a stupid corkscrew - but where is it?"
  
  
  Her smile faded. "In Tokyo, of course."
  
  
  "Of course. Where else. Where's the terrible threesome-Matu, like Sato?"
  
  
  "They have their own way of working. They do it. I doubt you'll see ih again."
  
  
  "I think I can handle it," he muttered.
  
  
  Tonaka sat down on the cotton mattresses next to him. She ran her hand over ego's forehead and stroked his hair. Her hand was as cool as a Fuji stream. Her soft mouth touched ego, then she pulled away.
  
  
  "There is no time for us right now, but I will say this. I promise her. If you help my betrayal as I know her, you will, and if we both survive this, her, I will do everything I can to compensate you for what I did. Anything! Is that clear, Nick? "
  
  
  He felt much better about himself. He resisted the urge to pull her slender body against his. He nodded. "I see, Tonaka. I'll keep you for that promise. Now, where is your father?"
  
  
  She got up and walked away from him. "He lives in the Sanya area. Do you know that?"
  
  
  He nodded. One of the worst slum areas in Tokyo. But he didn't understand. What was old Kunizo Matu doing in a place like this?
  
  
  Tonaka guessed his thought. She was lighting a cigarette. She casually tossed the match onto the tatami mat.
  
  
  "I told you that my father is dying. He has cancer. He came back to die with his people, this one. Did you know they were Burakumins?"
  
  
  He shook his head. "I had no idea. Does it matter?"
  
  
  He thought her beautiful. The beauty disappeared as she frowned. "He thought it mattered. He left his people long ago and stopped being a supporter of Eta.
  
  
  since he is old and dying, he wants to make amends ." She shrugged furiously." It might not be too late yet - this is definitely the time for that. But he will explain all this to you. Then we'll see - now I think you'd better take a bath and clean up." It will help your illness. We don't have much time. A few hours before morning ."
  
  
  Nick stood up. Ego wasn't wearing shoes, but otherwise he was fully clothed. The Savile Row suit will never be the same again. He really did feel dirty and overgrown with stubble. He knew what ego language should look like, and he didn't want to look himself in the eye. There was a distinct taste of alcohol in his mouth.
  
  
  "A bath might just save my life," he admitted.
  
  
  She pointed to his rumpled suit. "You'll still have to change your clothes. You'll have to get rid of that. Everything from a young age. We have another one for you, shvedov. Papers. A whole new cover story. My organization has certainly dealt with this."
  
  
  "Father seems to have been very busy. And who are" we "? "
  
  
  She threw emu a Japanese phrase that he didn't understand. Her long dark eyes narrowed. "It means militant women by Eta. This is what we are-wives, daughters, mothers. Our men won't fight, or well very little, so the women should. But he'll tell you all about it." I'll send her a girl about your bath."
  
  
  "Wait a minute, Tonaka." He could hear the music again. The music and vibrations are very weak.
  
  
  "Where are we? Where in Tokyo?"
  
  
  She dropped the ashes on the tatami mat. "On Ginza. Rather, under it. This is one of our few safe havens. We are located in the basement of the Electric Palace cabaret. This is the music you hear . It's almost midnight. Now its really got to go, Nick. Whatever you want ... "
  
  
  "Cigarettes, a bottle of good beer and know where you got your English. It's been a long time since I've heard" prease"."
  
  
  She couldn't help but smile. It made her beautiful again. "Radcliffe. Class of 63 years. The father didn't want his daughter's ego to become this, you know. Only she insisted. But he'll tell you about that, too. I'll send her things. And Bassa. the girl. See you soon, Nick ."
  
  
  She closed the door behind her. Nick, who was no different from the others, squatted down, Oriental fashion, and began to think about it. In Washington, of course, it would be a hell of a lot to pay. Hawk will prepare the torture chamber. He decided to play the cards as they came out, at least temporarily. He couldn't contact Hawk right away without telling the old man that ego the wandering boy had wandered into Tokyo. Let the boss get apoplectic. The hawk was a tough, wiry old bird, and that ego wouldn't have been easy to kill.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Nick sees Kunizo Mata and finds out what's going on. Pay off his debt to the old man, settle all this infernal mess. Then there would be plenty of time to call Hawke and try to explain.
  
  
  There was a knock on the door.
  
  
  "Ohari nasai". Fortunately, while he was in Shanghai, he spoke the language.
  
  
  She was middle-aged with a smooth, serene face. She was wearing getas around the straw and a plaid house dress. She was carrying a tray with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. She carried a huge fluffy towel in her hand. She gave Nick an aluminum, toothy smile.
  
  
  "Konbanwa, Carter-san. You've got something. Bassu is ready. Do you go hubba-hubba?"
  
  
  Nick smiled at her. "Not hubba-hubba. Have a drink first. Smoke first. Then maybe I won't die and can enjoy bassu. About namae wa?"
  
  
  Aluminum teeth gleamed. "Her Susie."
  
  
  He picked up a bottle of whiskey from the tray and grimaced. The old white whale! About what you can expect from a place called the Electric Palace.
  
  
  "Suzy, eh? . Will you bring a glass?"
  
  
  "Pure herbs".
  
  
  . He unscrewed the bottle cap. It smelled bad. But the emu needed one drink, just one, to get the ego out and get on with whatever mission we were on. He held out the bottle and bowed to Susie. "Your health, beauty. Gokenko y shuku shimasu!" "Mine, too," he muttered to himself. He suddenly realized that the fun and games had come to an end. From now on, the game will remain forever, and all the balls will remain with the winner.
  
  
  Susie giggled, then frowned. "Bassu is ready. It's hot. Earn fast or be cold." And she slapped a large towel pointedly in the air.
  
  
  It was useless to explain to Susie that he could wipe his back. Susie was the boss. She shoved the ego into the steaming tank and got down to business, giving the emu a bass of its own accord, not the ego. She hadn't missed anything.
  
  
  Tonaka waited for him to return to the small room. There was a pile of clothes on the mat by the bed. Nick looked down at the clothes in disgust. "Her hema should be there? A tramp?"
  
  
  "In a way, yes." She handed Em a battered wallet. It contained a thick wad of fresh new yen and a huge number of cards, most of which were battered around. Nick hurriedly ran through them.
  
  
  "Your name is Pete Fremont," Tonaka explained. "I suppose you're a slacker in a way. You're a freelance newspaperman, writer, and alcoholic.
  
  
  You have lived on east beach for many years. From time to time, you sell a story or article in the States, and when the receipt arrives, you get a fix hangover. Voice where the real Pete Fremont is now - on a binge. So you have nothing to worry about. There won't be two of you running around Japan. You'd better get dressed now. "
  
  
  She handed him a pair of shorts and a blue shirt, cheap and new, still wrapped in plastic bags. "I asked one of the girls to buy ih. Things are pretty messy here. He's not taking very good care of himself."
  
  
  Nick took off the short robe Suzy had given Em and put on a pair of shorts. Tonaka watched impassively. He remembered that she had seen it all before. No secrets from this kid.
  
  
  "So there really is Pete Fremont, huh? And you guarantee that it won't be distributed while I'm working? This is normal, but there is another aspect. Everyone in Tokyo should know this character."
  
  
  She was lighting a cigarette. "It is not difficult to keep the ego out of sight. He's dead drunk. It will stay like this for a few days as long as it has the money. He can't go anywhere anyway - that's the ego of web Swedes."
  
  
  Nick paused, pulling out pins for each new shirt. "You mean you stole the guy's clothes? Ego's only clothes?"
  
  
  Tonaka shrugged. "Why not? We need them. It doesn't do that. Pitt is a nice guy, he knows about us, the Eta girls, and he helps us out from time to time. But he's a hopeless drinker. Emus don't need no Swedes. He has an ego bottle and an ego girl, and that's all he cares about. Hurry up, Nick. "I want to show you something."
  
  
  "Yes, sahib and mem."
  
  
  He picked up the suit carefully. It was once a good suit. The ego was made in Hong Kong-Nick knew the tailor - a long time ago. He entered it after noticing a very distinctive smell of age and age. It fit perfectly. "Your other Pete is a big man."
  
  
  "Now for the rest."
  
  
  Nick put on a pair of ballet slippers with cracked heels and scuff marks. His tie was torn and stained. The raincoat she gave emu belonged to Abercrombie and Fitch during the Ice Age. It was dirty and had no belt.
  
  
  "This guy," Nick muttered as he put on his raincoat, " is a real drunk. God, how does he stand his smell?"
  
  
  Tonaka didn't smile. "I know. Poor Pitt. But when you've been fired by UP, AP, Hong Kong Times and Singapore Times, as well as Asahi, Yomiuri and Osaka, I don't think you care anymore. Here. the hat."
  
  
  Nick looked on in awe. It was a masterpiece. It was new when the world was young. Dirty, rumpled, ragged, bloodstained, and misshapen, it still sported a tattered scarlet feather in a salt-splattered band. The last gesture of defiance, the last challenge to fate.
  
  
  "She'd like to meet this Pete Fremont guy when this is over," he told the girl. "It should be a walking example of the law of survival." Nick didn't know much about himself.
  
  
  "Maybe," she agreed shortly. "Stand there and let me take a look at you. Hmmmmm - in the distance, you will converge on Pita Bread. Not close, because you don't look like him. It doesn't really matter. Ego documents are important as your cover and I doubt you'll meet anyone who knows well, asks. My father says they won't know. But this is the whole ego plan. I'm just following my instructions.
  
  
  Nick narrowed his eyes at Nah. "You don't really like your old man, do you?"
  
  
  Her face was as hard as a kabuki mask. "I respect my father. I don't need an ego to love. Earn money now. There's something you should see. Its saved this to last because ... Because I want you to leave this place in the right mood. And then your security."
  
  
  "I know," Nick said, following her to the door. "You're a great little psychologist."
  
  
  She led Ego down the hall to a flight of narrow stairs. Somewhere above ego's head, the music was still playing. Imitation of the Beatles. Clyde-san-ego and the Four Silk Worms. Nick Carter shook his head in silent disapproval as he followed Tonaka down the stairs. Trendy music left the ego indifferent. He wasn't an old gentleman by any means, but he wasn't that young either. No one was ever so young!
  
  
  They descended and fell. It was getting colder, and he could hear the trickle of water. Tonaka was now using a small flashlight.
  
  
  "How many basements does this place have?"
  
  
  "Many. This part of Tokyo I try very hard. We are sincerely under what used to be an old silver foundry. Gin. They used these dungeons to buy bullion and coins."
  
  
  They reached the bottom, then went down a cross corridor to a dark cabin. The girl flipped on a light switch, and a dim yellow light bulb lit up the ceiling. She pointed to the body on an ordinary table in the center of the room.
  
  
  "Father wants you to see this. "First of all. Before making an irrevocable commitment." She handed em the flashlight. "The voice. Take a good look. This is what will happen to us if we lose."
  
  
  Nick picked up the flashlight. "I thought I was loyal."
  
  
  "Not really. My father says no. If you want to back out at this point, we should send you on the next plane back to the States."
  
  
  Carter frowned, then grinned sourly.
  
  
  Old Kunizo knew what he was going to do. He knew Carter could be anything, but chicken wasn't the only one around them.
  
  
  He shone his flashlight on the body and examined it carefully. He was familiar enough with corpses and death to know at once that the man had died in agony.
  
  
  The body was that of a middle-aged Japanese man.. His eyes were closed. Nick examined the many small wounds that covered the man from neck to ankles. Ih must be a thousand! Small, bloody, gaping mouths in the flesh. We need one deep enough to kill ourselves. We need one in a vital place. But put ih all together, and the person will slowly bleed to death. This will take hours. And there will be horror, shock ...
  
  
  Tonaka was far away in the shadow of a tiny yellow light bulb. He caught the whiff of her cigarette, sharp and sharp, in the cold, deadly smell of the room.
  
  
  She said, " See the tattoo?"
  
  
  He was looking at it. This puzzled ego. A small blue Buddha figure with knives stuck in it. It was on his left arm, inside, above the elbow.
  
  
  "I can see that," Nick said. "What does this mean?"
  
  
  "The Blood Buddha Society. Ego's name was Sadanaga. He was Eta, Burakumin. Like her - and my father. So are millions of us. But the Chinese, the Chicoms, forced the ego to join Society and work for them. But Sadanaga was a brave man-he rebelled and also worked for us. He reported the Chikomas."
  
  
  Tonaka flipped back the glowing butt of her cigarette. "They know. You will see the result. And that's exactly what you're going to face if you help us, Mr. Carter. And that's just part of it."
  
  
  Nick stepped back and ran the flashlight over the body again. Small, silent wounds gaped in it. He turned off the TV and turned back to the girl. "It looks like death from a thousand cuts - but I thought it happened to the Ronin."
  
  
  "The Chinese have brought back the ego. Basically updated, in a modern form. You'll see. My father has a model car that they use to punish anyone who challenges them. Let's go." It's cold in here."
  
  
  They returned to the small room where Nick had woken up. The music was still playing, strumming and vibrating. He somehow lost his wristwatch.
  
  
  It was, emu Tonaka said, a quarter past one.
  
  
  "I don't want to sleep," he said. "You might as well leave outright now and go to your ancestor. Call Em and tell him I'm on my way."
  
  
  "He doesn't have a phone. This is unwise. But I'll send em a message in time. You may be right - it's easier to get around Tokyo during these hours. But wait - if you're going now, its gotta I give You this. "I know it's not what you're used to," my father recalls, " but it's all we have. Weapons are hard to come by for us, Eta."
  
  
  She went to a small cabinet in the corner of the room and knelt in front of it. The trousers clung to the smooth line of her thighs and buttocks, limiting the tautness of her flesh.
  
  
  She returned with a heavy pistol that glistened with a black, oily sheen. She handed him his ego, along with two spare clips. "It's very heavy. It couldn't be used by the ego alone. It has been hidden since the occupation. I think it's in good condition. I guess some YANKEE traded ego cigarettes and beer or a girl."
  
  
  It was an old Colt .45, 1911. Nick hadn't shot him in a long time, but he was familiar with him. The weapon was notoriously inaccurate at more than fifty yards, but within that range, it could stop a bull. In fact, it was designed to stop outrages in the Philippines.
  
  
  He released the full clip and checked the safety devices, then tossed the cartridges onto the pillow of the bed. They lay thick and blunt and deadly, the copper gleaming in the light. Nick checked the seat springs in all the clamps. They'll do. Just like the old .45-it wasn't a Wilhelmina, of course, but there was no other gun. And he could have done away with the Hugo stiletto that clung to Ego's right hand in its suede spring scabbard, but it didn't. Emu had to use improvised means. He tucked the Colt into his belt and buttoned his raincoat over it. It was swollen, but not too much.
  
  
  Tonaka watched him closely. He could feel her approval in her dark eyes. In fact, the girl was more optimistic. She knew the professional when she saw him.
  
  
  She handed Em a small leather key ring. "There's a Datsun in the parking lot behind the San-ai Department store. Are you an ego you know?"
  
  
  "I know that." It was a tubular building, not far from Ginza, like a massive rocket on its pad.
  
  
  Good. Vote license number". She handed Em a piece of paper. "The car can be monitored. I don't think so, but maybe. You just need to take this chance. Do you know how to get out in the Sanya area?"
  
  
  "I think so. Take the freeway to Shava Even, then pull off and walk to the baseball stadium. Cut straight to Meiji Even, and it should lead me somewhere near the Namidabashi Bridge. Really?"
  
  
  She came up to him and licked him. "Absolutely fantastic.
  
  
  You know Tokyo well."
  
  
  "Not as good as it should be, but I can make it out. It's like New York - they tear everything down and rebuild."
  
  
  Tonaka was now licking, almost touching him. Her smile was sad. "Not in the Sanya area - it's still a slum. You'll probably have to park your car near the bridge and go inside. There aren't many banners."
  
  
  He saw slums all over the outdoor pool. I've seen and smelled manure, filth, and human garbage. Dogs that ate their own excrement. Babies who will never have a chance, and old people waiting to die without dignity. Kunizo Matu, who was an Eta, Burakumin, must treat his people very strongly to return to a place like Sanya to die.
  
  
  It was in his hands. She pressed her slender body against the ego of the special hard body. He was surprised to see tears glistening in her long, almond-shaped eyes.
  
  
  "Then go," she said to the emu. "God be with you. I did everything I could, obeying my noble father in every detail. Will you give emu my - my respects?"
  
  
  Nick was holding her gently. She was shivering, and her hair smelled faintly of sandalwood.
  
  
  "Just your respects? Not your love?"
  
  
  She didn't look at him. She shook her head. “no. Just like I say. But don't think about it - this is between my father and me. You and I are different." She moved away from him a little. "I have a promise, Nick. Her, I hope you'll make me do it."
  
  
  "I'll do it."
  
  
  He kissed her. Her mouth was fragrant, soft, moist, and pliable, like a rose button. As he'd suspected, she wasn't wearing a bra, and he could feel her breasts pressing against him. For a moment they were shoulder-to-knee, and her trembling increased and her breathing became rough. Then she pushed him away. "No way! Must not. The voice and all-passageways, its gonna show you how to leave this place. Don't bother to remember that - you won't be coming back here."
  
  
  As they left through the rooms, it dawned on him. "How about this body?"
  
  
  "This is our concern. This is not the first thing we get rid of - when the time comes, we will throw the ego into the harbor."
  
  
  Five minutes later, Nick Carter felt the light touch of April rain on his face. In fact, it was hardly more than a fog, and after the cramped basement, it was cool and soothing. There was a hint of chill in the air, and he fastened the old cloak around his neck.
  
  
  Tonaka joins Ego in the alley. The dark, murky sky overhead reflected the glow of the Ginza neon lights half a block away. It was late, but the street was still swaying. As he walked, Nick smelled the two smells he associated with Tokyo-hot noodles, and freshly poured concrete. To his right was an abandoned flat space where a new basement was being dug out. The concrete smell was stronger. The cranes in the sky looked like sleeping storks in the rain.
  
  
  He stepped out into the alley and turned back toward Ginza. He got off a block away from the Nichigeki Theater. He stopped in a corner and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag, letting his eyes wander and take in the frenetic scene. Around three o'clock in the morning, Ginza had cooled down a bit, but she wasn't frozen yet. The traffic flow has thinned out, but it has accumulated. people were still streaming up and down this fantastic street. The noodle vendors were still blowing their trumpets. Cheeky music streamed through the thousands. Somewhere, the samisen rang softly. Mimmo flew a late tram. Above it all, as if the sky were oozing with colorful rivulets, a bright surf of neon washed over it. Tokyo. Arrogant, rowdy, bastard of the West. Generated by the rape of a decent Oriental girl.
  
  
  Mimmo passed a rickshaw tower, running wearily with his head bowed. The Yankee sailor and the cute Japanese woman were in a tight embrace. Nick smiled. You've never seen anything like this before. Rickshaws. They were as old-fashioned as clogs or kimonos and obis. Young Japan was fashionable - and there were a lot of hippies.
  
  
  High to the right, open under the clouds, the warning light on the Tokyo Tower in parque Shiba was flashing. Across the street, the bright neon saint of the Chase Manhattan branch told Emu in Japanese and English that he had another one. Nick's smile was a little sour. He doubted that S-M would help much with the ego of the current situation. He lit another cigarette and walked away. Ego's peripheral vision was excellent, and he saw two neat little policemen in blue uniforms and white gloves coming up to his left. They walked slowly, swinging their clubs and talking to each other, quite casually and harmless, but there was no point in taking any chances.
  
  
  Nick walked a couple of blocks away, never looking up from his trail. Nothing. He suddenly felt very hungry, and stopped at the brightly lit tempura bar and ate a huge platter of vegetables and prawns fried in batter. He left the yen on the stone crossbar and went out. No one paid him the slightest attention.
  
  
  He went out on the Ginzi, followed the alley, and entered the Sun-ai parking lot from the rear. Sodium lamps cast a dark green haze over a dozen cars.
  
  
  Voice. The black Datsun was right where Tonaka said it was. He checked his license, rolled up the paper to find another cigarette, then got in and drove off with me. Our lights, our shadows of the car behind him. So far, he seemed to be fine.
  
  
  When he sat down, heavy .The knife sank into the emu's groin. He laid his ego on the seat next to him.
  
  
  He drove carefully, observing the 32-kilometer speed limit, until he reached the new expressway and headed north. Then he raised the speed to 50 kilometers per hour, which was still within the night. It obeyed all road signs and signals. The rain had picked up, and he was pushing up the driver's window almost to the top. As the small car grew stuffy, he could smell the smoke and dirt from the Fremont suit. There was a bit of crazy traffic in Tokyo at this hour, and he didn't see any police cars. He was grateful. If the cops stopped ego, even for a routine checkup, it would be a little harder to look and smell like him. And an explanation would be difficult with a gun .45 caliber. Nick knew the Tokyo police department from past experience. They were tough and effective - they were also known for throwing a person in a stone bag and easily forgetting the ego for a few days.
  
  
  He passed Ueno Park to his left. Beisubooru Stadium is not far away. He decided to park his car at the Minowa station on the Joban line and cross the Namidabashi Bridge in Sanya, where criminals were executed in the old days.
  
  
  The small commuter station was dark and deserted in the whining rainy night. There was only one car in the parking lot, an old clunker with no tires. Nick locked the datsun, checked his .45-caliber pistol again, and tucked ego into his belt. He pulled down his battered hat, turned up his collar, and trudged out into the dark rain. Somewhere a dog howled wearily , a cry of loneliness and despair in that lonely hour before morning. Nick moved on. Tonaka gave emu a flashlight, and he used ego from time to time. The street signs were random, parts missing, but he had a general idea of where in the hall. and ego's sense of direction was sharp.
  
  
  After crossing the Namidabashi Bridge, he found himself in Sanya itself. A gentle breeze from the Sumida River ness the industrial stench from the surrounding ee factory. Another heavy and pungent smell hung in the damp air - the smell of old dried blood and rotting intestines. Combat vehicles. There were a lot of ih in Sanya, and he remembered that a lot of eta people, burakumins, were busy killing animals and skinning them. One of the few disgusting jobs available to them as a class.
  
  
  He went to the corner. He should be here right now. There was a row of flophouses. A paper sign, protected from the weather and lit by an oil lamp, offered a bed for 20 yen. Five cents.
  
  
  He was the only person in this desolation. Gray rain hissed softly and splashed against Ego's ancient cloak. Nick figured he should be about a block away from his destination. That didn't mean much, because now em had to admit that he was lost. Unless Tonaka made contact, boss, just like she promised.
  
  
  "Carter-san?"
  
  
  A sigh, a whisper, an imaginary sound in mourning the never-existing rain? Nick tensed, one hand on the cold butt of the .45, and looked around. Nothing. Us Odin. Nobody.
  
  
  "Carter-san?"
  
  
  Stahl's voice is higher, high-pitched, with the wind in it. Nick spoke into the night. “yeah. Her Carter-san. Where are you?"
  
  
  "This way, Carter-san, between the buildings. Go to the one with the lamp."
  
  
  Nick pulled the Colt from his belt and released the safety catch on Ego. He walked over to where an oil lamp was burning on the paper sign.
  
  
  "Here, Carter-san. Look down. Under you."
  
  
  There was a narrow space between the buildings with three steps leading down. A man was sitting at the bottom of the steps, wearing a straw raincoat.
  
  
  Nick stopped at the top of the stairs. "Can I use it, saint?"
  
  
  "Just for one second, Carter-san. It's dangerous."
  
  
  "How do you know I'm Carter-san?" Nick whispered.
  
  
  He couldn't see the old shoulders stinging under the mat, but he guessed. "This is a chance I'm taking, but she said you'd come. And, if you are Carter-san, he should direct you to Kunizo Matu. If you're not Carter-san, it's you alone around them, and you'll be killing me."
  
  
  "Her Carter-san. Where's Kunizo Matu?"
  
  
  He took a moment's step toward the stairs. Bright beady eyes reflected the glitter. A wisp of gray hair, an ancient face scorched by time and trouble. He crouched down under the mat as soon as Time came. He didn't have twenty yen for a bed. But he lived, he spoke, he helped his people.
  
  
  Nick extinguished the brylev. "Where?"
  
  
  "Go down the stairs mimmo me and sincerely back down the hall. As much as possible. Beware of dogs. They sleep here, and they are wild and hungry. At the end of this passageway, there is another passageway. straight ahead - go as far as possible. It's a big house, bigger than you think, and there's a red brylev burning outside the door. Go, Carter-san.
  
  
  Nick pulled out a crisp bill around Mr. Fremont's dirty wallet. He pawned it
  
  
  it's under the mat when he passed. "Thank you, Papa-san. This is money. It will be easier for your old bones to lie in the trash."
  
  
  "Arigato, Carter-san."
  
  
  "Itashimashite!"
  
  
  Nick moved cautiously down the corridor, his fingers touching the ramshackle buildings on either side. The smell was terrible, and he stepped into the sticky mud. He accidentally kicked the dog, but the creature just whined and crawled away.
  
  
  He turned and continued on for what he estimated to be half a block. Huts closed in on either side, piles of tin, paper, and old packing crates - anything that could be salvaged or stolen and used to build a home. From time to time, he would see a dim saint or hear a child crying. Rain mourned the inhabitants, batay burak, rags and bone-breakers of life. The skinny cat spat at Nick and ran off into the night.
  
  
  He saw it then. A dull red saint for a paper door. Prominent only if you ego wanted to. He smiled sourly and thought briefly of his youth in a Midwestern town where the girls from the Real Silk Factory on the dell itself kept red lights in their windows.
  
  
  The rain, suddenly caught by the wind, hit him with a tattoo on a paper map. Nick knocked lightly. He took a step back, a step to the right, the Colt preparing to throw the lead into the night. The strange sense of fantasy, of unreality that had haunted the ego of the ferret with them, as if he had been drugged, was now gone. He was now an AXEman. He was a Killmaster. And it worked.
  
  
  The paper door slid open with a slight sigh, and a huge, dim figure took its place.
  
  
  "Nick?"
  
  
  It was Kunizo Matu's voice, but it wasn't. It wasn't the voice Ego had remembered for so many years. It was an old voice, a sick voice, and it kept saying,"Nick?"
  
  
  "Yes, Kunizo. Nick Carter. I understand that you want to see me."
  
  
  All things considered, Nick thought, that was probably the understatement of the century.
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  The houses were dimly lit by paper lanterns. "It's not that I follow the old ways," Kunizo told Matou as he led ego into an inner room. "Poor consecration is an advantage in this area. Especially now that he's declared his own little war on the Chinese Communists. Did my daughter tell you about it?"
  
  
  "A little," Nick said. "Not too much. She said you'd clear it up." She'd like you to do it. There are a lot of things that puzzle me."
  
  
  The room was well proportioned and decorated in a Japanese style. Straw mats, a low tatami table, flowers moaning on rice paper, soft pillows around the chair. There were small glasses and a bottle of saki on the table.
  
  
  Matou pointed to the pillow. "You'll have to sit on the floor, my old friend. But first, did you bring my locket?" I really appreciate her ego, and I want it to be with me when she dies." It was a simple statement of fact without sentimentality.
  
  
  Nick fished the locket around his pocket and handed it to Em. If it wasn't for Tonaka, he would have forgotten about it. She said to the emu,"The old man will ask for it."
  
  
  Matu took the gold and jade disc and put the ego in a drawer on a chair. He sat down across from Nick and reached for a bottle of saki. "We won't stand on ceremony, my old friend, but there's time for a little drink to remember all the yesterdays. It was good that you came."
  
  
  Nick smiled. "I had very little choice, Kunizo. Did she tell you how she and her fellow scouts brought me here?"
  
  
  "She told me. She's a very dutiful daughter, but I don't really want her to go to such extremes. Perhaps he was a little overly engrossed in his instructions. Its just hoping that she can convince you." He poured saki into each of the eggshell cups.
  
  
  Nick Carter shrugged. "She's convinced me. Forget it. Kunizo. He would have come anyway as soon as he realized the seriousness of the matter. It's just that I might have a little trouble explaining things to my boss."
  
  
  Matou handed Emu a cup of saki.
  
  
  "You know what?"
  
  
  Matu nodded and drank some saki. He was still as complex as a sumo wrestler, but now age had wrapped his ego in a loose mantle, and his features were too sharp. Ego's eyes were deep-set, with huge bags under them, and they burned with fever and whatever else was eating at him.
  
  
  He nodded again. "I always knew a lot more than you suspected, Nick. About you and AX. You knew me as a friend, as your karate and judo teacher. He worked for Japanese Intelligence."
  
  
  "That's what Tonaka told me."
  
  
  “yeah. Her told hey it's finally over. What she couldn't tell you, because she doesn't know - very few people do - is that I've been a double agent all these years. He also worked for the British.
  
  
  Nick sipped his saki. He wasn't particularly surprised, even though it was news to him. He kept his eyes on the short Swedish K machine gun that Mat had brought - it was lying on the table-and said nothing. Mato rode thousands of miles to talk to him. When he's ready, he'll do it. Nick waited.
  
  
  Mato wasn't ready to start reviewing the case yet. He stared at the bottle of saki. Rain plays metal ragtime on the roof. Someone coughed somewhere in the house. Nick
  
  
  he cocked his ear and looked at the big man.
  
  
  "Slave. Good boy. We can trust emus."
  
  
  Nick refilled his cup of saki and lit a cigarette. Mato refused. "My doctor doesn't allow it. He's a liar and says I'll live a long time." He patted his huge belly. "I know better. This cancer is eating me alive. Did my daughter mention it?"
  
  
  "Something around that." The doctor was a liar. Killmaster knew death when it was written in the person's name.
  
  
  Kunizo Matu sighed. "I give myself six months. I don't have much time to do what I would like to do. Sorry. But then, hers, I guess it's always like this - someone slows down, procrastinates and procrastinates, and then one day Death comes and time is gone. Her ... "
  
  
  Gently, very gently, Nick nudged him. "I understand her something, Kunizo. What-what is not. About your people and how you came back to them, the Burakumin, and how you and your daughter are not doing well. Its know you're tryin ' to fix it before you die. All my sympathy goes out to you, Kunizo, and you know that in our profession, sympathy is hard to come by. But we've always been honest and straightforward with each other - you have to get on with the Kunizo case! What do you want from me?" "
  
  
  Matu sighed heavily. He smelled a strange smell, and Nick thought it was the real smell of cancer. He'd read that some of their software really stank.
  
  
  "You're right," Mato said. "Just like in the old days - you were usually right. So listen carefully. I told you that I was a double agent working for both our intelligence service and Britain's MI5. Well, MI5 met her with a man named Cecil Aubrey. Back then, he was just a junior officer. He's a knight now, or soon will be ... Sir Cecil Aubrey! Now, even after all these years, I still have a lot of contacts. It was maintained by ih in good condition, you might say. For an old man, Nick, for a dying man, I know very well what's going on in the world. In our world. Underground espionage. A few months ago ... "
  
  
  Kunizo Matu spoke firmly for half an hour. Nick Carter listened intently, only interrupting now and then to ask a corkscrew. He mostly drank saki, smoked one cigarette after another, and fondled the Swedish K machine gun. It was an elegant car.
  
  
  Kunizo Matu said, " You see, old yet, it's a complicated corkscrew. I don't have any official connections anymore, so I'm hers, organized women, and I'm doing the best I can. It's frustrating at times. Especially now that we're facing a double conspiracy. She was sure that Richard Filston had come to Tokyo not only to organize a sabotage campaign and a power outage. It's not just that. Much more than that. My humble opinion is that the Russians are going to somehow trick the Chinese, trick ih and throw it in the soup."
  
  
  Nick's smile was hard. "Ancient Chinese duck soup recipe-catch the duck first!"
  
  
  He Stahl is doubly wary at the first mention of Richard Filston's name. Catching Philston, even killing ego, would have been a stroke of luck for the ages. It was hard to believe that this man would leave the safety of Russia just to watch a sabotage ploy, no matter how big it was for us. Kunizo was right about that. It must be something else.
  
  
  He refilled his cup of saki. "Are you sure Philston is in Tokyo? Now?"
  
  
  The fat body shuddered as the old man shrugged his big shoulders. "How positive ble is to behave in this email business is revealed. Yes. He's here. He tracked her down and then lost her. He knows all the tricks. Her, I believe, even Johnny Chow, the leader of the local Chinese agents. At the moment, he doesn't know where Philston is in the gym. And they should work closely together ."
  
  
  "So Filston has his own people. His own organization, not counting the Chicomes?
  
  
  Another shrug. "I suppose so. A small group. It should be small to avoid attention. Philston will act independently. He will have no connection with the Russian embassy here. If the ego is caught doing this - whatever it is doing to us-they will disown it ."
  
  
  Nick thought for a moment. "Well, the location is still at 1 Azabu Mamiana?"
  
  
  "The same thing. But watching ih embassy is useless. For several days now, my girls have been on a round-the-clock watch. Nothing."
  
  
  The front door started to open. Gradually. One inch at a time. The gutters were well oiled, and the door made no sound to us.
  
  
  "So there you are," Kunizo told Mata. "I can handle a sabotage plot. I can gather evidence and hand ih over to the police at the last moment. They will listen to me, because even though I don't act on it anymore, I can still apply some pressure to it. But there's nothing I can do about Richard Filston, and he's a real danger. This game is too big for me. The voice is why he sent for you, why the locket sent her, why I'm asking her now what he thought I'd never ask him. That you pay the debt ."
  
  
  He suddenly leaned across the table toward Nick. "Debt / never demanded, mind you! It was you, Nick, who always insisted that you owe me for your life."
  
  
  "It's true. I don't like debt. I'll pay her if I can. Do you want Richard Filston to find her and kill ego? "
  
  
  
  Matou's eyes lit up. "I don't care what you do with it. Kill the ego. Turn Ego over to our police, take him back to the States. Indulge the ego of the Brits. It's all the same to me."
  
  
  The front door was now open. Heavy rain soaked the hall mat. The man slowly moved into the inner room. The pistol in his hand glinted dully.
  
  
  "MI5 knows that Philston is in the hall in Tokyo," Matu said. "I took care of it. I told Cecil Aubrey about it a minute ago. He knows. He'll know what to do."
  
  
  Nick wasn't particularly pleased. "This means that I can work for all British agents. So will the CIA, if it officially turns to us for help. Things can get confusing. I love working alone as much as possible."
  
  
  The man was already halfway down the hall. Carefully, he removed the safety catch on the gun.
  
  
  Nick Carter stood up and stretched. He was suddenly tired to the bone. "All right, Kunizo. We'll leave it at that. I'll try to find Filston. When I leave here, I'll be alone. So that he doesn't get too confused, I'll forget about Johnny Chow, the Chinese, and the sabotage plot. You can handle this angle. I'll focus on Filston. When I get his ego, if I get hers, then I'll decide what to do with it. Ok? "
  
  
  Matu also got up. He nodded, and ego's chins quivered. "As you say, Nick. Good. I think it's best to concentrate and narrow down the issues. But now I have to show you something. Tonaka let you see the body in the place where you were first taken away?"
  
  
  The person in the hall, I stand in the dark, could see the dim silhouettes of two men in the inner room. They just got up from their chair.
  
  
  Nick said, " She did it. Gentleman, name Sadanaga. I must go into the harbor at any time."
  
  
  Matou went to a small lacquered cabinet in the corner. He leaned forward with a grunt, his big head swaying. "Your memory is as good as ever, Nick. But the ego name doesn't matter. Even the death of the ego. It is not the first and will not be the last. But I'm glad you saw, ego, the body. This and this will serve to explain how tough Johnny Chow and the Chinese ego are playing the game."
  
  
  He placed the little Buddha on a chair. It was made of bronze, about a foot high. Matou touched it, and the front half swung open on small hinges. Sergei glinted on the many tiny blades embedded inside the statue.
  
  
  "They call it the Blood Buddha," Matu said. "I try to have an idea brought up to date. And not quite Eastern, you know, because it's a version of Iron Maiden that was used in Europe in medieval times. They place the sacrifice in a Buddha and cover it up with nen. sure, a thousand knives really, but what does it matter? He bleeds very slowly, because the blades are very cunningly positioned, and they don't seem to pierce too deeply or touch a vital spot. Not a very pleasant death ."
  
  
  The door to the room opened, just an inch.
  
  
  Nick had the picture. "The Chicomes are forcing Eta people to join the Blood Buddha Society?"
  
  
  "Yes." Matou shook his head sadly. "Some still oppose them. Not many of them. The Eta, the Burakumin, are a minority, and they don't have many ways to fight back. The Chicoms use jobs, political pressure, money - but mostly terror. They are very smart. They force men to join Society through terrorism, threats to their wives and children. Then, if the men back down, if they regain their manhood and try to fight back , you'll see what happens ." He pointed at the small death Buddha on the table. "So I sent a letter to women, and with some success, because Chicoms hasn't figured out how to treat women yet. I made this model to show women what would happen to them if ih got caught."
  
  
  Nick loosened the .45 colt in his belt, which had been stuck in his life. "You're the one who's worried, Kunizo. But I know what you mean-the Chikomas will cut down Tokyo and burn ego to the ground, and blame it on your people, Eta."
  
  
  The door behind them was now half open.
  
  
  "The sad truth, Nick, is that many of my people are really rioting. Oni rob and burn to protest poverty and discrimination. They are a natural tool for Chicomes. Ih try to reason with her, but I don't have much success. My people are very fierce."
  
  
  Nick pulled on an old raincoat. “yeah. But that's your problem, Kunizo. My job is to find Richard Filston. So I'll go to work, and the sooner the better. One thing, I thought it might help me. What do you think Filston's really up to?" "Ego is the real reason to be in Tokyo? That might give me a starting point."
  
  
  Silence. The door stopped moving behind them.
  
  
  Matu said: "It's just a guess, Nick. Crazy stuff. You have to understand that. Laugh if you want, but I think Philston is in the gym in Tokyo to..."
  
  
  In the silence behind them, the gun laughed and coughed. It was an old-fashioned Luger with a silencer and a relatively low muzzle velocity. A brutal 9mm gawk tore off most of Kunizo Matou's face. The target's ego jerked back. His body, loaded with fat, didn't move.
  
  
  He then fell forward, smashing the table into shards, spilling blood on totami, crushing the Buddha model.
  
  
  By then, Nick Carter had hit the deck and was rolling to the right. He sat up, the colt in his hand. He saw an indistinct figure, a blurry shadow receding into the day. Nick fired at the squat.
  
  
  EKATERINA M-BLAM-TITOVA M-BLAM
  
  
  The Colt bellowed like a canon in the silence. The shadow disappeared, and Nick heard shaggy tapping on hali. He followed the sound.
  
  
  The shadow was just coming out of the door. BLAM-BLAM. The heavy .45 evoked echoes. And the surrounding area. Carter knew he only had a few minutes, maybe seconds, to get the hell out of there. He didn't look back at his old friend. It's all over now.
  
  
  He ran out into the rain and the first false hint of dawn. There was just enough light to see the killer turn left, following the way he and Nick had come. It was probably the only way back and forth. Nick ran after him. He didn't fire again. It was pointless, and he already had a nagging sense of failure. The bastard was going to run away.
  
  
  When he reached the bend, there was no one in sight. Nick ran down the narrow passageway that led back to the flophouses, slipping and sliding in the mud under his feet. There were voices all around him now. Babies cry. Women ask questions. The men move and look surprised.
  
  
  On the stairs, the old beggar was still hiding under the rain mat. Nick touched Ego's shoulder. "Papa-san! You saw..."
  
  
  The old man fell like a broken doll. The ugly wound in his throat stared back at Nick with a silent and reproachful mouth. The rug beneath it was drenched in red. In one gnarled hand, he still clutched the crisp bill Nick had given Em.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Papa-san." Nick jumped up the steps. Despite the rain, it was getting brighter by the minute. He had to get out of there. Quickly! There's no point in hanging around here. The killer had slipped away, disappearing into the maze of slums, and Kunizo Matu was dead, he'd been tricked. Take it from there.
  
  
  Police cars entered the street from opposite directions, and two of them carefully blocked the escape route. Two flashlights stopped the ego like a moth in a traffic jam.
  
  
  "Tomarinasai!"
  
  
  Nick stopped walking. It smelled like a setup, and he was in the middle of it all. Someone used the phone, and the timing was good. He dropped the colt and threw Ego down the stairs. If he could get ih's attention, there was a chance they wouldn't see it. Or find a dead beggar. Think fast, Carter! He really thought quickly and got down to business. He raised his hands and walked slowly towards the nearest police car. He can get away with it. He had drunk enough Rivnenskaya sacchi to smell it.
  
  
  He walked between two cars. They were stopped now, engines purring softly, turret lights flashing around and around. Nick blinked in the headlights. He frowned, managed to stagger a little. He was Pete Fremont now, and emu had better not forget that. If they throw the ego in the sneezer, emu thread. A hawk in a rabbit cage doesn't catch rabbits.
  
  
  "What the hell is all this, tailor? What's happening? People are beating all over the house, the cops are stopping me! What the hell is going on?" Pitt Fremont was angry, and even angrier.
  
  
  A police officer got out of each car and entered the bathroom of the world. Both were small and neat. Both of them had Nambu pistols, big ones, and they were pointed at Nick Pete.
  
  
  The lieutenant looked at the big American and bowed slightly. Lieutenant! He wrote it down. Lieutenants didn't usually drive marching cars.
  
  
  "Oh namae wa?
  
  
  "Pete Fremont. Can I put it in my hands now, Officer?" It's hard to be sarcastic.
  
  
  The other copp, a heavily built man with sharp teeth, gave Nick a quick search. He nodded to the lieutenant. Nick let his saki breath spill into the cop's face and saw him wince.
  
  
  "All right," the lieutenant said. "Hands down. Kokuseki y?"
  
  
  Nick swayed a little. "America-gin". He said it proudly, triumphantly, as if he was going to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
  
  
  He hiccupped. "American Gene, hey God, and don't forget it. If you monkeys think you're going to kick me..."
  
  
  The lieutenant looked bored. Drunk Yankees are not new to him. He held out his hand. "Papers, please."
  
  
  Nick Carter handed the wallet to Mr. Fremont and said a little prayer.
  
  
  The lieutenant was rummaging through his wallet, holding the ego in front of one of the lighthouse girls. The other copp was now standing off to the side of the world, holding Nicky's gun. They knew their stuff, these Tokyo cops.
  
  
  The lieutenant glanced at Nick. "Tokyo, but juho y?"
  
  
  Christ! Ego address in Tokyo? The address is from Fremont in Tokyo. He had no idea. All he could do was lie and hope. Ego, the brain clicked like a computer, and he came up with something that might work.
  
  
  "I don't live in Tokyo," he said. "I'm in Japan on business. I stopped by last night. I live in Seoul. Korea". He frantically racked his brain for an address in Seoul. It was! Sally Soo's house.
  
  
  "Where in Seoul?"
  
  
  The lieutenant walked over to Lick, carefully examining Ego from head to toe, judging by ego's clothing and smell. Ego's half-smile was arrogant. Who are you trying to fool, Saksky r-gol?
  
  
  "19 Dongjadeon, Jeongguk." Nick grinned and exhaled the Saka r-lieutenant. "Look, Buster. You'll know I'm telling the truth." He let the moan creep into his ego voice: "Look, what's all this about? I didn't do anything to her. Her just came here to see a girl. Then, as he was leaving, the shooting started. Now, you guys..."
  
  
  The lieutenant looked at him with mild bewilderment. Nick's spirits rose. Kopp was going to buy the story. Thank God he'd gotten rid of the Colt. But he might still be in trouble if they start sneaking around.
  
  
  "Have you had a drink?" It was a rhetorical spin.
  
  
  Nick swayed and hiccupped again. I drank some of it. I always drink it when I'm with my girlfriend. What about this?"
  
  
  "Did you hear the shooting?? Where?"
  
  
  Nick shrugged. "I do not know exactly where. You can bet I didn't go investigate! All I know is that I was just leaving my girlfriend's house, minding my own business, and all of a sudden bang-bang! " He stopped and looked suspiciously at the lieutenant. "Hey! Why did you people get here so quickly? You were expecting trouble, huh?"
  
  
  The lieutenant frowned. "I'm asking questions, Mr. Fremont. But we did get a report of unrest here. As you can see, this area is not for the best." He looked at Nick again, noting the shabby suit, rumpled hat, and raincoat. The expressions on their faces confirmed the ego's view that Mr. Pitt Fremont belonged to this neighborhood. The phone call to Della Street itself was anonymous and sparse. In half an hour, there will be problems in the Sanya area, near the flophouse. Shooting problems. The caller was a law-abiding Japanese and thought the police should know. A voice and all - and the click of a softly replaced phone.
  
  
  The lieutenant scratched his chin and looked around. Sergey Ross. A jumble of shacks and shacks stretched into Paris in all directions. It was a maze, and he knew he wouldn't find anything in nen. He didn't have enough people to properly ask, even if he knew what he wanted. And the police, when they ever ventured into the jungle at all, Sanya, soles in fours and fives. He looked at the big drunk American. Fremont? Pitt Fremont? The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't tell anyone's ego. Did it matter? The Yankees probably broke on the beach, and there were plenty like him in Tokyo or any big city in the East. He was living with some whore named Sania. So what? It wasn't a violation of the law.
  
  
  Nick waited patiently. It was a time to keep my mouth shut. He followed the lieutenant's thoughts. The officer was going to let go of ego.
  
  
  The lieutenant was about to return Nick's wallet when the radio in one of the cars rang. Someone called softly to the lieutenant. He turned away, still holding his wallet. "Just a moment, please." Tokyo cops are always polite. Nick swore under his breath. It was getting damn bright! They were going to notice the dead beggar, and then everything would surely amaze the fans.
  
  
  The lieutenant returned. Nick felt a little uneasy as he realized the expression on the man's face. He'd seen it before. The cat knows where the cute fat canary is found.
  
  
  The lieutenant opened his wallet again. "You say your name is Pete Fremont?"
  
  
  Nick looked puzzled. At the same time, he took a small step licking towards the lieutenant. Something went wrong. Totally wrong. He began to make a new plan.
  
  
  He pointed to the wallet and said indignantly, " Yes, Pete Fremont. Owl for Heaven's sake. Listen to what it is! Am I trying third degree? This won't work. I know my rights. or let me go. And if you charge me, I'll put the American ambassador on the phone and -"
  
  
  The lieutenant smiled and jumped. "I'm sure the ambassador will be happy to hear from you, sir. I think you'll have to come with us to the train station. There seems to have been a very curious mix-up. A man was found dead in Ego's apartment. . A man who is also called Pete Fremont, and who was known as Pitt Fremont by his girlfriend. "
  
  
  Nick tried to explode. He moved a few more inches of licking toward the man.
  
  
  "So what? I didn't say I was the only Pete Fremont in the world. It's just a mistake."
  
  
  The little lieutenant didn't bow this time. He bowed his head very politely and said: "I'm sure it is. But please accompany us to the train station until we solve this corkscrew." He pointed to the other cop, who was still covering for Nick Nambu.
  
  
  Nick Carter moved quickly and smoothly to the lieutenant's side. Kopp, though surprised, was well-trained, and took up a defensive judo stance, relaxing as he waited for Nick to lunge at him. Kunizo Matu taught Nick that a year ago.
  
  
  Nick stopped walking. He offered his right hand as
  
  
  When the cop tried to squeeze Ego's wrist for a throw over his shoulder, Nick pulled his hand away and slammed it hard left into the man's solar plexus. He had to get closer before the other cops started shooting.
  
  
  Dazed, the lieutenant slumped forward, and Nick caught up with Ego and followed at a heartbeat's pace. He got a full nelson and lifted the man off the ground. It weighed no more than 120-130 pounds. Spreading his legs wide so that the man couldn't kick Ego in the groin, Nick backed up the steps that led to the flophouse pass. It was the only way out now. A small policeman dangled in front of him, an effective bulletproof shield.
  
  
  Now three policemen are against him. The floodlights were the faint rays of a dead world at dawn.
  
  
  Nick backed cautiously toward the stairs. "Stay away," he warned ih. "You throw yourself at me and I'll break the emu's neck!"
  
  
  The lieutenant tried to kick ego, and Nick pushed a little. The bones in the lieutenant's thin neck clicked together. He groaned and stopped kicking.
  
  
  "He's fine," Nick told them, " she hasn't been called to the emu yet." Let's leave it at that."
  
  
  Where the hell was that first step?
  
  
  The three policemen stopped following him. Odin around them ran to the car and started talking rapidly into the radio microphone. Call for help. Nick didn't mind. He hadn't planned on being around.
  
  
  Ego beginnings have touched the first rung. Good. Now, if he didn't make mistakes, he had a chance.
  
  
  He frowned at the cops. They kept their distance.
  
  
  "Her beru ego is with you," Nick said. "Down this corridor behind me. Try to follow me and he'll get hurt. Stay here like good little cops and he'll be fine. At your discretion. Sayonara!"
  
  
  He went down the steps. Down below, he was out of sight of the cops. He could feel the old beggar's body at his feet. He suddenly pushed, tilted the lieutenant's head forward, and hit his ego on the neck with karate punches. Ego's thumb was stretched out stiffly, and he felt a slight shock as the blade cut through the callused flesh of ego's hand and into the scrawny neck. He dropped a man.
  
  
  The Colt was partially lying under the dead beggar. Nick picked up his ego-the butt was sticky with the old man's blood-and ran down the hall. He held the Colt in his right hand, stepping forward. No one in the area was going to get in the way of a math major carrying a cannon.
  
  
  It was only a matter of seconds now. He didn't go out through the Sanya jungle, he went in, and the ego police won't find him. The huts were all around paper, wood, or tin, fragile fire traps, and you just had to bulldoze your way through.
  
  
  He turned straight again and ran towards Matou's house. He ran through the front door, still open, and continued through the inner room. Kunizo was covered in his own blood. Nick kept walking.
  
  
  He smashed through the paper door. A dark face peeked out from under the rug on the floor, startled. A slave. Too scared to get up and explore. Nick kept walking.
  
  
  He put his hands in front of his face and punched through the wall. Paper and fragile wood are torn off with a slight complaint. Nick was starting to feel like a tank.
  
  
  He crossed a small open courtyard littered with junk. There was another wall around the wood and paper. He sank into nah, leaving the outline of his large body in the gaping cleavage. The room was empty. It slammed forward, over another wall, into another room-or maybe it was another house - and both the man and the woman stared in amazement at the bed on the floor. A child lay between them.
  
  
  Nick touched his hat with a finger. "I'm sorry." He ran.
  
  
  He ran through six houses, shooed three dogs aside, and caught one couple copulating before he came out on a narrow, winding street that led somewhere else. It suited my ego. Somewhere away from the cops who were wandering around and cursing behind their backs. The ego afterward was obvious enough, but the cops were polite and dignified, and had to do everything in Japanese. They will never catch the ego.
  
  
  An hour later, he crossed the Namidabashi Bridge and was approaching Minowa Station, where he left the Datsun in the parking lot. The station was crowded with the first workers. There were a lot of cars in the parking lot, and queues were already forming at the ticket offices.
  
  
  Nick didn't go openly into the station grounds. A small buffet was already opened across the street, and it's el cocacora, I want it to be something stronger. It was a harsh night.
  
  
  He could see the top of the Datsun. No one seemed particularly interested. He paused on his Coke and let his eyes wander over the crowd, sifting and sizing it up. No cops. He could have sworn it.
  
  
  Not that that meant he wasn't already in it. Make it at home for free. He admitted that the cops would be the least of his ego's worries. The cops were pretty predictable. He'd dealt with the cops.
  
  
  Someone knew he was in Tokyo. Someone had followed him to Kunizo's, despite ego's best precautions. Someone killed Kunizo and framed Nick. It can be an accident, an accident. They might want to give the cops whatever they want, stop the chase and stop asking questions.
  
  
  They could. He didn't think so.
  
  
  Or did someone follow him to Sano? Was this a setup from the very beginning? Or, if not a setup, how did anyone know he was going to Kunizo's house? Nick could think of rheumatism for this corkscrew, and Emu didn't like it. This made emu feel a little sick. He fell in love with Tonaka.
  
  
  He headed for the parking lot. He wasn't going to decide anything while racking his brain over a suburban coke bar. Em had to go to work. Kunizo was dead, and he had no contact at the moment. Somewhere in a Tokyo haystack was a needle named Richard Filston, and Nick would have to find it. Quickly.
  
  
  He walked over to the Datsun and looked down. Passersby hissed sympathetically. Nick ignored ih. All four tires were cut to ribbons.
  
  
  The train came up. Nick headed for the cash register, reaching into his hip pocket. So he didn't have a car! He could take a train to Ueno Park and change trains to downtown Tokyo. Actually, it was better. The person in the car was restricted, was a good target, and was easy to follow.
  
  
  Ego's hand came out of his pocket empty. He didn't have a wallet. The Wallet Asks For Fremont. It was at the little policeman's.
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  A trail that looks like a bull moose on roller skates rushing through a garden.
  
  
  According to Hawke, this is an appropriate description of the trail left by Nick Carter. He was alone in his office, Aubrey and Terence had just left, and after he finished going through the stack of yellow papers, he spoke to Delia Stokes on the intercom.
  
  
  "Cancel the red APB for Nick, Delia. Turn the ego yellow. Everyone is ready to offer any help if he asks for it, but do not interfere. The ego cannot be recognized, monitored, or reported to nen. Absolutely no interference unless he asks for help.
  
  
  "Understood, sir."
  
  
  "Actually. Remove it immediately."
  
  
  Hawk turned off the intercom and leaned back, taking off his cigar without looking at Nah. He was playing a guessing game. Nick Carter realized something-God might know, but Hawk definitely didn't - and decided to stay out of it. Let Nick decide everything on his own. If anyone in the world could take care of themselves, it was Killmaster.
  
  
  Hawk picked up one of the pieces of paper and examined it again. Ego's thin mouth, which reminded Nick of a wolf's mouth at times, twisted into a dry smile. Ames did a good job. It was all here, all the way to Tokyo International Airport.
  
  
  Nick, accompanied by four Japanese girl Scouts, boarded a Northwest Airlines flight to Washington. He was in a jovial mood and insisted on kissing the flight attendant and shaking the captain's hand. He was never truly unpleasant, or only mildly so, and it was only when he argued at the aisle dance that the second master was called in to soothe the ego. Later, he ordered champagne for all the passengers on the plane. He led the other passengers in song, declaring that he was a child of flowers, and that love was an ego thing.
  
  
  On the dell itself, the girl Scouts managed to control their egos pretty well, and the crew interviewed by Ames over a long distance acknowledged that the flight was bright and unusual. Not that they want to do it again.
  
  
  They spilled Nick into Tokyo International without any resistance and watched the girl Scouts take Ego to customs. Besides, they didn't know.
  
  
  Ames, still on the phone, assumed that Nick and the girl Scouts had played this game of packing and disappeared into the crazy thicket of Tokyo traffic. Vote and that's it.
  
  
  But that wasn't all. Hawk turned to another thin yellow sheet with his own notes on it.
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey, a little reluctantly, finally admitted that the ego tip about Richard Filston came from Kunizo Matu, a retired karate teacher now living in Tokyo. Aubrey didn't know exactly where in Tokyo.
  
  
  Matu lived in London for many years and worked for MI5.
  
  
  "We always suspected that he was calling him," Aubrey said. "We thought that he also worked for Jap Analytics, but we were never able to prove it. At the moment, we didn't care. Our, uh, interests didn't diverge, and he did a good job for us."
  
  
  Hawk pulled out some old files and started searching. His memory was almost perfect, but he liked to confirm it.
  
  
  Nick Carter knew Kunizo Mata in London and actually used the ego in several jobs. There was nothing else to learn from the fruitless reports. Nick Carter had a knack for handling personal matters, just like that - personal.
  
  
  Still-Hawk sighed and pushed aside the stack of papers. He stared at his watch, Western Union. It was a treacherous profession, and very rarely did the left hand know what the right hand was doing.
  
  
  Ames searched the apartment and found Nick's luger and stiletto stiletto in the mattress. "It was weird," Hawke said. He should feel naked without them.
  
  
  But girl Scouts! How the hell did they get into the case? Hawk started to laugh, which he did very rarely for medicinal purposes. Gradually he lost control and sat helplessly in the chair, ego's eyes watering and he laughed until ego's pectoral muscles started to contract than hurt.
  
  
  Delia Stokes didn't believe it at first. She looked in the door. Of course. The old man was sitting there laughing like a madman.
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  Everything happens for the first time. It was the first time Nick had ever begged. He had chosen his victim well - a well-dressed middle-aged man with an expensive-looking briefcase. He took fifty yen off the man who looked Nick up and down, wrinkled his nose, and reached in a minute. As he passed the note to Carter,he bowed slightly and tilted his black Homburg.
  
  
  Nick bowed to rheumatism. "Arigato, kandai o-sen."
  
  
  "Eroshii desu". The man turned away.
  
  
  Nick got off at Tokyo Station and walked west toward the palace. Tokyo's incredible traffic is already a meandering mass of taxis, trucks, clanking trams, and private cars. Mimmo flashed a motorcyclist in an emergency helmet with a girl clinging to the back seat. Kaminariyeku. Thunderstorm rocks.
  
  
  What now, Carter?" Our papers, our money. Wanted for questioning by the police. It was time to go underground for a while, if the emu had a place to go. He doubted that returning to the Electric Palace would do Emu much good. In any case, it's not that early.
  
  
  He felt the taxi pull up beside him, and ego's hand slid under his raincoat to the colt in his belt. "Sssttttt-Carter-san! Over here!"
  
  
  It was like one of the three strange sisters. Nick looked around quickly. It was a perfectly ordinary taxi, and there didn't seem to be any followers. He went in. It might take a few yen.
  
  
  How she huddled in her corner. She smiled casually at em and read the command to the driver. The taxi took off like a typical Tokyo taxi, with tires screeching and the driver not afraid that someone would dare to interfere with the emu.
  
  
  "Surprise," Nick said. "I didn't expect to see you again like. How Are You?"
  
  
  She nodded. "It's an honor to see you again, Carter-san. But I'm not looking for that. Lots of problems. Tonaka is missing."
  
  
  In the ego of the night. the nasty worm turned. He had been waiting for this.
  
  
  "She didn't answer the phone. Sato and I went to her apartment and there was a fight - everything was torn apart. And she's gone."
  
  
  Nick nodded at the driver.
  
  
  "He's fine. Odin is all around us."
  
  
  "What do you think happened to Tonaka?"
  
  
  She shrugged indifferently. "Who can say? But I'm afraid of her - all of us. Tonaka was our leader. Maybe Johnny Chow has it. If so, he will torture her and force her to bring ih to his discretion before her father. Kunizo Matu. The Chicomes want to kill the ego because it opposes them."
  
  
  He didn't tell hey that Matu was dead. But he was beginning to understand why Matu was dead and why he was almost trapped.
  
  
  Nick patted her hand. "I will do my best. But I need the money, and a place to hide for a few hours while I make a plan. Can you arrange it?"
  
  
  “yeah. We'll go there now. At a geisha house in Shimbashi. Matu and Sato will also be there. As soon as they don't find you."
  
  
  He thought about it. She saw ego's confusion and smiled faintly. "We all wanted you. Sato, Matu and her. All in different taxis. We go to all the stations and watch. Tonaka didn't tell us much, just that you went to see her before your father. Better yet, you see, everyone around us doesn't know too much about what others are doing. But when Tonaka is missing, we know we have to find you to help. So we get paid and start looking. That's all we know, and it worked. She found you."
  
  
  Nick studied her as she spoke. It wasn't a girl scout from Washington, but a geisha! He should have known better.
  
  
  At the moment, there was nothing geisha about her other than an elaborate hairstyle. He thought she was working that night and early in the morning. Geisha observed strange hours dictated by the whims of their various patrons. Now her face was still glowing from the cold cream she'd used to remove the chalky makeup. She was wearing a brown sweater, a mini skirt, and tiny black Korean boots.
  
  
  Nick wondered how safe a geisha house would be. But that was all he had. He lit his last cigarette and started asking questions. He wasn't going to say hey, any more than he should. It was best, as she said herself.
  
  
  "About this Pete Fremont Thing, How. Tonaka told me that you took ego's clothes? These clothes?"
  
  
  "It's true. It was a small thing." She was clearly puzzled.
  
  
  "Where was Fremont when you did this?"
  
  
  "In the trash. Slept. That's what we thought."
  
  
  "You thought so? Was he asleep or not? " Something rather fishy here.
  
  
  How seriously she looked at him. There was a smudge of lipstick on one shiny front tooth.
  
  
  "I say, they thought so. We collect ego clothing. Take it easy, because the girl's ego wasn't there then. We later learn that Pete is dead. He died in his sleep."
  
  
  Christ! Nick counted slowly to five.
  
  
  "Then what did you do?"
  
  
  She shrugged again. "What can be done? We need the Swedes for you. We collect. We know that Pete died of whiskey, that he drinks, drinks all the time, and that no one kills the ego. We're leaving. Then we go back and get the body and hide it so the police don't get wind of it."
  
  
  He said very gently, " They know how."
  
  
  he quickly explained his meeting with the police, without mentioning the fact that Kunizo Matu was also dead
  
  
  How she didn't look very impressed. " I am so sorry. But I know what happened, I think. We're leaving to take the clothes to Tonaka's. The ego girl came. She found Him dead from alcohol and called the police. They come. Then everyone leaves. I know the cops were there, and the girl, we collect the body and hide the ego. Okay? "
  
  
  Nick leaned back. "Okay, I guess," he said weakly. This should be done. It was odd, but at least it explained the situation. And that might have helped the emu - the Tokyo cops lost the body, and they might have been a little embarrassed. They might decide to play it down, keep quiet for a while, at least until they find the body or not, give it up. This meant that the ego description would not be in the newspapers, on radio and television. Not yet. So the ego cover as Pete Fremont was still good - up to a point. With a wallet, it would have been better, but it wasn't forever.
  
  
  They passed the Shiba Park Hotel and turned directly towards the Hikawa Shrine. It was a residential area where there were some villas surrounded by a garden. It was one of the best geisha districts in the world, where ethics were strict and behavior was restrained. Gone are the days when girls had to live in the mizu shobai atmosphere, beyond the pale. Comparisons have always been offensive - especially in this case - but Nick has always thought of geishas as on par with call girls all over New York City of the highest class. With geisha prices, many people are better in intelligence and talents.
  
  
  The taxi turned into the driveway that led back through the gardens, the mimmo by the pool, and the miniature bridge. Nick pulled the stinking raincoat closer to him. A bum like him was going to stand out a little in an upscale geisha house.
  
  
  Like patting ego on the knee. "We'll go to a secluded place. Matu and Sato will be here soon, and we can talk. Make plans. We have to, because if you don't help now, if you can't help, it will be very bad for all the girls in Eta."
  
  
  The taxi stopped under the desk clerk. The house was large and blocky, Western-style, surrounded by stone and brick. How I paid the driver and dragged Nick inside and up to the quiet Swedish-furnished living room.
  
  
  I sat down on a chair, pulled off my mini skirt, and looked at Nick. At the moment, he was treating himself to a modest drink around a small bar in the corner.
  
  
  "Do you want to take a bath, Carter-san?"
  
  
  Nick picked up the tape and peered through it. Beautiful color. "Bassu will be number one. Do I have time?" He found a pack of American cigarettes and opened it. Life was going up.
  
  
  She glanced at the watch on her slender wrist. "I think so. A lot of time. Matu and Sato say that if they don't find you, they will go to the Electric Palace and see if there is a message."
  
  
  "A message from whom?"
  
  
  Her thin shoulders moved under the sweater. "Who knows? Maybe you are. Maybe even Tonaka. If Johnny Chow has it, maybe he'll let us know to scare us."
  
  
  "Maybe so."
  
  
  He sipped his whiskey and stared at nah. She was nervous. Very. She was wearing a single string of small pearls, and she continued to nibble on ih while smearing ih with lipstick. She continued to shift in her chair, crossing and crossing her legs, and he saw a flash of short white pants.
  
  
  "Carter-san?"
  
  
  "To wouldnt?"
  
  
  She chewed on the nail of her little finger. "I like to ask you something. Yo ' - y, don't be angry?"
  
  
  Nick chuckled. "Probably not. I can't promise you how. What is it?"
  
  
  Fluctuations. Then; "Do you like me, Carter-san? Do you think she's pretty?"
  
  
  He did. She was. Very pretty. Like a cute little lemon-colored doll. That's what he said.
  
  
  I looked at my watch again. "I'm very brave, Carter-san. But I don't care. I've liked you for a long time, ever since we tried to sell you cookies. I really like you. We have time now, the men don't come in until the evening, and Matu and Sato aren't here yet. I want to take a bath with you and then make love. Do you want? "
  
  
  He was genuinely moved. And he knew that the ego was respected. For a moment, he didn't want her, and then, in the next instant, he knew what he wanted. Why not? In the end, that was all there was to it. Love and death.
  
  
  She misunderstood the ego of hesitation. She walked over to him and ran her fingers lightly over his face. Nah's eyes were long and dark brown, full of amber sparks.
  
  
  "You understand," she said softly, " that this is not a business. She's not a geisha right now. I give it to you. You take it. Will you come over?"
  
  
  He knew that her needs were very high. She was terrified, and for a moment she was alone. Hey, she needed comfort, and she knew it.
  
  
  He kissed her. "I'll take it," he said. "But I'll take Bassu first."
  
  
  She led ego to the bathroom. A moment later, she joined him in the shower, and they lathered and dried each other in all the beautiful and private places. Nah smelled of lilies, and her breasts were like a young girl's.
  
  
  She led Ego into the next bedroom with a real American bed. She sent ego sprawling on his back. She kissed ego and whispered: "Shut up, Carter-san. I do everything I need to do.
  
  
  "Not quite everything," said Nick Carter.
  
  
  They were sitting in silence in the front room, smoking cigarettes and looking at each other with satisfied love, when the door opened and Matu and Sato entered. They were running. Sato was crying. Mato ness bag wrapped in brown paper. She handed it to Nick.
  
  
  "It comes in the Electric Palace. For you. With a note. We... She turned away and began to cry, gasping for breath, makeup dripping down her smooth cheeks.
  
  
  Nick put the package on a chair and picked up the note from the open envelope.
  
  
  Pitt Fremont - we have Tonaka. Proof in the box. If you don't want her to lose the other one, go straight to the Electric Palace Club. Wait outside on the sidewalk. Put on your raincoat.
  
  
  There was no signature, just a circular stencil of a wooden chop made in red ink. Nick showed Ego how.
  
  
  "Johnny Chow."
  
  
  With deft thumbs, he tore out the string around the bundle. The three girls froze, now silent, dazed, waiting for a new horror. Sato stopped crying and put her fingers over her mouth.
  
  
  Killmaster suspected it was going to be very bad. This was even worse.
  
  
  Inside the box, on a cotton pad, was a bloody lump of rounded flesh with the nipple and aura intact. Women's breasts. The knife was very sharp, and it was used very skillfully.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  The rare healing Killmaster has been in a colder and bloodier rage. He gave the girls curt orders in an icy voice, then left the geisha house and approached Shimbashi Even. Ego's fingers caressed the cold butt of the Colt. At the moment, the hotel would. I poured out a clip in Johnny Chow's life with all the pleasure in the world. If they had actually sent him Tonaka's breasts - the three girls were sure of that, because that was how Johnny Chow played it - then Nick intended to charge the bastard the same amount of meat. The ego of life twisted at what he had just seen. This Johnny Chow has to be a sadist to end all sadists - even for Chick.
  
  
  There was no taxi in sight, so he kept walking, eating away at the distance with vicious steps. There was no question of not going. There might still be a chance to save Tonaka. Wounds healed, even the worst ones, and there were things like artificial breasts. Not a very attractive solution, but better than death. He thought that for a young and beautiful girl, anything, almost anything, would be better than death.
  
  
  There's still no taxi service. He turned left and headed for Ginza-even. It was about a mile and a half from where he was right now to the Electric Palace Club. How she gave the emu the exact address. On the way, he began to sort it out in his mind. Cool, experienced, cunning and calculating mind of a top-level professional agent.
  
  
  It was Fremont, not Nick Carter, who was called in. This meant that Tonaka, even in the agony of torture, had managed to cover up her ego. Hey, I had to give them something, a name, and so she gave them the name Pitt Fremont. Still, she knew that Fremont had died of alcoholism. All three girls, like Matu and Sato, swore it. Tonaka knew Fremont was dead when she served the man's emu.
  
  
  Johnny Chow didn't know Fremont was dead! Obviously. This meant that he didn't know who Fremont was, or that he knew ego only a little, perhaps by reputation. Whether he knew Fremont by sight would soon be revealed when they met face to face. Nick touched the colt on his belt again. He was looking forward to it.
  
  
  There are no taxis yet. He paused to light a cigarette. The traffic was heavy. Mimmo was passed by by a police car without paying the slightest attention to him. Not surprising. Tokyo was the second-largest city in the world, and if the cops sat on Fremont's corpse before they found the ferret until they found the body again, it would take them a little time to get their act together.
  
  
  Where did the damn fees go? It was as bad as a rainy night in New York.
  
  
  Further down the Ginza, another mile away, was the gleaming structure of the Sun-ai department store bunker. Nick shifted the colt to a more comfortable position, then started walking again. He didn't want to test his terror, because now the emu didn't care. Johnny Chow must have been sure he was coming.
  
  
  He remembered Tonaka saying that Pitt Fremont sometimes helped the Eta girls when he was sober enough. Johnny Chow probably knew this, even if he didn't know Fremont personally. Chu must want to make some kind of deal. Pitt Fremont, though a slacker and alcoholic, was still something of a newspaperman and might have had connections.
  
  
  Or Johnny Chow might just want to get Fremont - give em the same treatment he gave Kunizo Mata. It can be as simple as that. Fremont was the enemy, he was helping Eta, and Johnny Chow was using the girl as bait to get rid of Fremont.
  
  
  Nick shrugged his big shoulders and walked on. One thing he knew for sure - Tonaka had her ego covered. An ego, a personality like Nick Carter-AXEman was still safe.
  
  
  A dead man followed him out.
  
  
  He didn't notice the black Mercedes until it was too late. It flew out across the entire road whirlpool and stopped next to him. Two neatly dressed Japanese men jumped out and walked beside Nick, one on either side. The Mercedes crawled after them.
  
  
  For a moment, Nick thought they might be detectives. He immediately rejected the idea. Both men were wearing light coats and had their right hands in their pockets. A taller man with thick glasses pushed Carter with a gun in his pocket. He smiled.
  
  
  "Anata no onamae y?"
  
  
  Cool hands. He knew they weren't cops anymore. Emu was offered a ride in true Chicago style. He carefully kept his hands away from his waist.
  
  
  "Fremont. Pitt Fremont. What's up to you?"
  
  
  The two men exchanged glances. The one with glasses nodded and said, " Thank you. We dorms make sure that this is the right person. Please get in the car."
  
  
  Nick frowned. "What if I don't?"
  
  
  The other man, short and muscular, wasn't smiling. He poked Nick with a concealed pistol. "That would be very unfortunate. We will kill you."
  
  
  The street was crowded. People were jostling and bustling around them. No one paid them the slightest attention. So many professional murders were committed. They'll shoot the ego and drive away in the Mercedes, and no one will see anything.
  
  
  The short man pushed ego to the side of the road. "In the car. You go quietly, and no one will harm you.
  
  
  Nick shrugged. "So I'll come quietly." He got into the car, ready to catch ih at an unprotected moment, but the chance didn't come. The little man followed, but not too close. The tall one went around and climbed in from the other side. They clamped down on their egos, and guns came into view. Nambu. These days, the parts he saw were nambu.
  
  
  The Mercedes pulled away from the curb and got into traffic again. The driver was wearing a chauffeur's livery and a dark cap. He drove as if he knew what he was doing.
  
  
  Nick forced himself to relax. The ego chance will come. "What's the rush? He was on his way to the Electric Palace. Why is Johnny Chow so impatient?"
  
  
  A tall man was searching Nick. At the name Chow, he hissed and stared at his companion, who shrugged.
  
  
  "Shizuki us!"
  
  
  Nick, shut up. So they weren't from Johnny Chow. Who the hell is a tailor, then?
  
  
  The man who searched Ego found the colt and pulled Ego out of his belt. He showed his ego to his companion, who gave Nick a cold look. The man hid the Colt under his coat.
  
  
  Beneath the ego calm, Nick Carter was furious and anxious. He didn't know who they were, where they were taking ego, or why. This was an unexpected development that couldn't be predicted. But when he didn't show up at the Electric Palace, Johnny Chow went back to work on Tonaka. Ego was disappointed. At the moment, he was as helpless as a baby. There was nothing he could do.
  
  
  We drove for a long time. They didn't try to hide their destination, whatever it was to us. The driver never spoke. The two men were watching Nick intently, their guns barely concealing their coats.
  
  
  The Mercedes drove past mimmo Tokyo Tower, briefly turned east toward Sakurada, and then abruptly turned directly toward Meiji Even. The rain had stopped, and a faint sun shone through the low gray clouds. They were having a good time, even in busy and noisy traffic. The driver was a genius.
  
  
  They rounded Arisugawa Park, and a few moments later Nick spotted Shibuya Station on his left. Frank ahead lay the Olympic Village, and a little to the northeast-the National Stadium.
  
  
  Beyond the Shinjuku Garden, they turned sharply to the left mimmo of the Meiji Shrine. Now they were entering the suburbs, and the road opened up. Narrow alleys led in different directions, and Nick occasionally saw large houses set back from the road, with neatly trimmed hedges and small gardens surrounded by plums and cherries.
  
  
  They turned off the main road and turned left into a black-topped lane. They turned through Paris into another, narrower street, which finally ended in a tall iron gate surrounded by lichen-covered stone pillars. A plaque on one of the pillars read: Msumpto. It meant nothing to AXEman.
  
  
  A short man stepped out and pressed a button on one of the pillars. A moment later, the gate swung open. They were driving along a winding road paved with rubble, bordered by a park. Nick saw movement to his left and watched a small herd of tiny white-tailed deer scurry through the squat umbrella-shaped trees. They rounded a row of still-blooming peonies and a house came into view. It was huge and talked quietly about money. Old money.
  
  
  The road wound in a crescent shape before a wide staircase leading to the terrace. Fountains played to the right and left, and to the side was a large swimming pool, still unfilled in summer.
  
  
  Nick looked at the tall man. "Is Mitsubishi-san waiting for me?"
  
  
  The man pointed the gun at ego. "Come out. No more talking."
  
  
  In short, the person thought it was quite fun.
  
  
  
  He looked at Nick and grinned. "Mitsubishi-san? Haha."
  
  
  The central block of the house was huge, built around worked stone that still glittered with streaks of mica and quartz. The two lower wings angled back from the main block, parallel to the terrace's balustrade, which was dotted with huge amphora-shaped urns.
  
  
  They led Nick through arched doors and into a huge mosaic foyer. A short man knocked on the door that opened directly. From inside, a British voice, high with the vileness of the upper classes, said: "Income".
  
  
  The tall man shoved his nambu into the small of Nick's back and poked him. Nick went. Now it's very simple. Philston. Richard Filston! It was meant to be.
  
  
  They stopped just outside the door. The room was huge, like a library-an office with half-paneled walls and a dark ceiling. Battalions of books marched along the walls. A single lamp burned in the far corner of the room. In the shadows, in the shadows, sat a man.
  
  
  The man said: "You two can go now. Wait for a day. Would you like a drink, Mr. Fremont?"
  
  
  The two Japanese fighters left. A large door clicked ominously behind them. An old-fashioned tea cart sat beside the chair, loaded with bottles, siphons, and a large thermos flask. Nick walked over to him. Play it both ways, he told himself. Think of Fremont himself. Be Pete Fremont.
  
  
  As he reached for the whiskey bottle, he said, " I'm not sure.: "Who are you? And what the hell do you mean, tailor, when I was snatched off the street like that? Don't you know that I can sue you?"
  
  
  The man behind the desk chuckled hoarsely. "Sue me, Mr. Fremont? Seriously! You Americans have a strange sense of humor. She found out about it in Washington many years ago. One drink, Mr. Fremont. Odin. We'll be completely honest, and as you can see, her know your mistake. I'm going to offer you a chance to make a lot of money, but to earn an ego, you have to stay completely sober."
  
  
  Pete Fremont-it was Nick Carter, who was dead, and Fremont, who lived-Pitt Fremont threw ice into a tall glass and, knocking over a bottle of whiskey, poured a lot, and defiantly. He drank off his ego, then walked over to the leather chair next to Sell's. He unbuttoned his filthy raincoat so that Philston could see the tattered suit - and kept his antique hat on.
  
  
  "All right," he growled. "So you know I'm an alcoholic. So? Who are you and what do you want from me?" He's drunk. "Remove that damned saint around my eyes. It's an old trick."
  
  
  The man tilted the lamp to one side. Now there was partial shade between them.
  
  
  "My name is Richard Filston," the man said. "Perhaps you've heard about me?"
  
  
  Fremont nodded curtly. "I've heard of you."
  
  
  "Yes," the man said softly. "I guess it's more like, uh ... infamous."
  
  
  Pete nodded again. "That's your word, not mine."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. But now to the point, Mr. Fremont. Quite frankly, as I said. We both know who we are, and I see no reason to protect the other or spare the other's feelings. Do you agree?"
  
  
  Pitt frowned. "I agree. So stop the damn handrails and get down to business. How much money? And what do I need to do to earn ih?"
  
  
  Moving away from the bright light, he saw a man sitting at a table. The suit was wrapped around a light glovey-salty tweed immaculately cut, now slightly worn. A Moscow tailor would never have repeated the ego to us.
  
  
  "I'm talking about fifty thousand American dollars," the man said. "Half now-if you agree to my terms and conditions."
  
  
  "Keep talking," Pitt said.
  
  
  The shirt was a blue stripe with a stand-up collar. The tie was tied in a small knot. The Royal Marines. The man who played for Fremont ran through the files in his mind: Philston. He had once served in the Royal Marines. It was just after he arrived from Cambridge.
  
  
  The man behind the desk took out a cigarette from an elaborate cloisonne box. Pitt refused and found a crumpled pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. Smoke spiraled up to the coffered ceiling.
  
  
  "First things first," the man said. "Do you remember a man named Pavel Jacobi?"
  
  
  "Yes." And he did. Nick Carter did. Sometimes hours and days of working on photos and files paid off. Paul Jacobi. A Dutch communist. Minor agent. He is known to have worked for some time in Malaya and Indonesia. Dropped out all over the field of view. Last reported in Japan.
  
  
  Pitt Fremont waited for the man to take the lead. How Jacobi fit into this.
  
  
  Philston opened the drawer. It was there. the rustle of paper. "Three years ago, Pavel Jacobi tried to recruit you. He offered you a job working for us. You refused. Why not?"
  
  
  Pete frowned and drank. "I wasn't ready then."
  
  
  "However, you never reported on Jacobi, never told anyone that he was a Russian agent. Why not?"
  
  
  "It's not my fucking concern. Maybe I didn't want to play with Jacobi, but that didn't mean I had to give up my ego. All I want her to do, all I want now is to leave her alone to get drunk." He laughed harshly. "It's not as easy as you think."
  
  
  Silence. He could see Filston's face now.
  
  
  A soft beauty blurred by sixty years . A hint of a chin, a blunt nose, wide-set eyes, devoid of color, in the semi-darkness. The mouth was a traitor - loose, slightly moist, a whisper of femininity. The flaccid mouth of an overly tolerant bisexual. Files clicked in AXEman's brain. Philston was a woman killer. A killer of people, too, in many ways.
  
  
  Philston said: "Have you seen Jacobi's skirt lately?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  A hint of a smile. "This is understandable. The ego is no longer with us. There was an accident in Moscow. Too bad."
  
  
  Pitt Fremont drank. Sorry. Let's forget about Jacobi. What do you want me to do for fifty thousand?"
  
  
  Richard Filston set his own pace. He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. "You wouldn't have wanted to work for us when Jacobi refused. Now you will work for me, as you say. I can ask him why this change of views? I represent the same clients as Jacobi. As you should know ."
  
  
  Philston leaned forward, and Pitt looked Emu in the eye. Pale, blurry grays.
  
  
  Pitt Fremont said: "Listen, Philston! I don't care who wins. Our special feature! And things have changed ever since ferret like" I knew Jacobi. It took the ferret a lot of whiskey with them. Older than her. Her broker. I have about two hundred yen in my account right now. Voting for rheumatism is your corkscrew? "
  
  
  "Hmm," to a certain extent, yes. All right." The paper rustled again. "Were you a newspaperman in the States?"
  
  
  It was a chance to show a little courage, and Nick Carter let Pete jump at it. He burst into an unpleasant laugh. He let his hands shake a little and looked longingly at the whiskey bottle.
  
  
  "Oh my God, man! Do you need links? Good. I can tell you the names, but I doubt you'll hear anything good."
  
  
  Philston didn't smile. “yeah. I understand her." He consulted the newspaper. "You once worked for the Chicago Tribune. Also in the New York Mirror and Louis Post-Dispatch, among others. You also worked for the Associated Press and the Hearst International Service. You were fired from all of these positions for drinking alcohol. ? "
  
  
  Pitt laughed. He tried to adjust the sound with a little madness. "You missed a few. The Indianapolis News and several newspapers in the country." He remembered Tonaka's words and continued: "There's also the Hong Kong Times and the Singapore Times. Here in Japan, there are Asahi, Osaka and a few more. You call the paper Philston, and I was probably fired on nah. "
  
  
  "Hmm. That's right. But you still have connections, friends, and newspaper circles?"
  
  
  Where was the bastard going? There is still no peace at the end of the tunnel.
  
  
  "I wouldn't call Stahl ih friends," Pitt said. "Maybe acquaintances. An alcoholic has no friends. But I know a few guys from whom I can still borrow a dollar when its desperate enough."
  
  
  "And you can still create a story? Big story? Let's say you were presented with the story of the ages, a really awesome sensation, as I assume you guys call it, and it was exclusive to you. Just you! arrange for such a story to immediately receive full worldwide sanctification? "
  
  
  They started to approach it.
  
  
  Pitt Fremont pushed back his battered hat and stared at Filston. But it must be authentic. Fully verified. Are you offering me such a story?"
  
  
  "I can," Philston said. "I just can. And if I do, Fremont, it will be fully confirmed. Don't worry about it!" The high, raucous laughter of the establishment was some kind of private joke. Pitt waited.
  
  
  Silence. Philston shifted in his swivel chair and stared at the ceiling. He stroked a well-manicured hand through his silver-gray hair. That was the point. The son of a bitch was about to make up his mind.
  
  
  As he waited, AXEman reflected on the vagaries, interruptions, and accidents of his profession. For example, time. They're the girls who grabbed Fremont's real body asks and hid the ego, they're moments when the cops and girlfriend Asks were off stage. It's a one-in-a-million chance. And now the fact of Fremont's death hung over his head like a sword. The minute Filston or Johnny Chow knows the truth, there was a fake Pitt Fremont in the dell. Johnny Chow? He began to think in a new way. Maybe this was the way out for Tonaka...
  
  
  Decision. Richard Filston opened another drawer. He walked around the chair. In his hands was a thick wad of green bills. He tossed the money into Pete's lap. There was a contempt in the gesture that Philston didn't hide. He stood beside her, swaying slightly on his heels. Under her tweed jacket, nen was wearing a thin brown sweater that didn't hide her small paunch.
  
  
  "I decided to trust you, Fremont. I don't really have a choice, but maybe it wouldn't be such a big risk. In my experience, every man takes care of himself first. We're all selfish. Fifty thousand dollars to get you far away from Japan. It means a new beginning, my other, a new life. You've hit rock bottom - we both know that - and I can help."
  
  
  Don't think you'll turn down this chance to get out through the gutters. She's a reasonable person, a logical person, and I think you are too. This is absolutely your last chance. I think you understand that. You can say that I'm gambling. The bet is that you'll do the job efficiently and stay sober until it's done ."
  
  
  The big man in the chair kept his eyes closed. He ran clear notes through his fingers and noticed greed. He nodded. "For that kind of money, I can stay sober. You can believe it, Philston. For that kind of money, you can even trust me."
  
  
  Philston took a few steps forward. There was something dainty and refined about Ego's walk. AXEman wondered if this guy was really weird. There was no proof in his words. Just hints.
  
  
  "It's not exactly a tailspin of trust," Filston said. "I'm sure you understand. First, if you don't complete the tasks to my full satisfaction, you won't be able to pay the remaining fifty thousand dollars. . There will be a time interval for estestvenno. If everything works out , she'll pay you back ."
  
  
  Pitt Fremont frowned. "Looks like you're the one who should be able to trust you."
  
  
  "In a way, yes. I might also point out something else - if you betray me, or try to deceive you in any way, you will surely be killed. The KGB respects me very much. You've probably heard of ih long arms. ?"
  
  
  "I know." Gloomy. "If I don't complete the task, they'll kill me."
  
  
  Philston looked up at him with his washed-out gray eyes. “yeah. Sooner or later, they will kill you."
  
  
  Pitt reached for the whiskey bottle. "Good, good! Can I have another drink of it?"
  
  
  “no. You're in my service right now. Don't drink until the job is done."
  
  
  He leaned back in his chair. "Actually. I forgot it. You just bought me."
  
  
  Philston returned to the chair and sat down. "Are you already regretting the deal?"
  
  
  “no. The tailor told you to take it, I don't care who wins. I don't have a country anymore. There is no loyalty. You just got me! Now, suppose we cut the negotiations short, and you tell me what I should do."
  
  
  "I told you. I want you to put the article in the world's press. Exclusive story. The biggest story you or any other newspaperman has ever had."
  
  
  "World War III?"
  
  
  Philston didn't smile. He took out a new cigarette from a packet of cloisonne cloth. "It's possible. I don't think so. Her..."
  
  
  Pitt Fremont waited, frowning. The bastard barely restrained himself from saying that. Still rubbing my leg in the cold. Hesitates to make a commitment when the point of no return is reached.
  
  
  "There are a lot of details to be worked out," he said. "There's a lot of backstory that you need to understand. Her ..."
  
  
  Fremont stood up and growled in the frenzied rage of a man who craved a drink. He slapped the wad of money against his palm. "I want this money, take it, tailor. I'll earn it ih. But even with that money, I won't go for something blind. What is it?"
  
  
  "The Emperor of Japan is about to be assassinated. Your job is to convince them that the Chinese are to blame."
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  Killmaster wasn't particularly surprised. Pitt Fremont was, and he had to show it. I had to show surprise, confusion, and disbelief. He paused, raising a cigarette to his mouth, and allowed his jaw to drop.
  
  
  "Jesus Christ! You must be out of your mind."
  
  
  Richard Filston, now that he had finally said it, was enjoying the fright he had caused.
  
  
  "Not at all. Just the opposite. Our plan, the plan we've been working on for months , is the essence of logic and sanity. The Chinese are our enemies. Sooner or later, if you don't warn them, they will start a war with Russia. The West will love it. They will sit back and put their hands up and benefit from it. But that's not going to happen. That's why I'm in Japan, putting myself at great personal risk."
  
  
  Fragments of Filston's file flashed through AXEman's mind like a montage. A homicide expert!
  
  
  Pitt Fremont coined an expression of awe mixed with lingering doubt. "I think you're really serious, I swear to God. And you're going to kill the ego!"
  
  
  "It's none of your business. You will not be present, and no responsibility or blame will be on your heads."
  
  
  Pitt laughed sourly. "Go, Philston! He's involved in this. At the moment, its implicated. If I get caught, I won't have my head. They'll cut it off like a cabbage. but even a drunk like her wants to keep his head."
  
  
  "I assure you," Philston said dryly, " that you will not be implicated. Or not necessarily if you use your head to hold it on your shoulders. After all, I expect you to show some ingenuity at fifty thousand dollars."
  
  
  Nick Carter allowed Pete Fremont to sit sullen and unconvincing, while he allowed his own mind to move freely and quickly. For the first time, he heard the ticking of the tall clock in the corner of the room. The phone on Filston's desk was twice as large as usual. He hated both of them. Time and modern communications were working inexorably against him. Let Philston know that the real Fremont is dead, and that he, Nick Carter, is just as dead.
  
  
  I never doubted it. Those two thugs outside the door were murderers. Philston undoubtedly had a gun in his desk. A light sweat broke out on his forehead, and he fished out a dirty handkerchief. This can easily get out of hand. He had to goad Filston, put pressure on his own plan, and get the hell out of here. But not too fast. Don't show too much concern.
  
  
  "You understand," Philston said silkily, " that you can't back down now. You know too much. Any hesitation you make just means that I have to kill you."
  
  
  "I'm not backing down, damn the tailor. I'm trying to get used to the idea. God! Kill the Emperor. Make sure that the blame for this is laid on the Chinese. It's not really a squat game, you know . And you can run later. I can't do it. Its got to stay and sweat it out. I can't give such a big lie if I run it to Lower Saxony."
  
  
  "Saxony? I don't think I..."
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. Give me a chance to figure it out. When will this murder happen?"
  
  
  "Tomorrow night. There will be riots and mass sabotage. Great sabotage. In Tokyo, electricity will be cut off, as in many other major cities. It's a cover story, you know. The Emperor is currently in the hall in the residence in the Palace."
  
  
  Pete nodded slowly. "I'm starting to understand. You work with the Chinese - up to a certain point. About sabotage. But they don't know anything about the murder. Really?"
  
  
  "I don't think so," Philston said. "It wouldn't be a big coup if they did. He explained that both Moscow and Beijing are at war. This is an act of war. Pure logic. We intend to cause the Chinese so much trouble that they won't be able to bother us for years."
  
  
  It's almost time. It's time to apply pressure. It's time to get out of there and get to Johnny Chow. Philston's reaction was important. Maybe life or death is important.
  
  
  Not yet. Not quite yet.
  
  
  Pitt lit another cigarette. "I'm going to have to arrange this thing," he said in math at the table. "Do you understand that? I mean, I can't just throw myself out in the cold and shout that I'm a sensation. They wouldn't listen to me. As you know, my reputation isn't that good. dot - how am I going to prove this story? Confirm and document it? I hope you've thought about it ."
  
  
  "My dear fellow, We are not amateurs. The day after tomorrow, as early as possible, you will go to the Ginza branch of Chase Manhattan. You will have a key to the safe. In nen, you will find all the documentation that you will need. Plans, orders, signatures, payment receipts, everything. They will confirm your story. It is these papers that you can show to your friends on the telegraph services and in newspapers. I assure you, they are absolutely flawless. No one will doubt your story after reading ih ."
  
  
  Philston chuckled. "It's even possible that some Chinese who oppose Mao might trust it."
  
  
  Pete shifted in his chair. "It's different - the Chicoms will come for my skin. They'll know I'm lying. They'll try to kill me."
  
  
  "Yes," Philston agreed. "I believe that will be the case. I'm afraid I should let you worry about that." But you've survived so long, no matter what we do, and now you have twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. I think you can handle it."
  
  
  "When and how will I get the other twenty-five thousand if her ih fulfills this?"
  
  
  "Oni will be transferred to an account in Hong Kong-when we are satisfied with your work. I am sure that this will be an incentive for you."
  
  
  The phone on Filston's desk rang. AXEman reached into his raincoat, forgetting for a moment that Colt was no longer there. He swore under his breath. He had nothing. Nothing but the ego of the muscles and the ego of the brain.
  
  
  Philston was speaking into the instrument. I have it. He's here now. I was just about to call you."
  
  
  Carter listened, looking down at his battered, worn ballet slippers. Who should I call? Is it possible that ...
  
  
  Philston Stahl's voice was harsh. He was frowning. "Listen, Johnny, I'm giving you my orders! And at this point, you're not obeying them by calling me. Don't do it again. No, I had no idea it was so important since it was urgent for you. Either way, I'm done with it and will send ego with me. The usual place. Very good. What? Yes, gave the emu ego-like instructions and, more importantly, paid her emu."
  
  
  The phone rang with furious cursing. Philston frowned.
  
  
  "That's it, Jay! You know your job - he must be under constant surveillance until this task is completed. I consider you responsible. Yes, everything is going according to schedule and according to plan. Hang up the phone. No. I won't be in touch until this case is over. You do your job, and I'll do hers." Philston hung up with a bang.
  
  
  Pitt Fremont lit a cigarette and waited. Johnny? Johnny Chow? He began to hope. If it had worked, he wouldn't have had to use his own half-complete plan. He watched Filston carefully. If Fremont's cover was blown, things went badly wrong.
  
  
  If em needed to leave, he could take Filston with him.
  
  
  Richard Filston looked at him. "Fremont?"
  
  
  AXEman sighed again. "To wouldnt?"
  
  
  "Do you know or have heard of a man named Johnny Chow?"
  
  
  Pitt nodded. "I've heard of nen. I've never met him. They say it's the main one for the local Chicoms. I do not know how true this is."
  
  
  Philston walked around the chair. Not too close to a special man. He scratched his chin with a plump forefinger.
  
  
  "Listen carefully, Fremont. From now on, you'll be walking on a razor's edge. It was Chu on the phone just now. He wants you. The reason he wants you is because he and He decided to use you some time ago. like a newspaperman to plant a story."
  
  
  Pitt looked at him sharply. It started out jelly-like.
  
  
  He nodded. "Of course. But not the story? That Johnny Chow wants another story thrown at her?"
  
  
  "Exactly. Cho wants you to create a story that blames Eta for everything that's going to happen. Her agreed to this, for estestvenno. You'll have to take Eta from there and play like this."
  
  
  "I see. That's why they grabbed me from the street - you had to talk to me first."
  
  
  "Actually again. No real difficulties - I can hide it by saying, as I said, that she was personally asked to give you instructions. Chou, for estestvenno, will not know what the instructions are. It should not be suspicious, or no more than usual . We don't really trust each other, and we each have our own separate organizations around us. By handing you over to emu, her ego will calm down a bit. I intended to do it anyway. I don't have many men, and I can't get ih to look at you."
  
  
  Pitt smiled sourly. "Do you feel like you have to watch over me?"
  
  
  Philston returned to his desk. "Don't be a fool, Fremont. You're sitting on one of the greatest stories of this century, you have twenty-five thousand dollars of my money, and you haven't done your job yet. Surely you didn't expect me to let you run around here for free? "
  
  
  Philston pressed a button on his desk. "You shouldn't have any problems. All you really need to do is stay sober and keep your mouth shut. And since Cho thinks you've been hired to create a story about Eta, you can start creating it, as you say, simply as usual. The web difference is that Chow won't know what story you're writing until it's too late. Anyone be here in a minute - any last questions? "
  
  
  "Yes. Very big. If I'm going to be under constant surveillance, how do I get away from Zhou and the boys ' ego to publish this story? As soon as he finds out that the Emperor has been killed, he will kill me. . This will be the first thing he does. "
  
  
  Philston stroked his chin again. "I know it's a challenge. You'll have to depend a lot on yourself, of course, but I'll help you in any way I can. I'm sending a man with you. One person is all I can do, and all that Zhou will have of her was forced to insist on keeping in touch.
  
  
  "Tomorrow you will be taken to the scene of the riots on the Palace grounds. Dmitry will go with you, ostensibly to help guard you. In fact, at the moment most suitable for you, he will help you leave. You two will have to work together. Dmitry is a good person, very cool and purposeful, and the emu will be able to free you for a few moments. After that, you'll be on your own."
  
  
  There was a knock on the door. "Come on," Philston said.
  
  
  The man who entered was a guy from a professional basketball team. AXEman estimated Ego's height to be a good six feet eight inches. He was as thin as a rookery, and his long skull was mirror-bald. He had acromegalic features and small dark eyes, and the suit hung on nen like an ill-fitting tent. The sleeves of ego's jacket were too short and exposed dirty cuffs.
  
  
  "This is Dmitry," Philston said. "He will keep an eye on you and you, to the best of his ability. Don't let your ego be misled by appearances, Fremont. He's very fast and not stupid at all."
  
  
  The tall scarecrow stared blankly at Nick and nodded. He and Philston went to the back of the room and conferred briefly. Dimitri kept nodding and saying,"Yes..."
  
  
  Dimitri came to the door, and Stahl waited. Philston held out his hand to a math major they thought was Pete Fremont. "Good luck. I won't see you again. Of course not, if everything goes according to plan. But I'll get in touch with you, and if you deliver the cargo as you Yankees say, you'll get paid as promised. Just keep that in mind. , Fremont. Another twenty-five thousand in Hong Kong. Goodbye.
  
  
  It was like shaking hands with a can of worms. "Goodbye," Pitt Fremont said. Carter thought about it: "See you later, you son of a bitch!"
  
  
  Emu managed to brush against Dimitri as they were walking out the door. Under his left shoulder was the shoulder clip of a heavy weapon.
  
  
  Two Japanese gunmen were waiting in the foyer. Dimitri growled something at them, and they nodded. Everyone came out and played this game in a black Mercedes. The sun broke through the clouds, and the lawn began to sparkle with new greenery. The steamy air smelled faintly of cherry blossoms.
  
  
  Some kind of comic opera scene, Nick Carter thought as he climbed into the backseat with the giant.
  
  
  One hundred million people in an area smaller than California. Pretty damn picturesque. Paper umbrellas and motorcycles. Moon watchers and assassins. Insect listeners and rioters. Geisha and go-go girls. It was all a bomb that just sizzled on a short fuse, and he was sitting on it.
  
  
  A tall Japanese man and a chauffeur rode in front. A small Japanese man was sitting on the back of a jump seat, looking at Nick. Dimitri watched Nick from his corner. The Mercedes turned left and headed back to downtown Tokyo. Nick leaned back against the pillows and tried to sort things out.
  
  
  He thought of Tonaka again, and it was unpleasant. Of course, there might still be a chance that he could do something. The ego was passed on to Johnny Chow, even if it was a little late. This was what Chau wanted - now Nick knew why-and it should be possible to save the girl from further torture. Nick frowned at the floor of the car. He will pay this debt when the time comes.
  
  
  He got one huge breakthrough. He was the beneficiary of the distrust between the Chicoms and Filston. They were not easy allies, and their connection was flawed, and it could be used in the future.
  
  
  They both thought they were dealing with Pete Fremont, thanks to Tonaka's gut and brain. No one really could stand the torture for very long, even if ih was used by an expert, but Tonaka screamed and gave them false information.
  
  
  Then a thought occurred to Killmaster, and he cursed his stupidity. He was worried that Johnny Chow knew Fremont by sight. He didn't do it. He couldn't - otherwise Tonaka would never have given the emu that name. So ego's cover with Chow didn't break. He could play as best he could, just as Philston had pointed out, all the while looking for a way to save the girl.
  
  
  She would have meant it like mistletoe when she called out his name. He was her only hope, and she knew it. Now she would be hopeful. Bleeding and sobbing in some hole and waiting for him to come over and pull her out.
  
  
  Ego's gut hurt a little. He was helpless. No weapons. I watched it every minute. Tonaka clung to the fragile reeds. Killmaster had never felt inferior to that.
  
  
  The Mercedes skirted the Central Wholesale Market and headed for the causeway leading to Tsukishimi and the shipyards. The faint sun had disappeared behind a coppery haze that hung over the harbor. The air seeping into the car gave off a brazen industrial stench. A dozen cargo ships were anchored in the bay. They passed a dry dock where the skeleton of a supertanker loomed. Nick caught a flash of the name - Naess Maru.
  
  
  The Mercedes passed a mimmo of places where dump trucks were tipping garbage into the water. Tokyo has always built new lands.
  
  
  They turned onto another causeway that led directly to the water's edge. Here, a little apart, was an old rotting warehouse. A thread of travel, Nick thought. Where did they get Tonaka's voice from? The choice of headquarters was clever. Outspoken in the midst of all the production fuss that no one is paying attention to. They will have a good reason to come and go.
  
  
  The car entered through a shabby gate that was open. The driver continued to cross the yard, which was littered with rusty oil barrels. He pulled the Mercedes up next to the loading dock.
  
  
  Dimitri opened the side door and climbed out. The short Japanese showed Nick his Nambu. "You're also getting out."
  
  
  Nick went out. The Mercedes turned around and drove out of the gate. One of Dimitri's hands was under his jacket. He nodded toward a small wooden staircase at the far end of the port bar. "We'll go there. You're the first. Don't try to run." Ego English was bad, with Slavic poor handling of vowels.
  
  
  So far, his escape was far from complete. Now he had one intention, and only one. Get to the girl and save her from the knife. Somehow. Anyway. By guile or force.
  
  
  They went up the stairs, Dimitri leaning back a little and holding his hand in his jacket.
  
  
  To the left, a door led to a tiny, shabby office, now abandoned. A man was waiting in ih's office. He stared at Nick.
  
  
  "Are you Pitt Fremont?"
  
  
  “yeah. Where's Tonaka?"
  
  
  The man didn't answer the emu. He stepped around Nick, pulled a Walther pistol from his belt, and shot Dimitri in the head. It was a good professional headshot.
  
  
  The giant was slowly collapsing like a skyscraper being demolished. It seemed to have crumbled into pieces. Then he was on the shattered floor of the office, blood streaming down the ego of the shattered head and into the crack.
  
  
  The killer was made by Walter Irina. "You can stop lying now," he said. "I know who you are. You're Nick Carter. You're on AH. Her Johnny Chow."
  
  
  He was tall for a Japanese, too light-skinned, and Nick guessed Chinese blood. Cho was dressed like a hippie - tight chinos, a psychedelic shirt that always hung outside, a string of love beads around his neck.
  
  
  Johnny Chow wasn't kidding. Or bluffwad. He knew. Nick said: Good.
  
  
  . Where is Tonaka now? "
  
  
  The Walther moved. "The door is open behind you. Move very slowly."
  
  
  They walked down a littered corridor lit by open skylights. Agent AX, automatically marked ih as a possible exit.
  
  
  Johnny Chow used the brass handle to push open the simple door. The room was surprisingly well furnished. The girl was sitting with her slender legs crossed. She was wearing a red slash almost to her hip, and her dark hair was pulled back on top of her head. She was heavily made up, and her white teeth gleamed behind the scarlet one as she smiled at Nick.
  
  
  "Hello, Carter-san. I thought you'd never get here." I missed you."
  
  
  Nick Carter looked at Nah dispassionately. He didn't smile. Finally, he said, "Hi, Tonaka."
  
  
  There were times, he told himself, when he wasn't very smart.
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  Johnny Chow closed the door and leaned against it, and Walter was still covering Nick.
  
  
  Tonaka watched Nick Chow's mimmo. "Russian?"
  
  
  "In the office. Her ego killed her. No bank."
  
  
  Tonaka frowned. "Did you leave the body there?"
  
  
  A shrug. "Currently. Her..."
  
  
  "You're an idiot. Take a few people and immediately remove the ego. Lay the ego along with the rest down before dark. Wait-put the cuffs on Carter and give me the gun."
  
  
  Tonaka spread her legs and stood up. Her panties flashed. Red this time. In Washington, under the Girl Scout uniforms, they were pink. Much has changed since Washington.
  
  
  She stepped around Nick, keeping her distance, and took the gun from Johnny Chow. "Put your hands behind you, Nick."
  
  
  Nick obeyed, flexing the muscles of his wrist, expanding the veins and arteries as best he could. You never knew. A tenth of an inch may be useful.
  
  
  The cuffs froze in place. Cho shoved him. "Over there, on that chair in the corner."
  
  
  Nick walked over to a chair and sat down with his hands cuffed behind his back. He kept his head down, his eyes closed. Tonaka was euphoric, her head spinning with triumph. He knew the signs. She was going to talk. He was ready to listen. There was nothing else he could do. There was sour vinegar in his mouth.
  
  
  Johnny Chow went out and closed the door. Tonaka locked up the ego. She went back to the couch and sat cross-legged again. She pulled the Walther into her lap, looking at him with dark eyes.
  
  
  She smiled triumphantly at em. "Why don't you admit it, Nick? You're completely surprised. Shocked. You didn't dream of it."
  
  
  He was checking the cuffs. It was just a little game. Not enough to help em right now. But they didn't fit around Ego's big, bony wrists.
  
  
  "You're right," he admitted. "You tricked me, Tonaka. Deceived me well. That thought really came to me right after your father was killed, but it never came back to me. He thought too much about Kunizo and not enough about you. Its stupid at times ."
  
  
  “yeah. You were very stupid. Or maybe not. How could you have guessed? For me, everything fell into place - everything fit so well. Even my father sent me after you. It was a wonderful stroke of luck for me. us."
  
  
  "Your father was quite a smart guy. I'm surprised he didn't understand."
  
  
  Her smile faded. "I'm not happy about what happened to my father. But that's the way it should be. He was causing too much trouble. We've organized the men of Eta very well - the Blood Buddha Society keeps nu in check - but the women of Eta are different. They were getting out of control. Even hers, pretending to be the ih leader, can't handle it. My father started avoiding me and working directly with some of the other women. Ego had to be killed, him, I'm sorry about that."
  
  
  Nick studied her with narrowed eyes. "Can I smoke her a cigarette now?"
  
  
  “no. I'm not going to get that close to you." Her smile reappeared. "This is another thing I regret, that I will never be able to keep my promise. I think that would be a good thing."
  
  
  He nodded. "It could be in this." So far, there was no hint that either she or Chow knew anything about Filston's plot to assassinate the Emperor. He held a trump card in his hands; at the moment, he had no idea how to play nah or whether to play nah at all.
  
  
  Tonaka crossed her legs again. Jungsum lifted up, exposing the curve of her buttocks.
  
  
  "Before Johnny Chow comes back, I'd better warn you, Nick. Not evil egos. I think he's a little crazy. And he's a sadist. Did you get the package?"
  
  
  He stared at nah. "I get it. Hers, thought it was yours." He looked down at her full breasts. "Obviously, that's not the case."
  
  
  She didn't look at him. He sensed the uneasiness in her. “no. It was... It's disgusting. But she couldn't stop it. Johnny can only control her to a certain extent. He has it ... this passion for brutality. Sometimes I have to let him just do what he wants. After that, he is docile and easy to handle for a while. This-the flesh that he sent was from the girl Eta that we were supposed to kill ."
  
  
  "So this place is a murder scene?"
  
  
  “yeah. And torture. I don't like it, but it's necessary."
  
  
  "It's very convenient. Close to the harbour
  
  
  Her smile was tired from her makeup. The Walther hung in his hand. She picked it up again, holding it in both hands. “yeah. But we are at war, and in war we can do terrible things. But enough of that. We need to talk about you, Nick Carter. I want to get you safely to Beijing. That's why I'm warning you about Johnny."
  
  
  The ego tone was sardonic. "Beijing, eh? Hers, been there a couple of times. Incognito, of course. I don't like this place. Boring. Very boring."
  
  
  "I doubt you'll be bored this time. They're preparing a real party for you. And for me. If you don't guess right, Nick, her Hi-Wai."
  
  
  He checked the cuffs again. If given the chance, the emu will have to break its arm.
  
  
  Hi-Wai Tio Pu. Chinese intelligence.
  
  
  "That just occurred to me, "he said." What's the rank and name, Tonaka?" She told emu.
  
  
  She's she's free ego. "Her colonel. My name is Mei Foi in Chinese. This is one of the reasons I had to distance myself from my father so much - he still had a lot of contacts, and sooner or later he would find out about it. So I had to pretend to hate ego for leaving his people, this one, when he was young. He was Eta. Just like her. But he left, he forgot his people and served the imperialist establishment. Until he was old and sick. Then he tried to make amends! "
  
  
  Nick didn't resist a grin. "While you were staying with Eta? Loyal to your people - so you can infiltrate them and betray them. Use ih. Destroy ih."
  
  
  She didn't respond to the taunt. "You wouldn't understand, of course. My people will never be anything until they rise up and take over Japan. Ih is leading her in this direction."
  
  
  Summing up the ih to the massacre. If Filston manages to kill the Emperor and pin the blame on the Chinese, the Burakumins will be the closest scapegoat. The angry Japanese may not be able to reach Beijing - they can and will kill every Eta man, woman, and child they can find. Cut off their heads, gut them, hang them, shoot them. If that happens, the Sanya area will truly become a crypt.
  
  
  For a while, the AX agent struggled with his conscience and judgment. If he told them about Filston's plot, they might believe him enough to draw extra attention to it in math. Or they might not believe the emu at all. They might mess it up somehow. And Philston, if he suspected that the ego was suspected, would simply cancel his plans and wait for the next meeting. Nick kept his mouth shut and looked down, watching the tiny red high-heeled ballet slippers swing on Tonaka's leg. Sergei glinted on her bare brown thigh.
  
  
  There was a knock on the door. Tonaka confessed to Johnny Chow. "The Russian will be taken care of. How's our other guy?" The great Nick Carter! Master of assassinations! The man who makes all the poor little spies shiver when they hear his name."
  
  
  Cho walked over to the chair and stood glaring at Nick Carter. Ego's dark hair was thick and matted, falling low around his neck. Ego's thick eyebrows formed a black slash above his nose. Ego's teeth were large and snow-white, with a gap in the middle. He spat at AXEman and slapped his ego hard in the face.
  
  
  "How do you feel, cheap assassin? How do you like being accepted?"
  
  
  Nick squinted at the next blow. He could taste the blood around his cut lip. He saw Tonaka shake her head in warning. She was right. Chow was a maniacal killer consumed with hatred, and this is not the time to incite ego. Nick was silent.
  
  
  Cho hit him again, then again and again. "What's the matter, big guy? Nothing to say?"
  
  
  Tonaka said: "That'll be enough, Johnny."
  
  
  He swung at Nah, snarling. "Who said it would be enough!"
  
  
  "I say it. And I command her here. Beijing wants him to be alive and in good shape. A corpse or a cripple won't do them much good."
  
  
  Nick watched with interest. A quarrel in the family. Tonaka turned the walther slightly so that it covered Johnny Chow as well as Nick. There was a moment of silence.
  
  
  Cho let out a final growl. "I say fuck you in Beijing, too. Do you know how many of our comrades around the outdoor pool have been killed by this bastard?"
  
  
  "He will pay for it. Over time. But first, Beijing wants the ego to be interrogated - and think that it will be pleasant for it! So come on, Johnny. Calm down. This should be done properly. We have orders, and they must be obeyed ."
  
  
  Good. Good! But I know what I'd do to that stinking bastard if I had my way. Her emu would have cut off her eggs and forced her ego to eat..."
  
  
  Ego discontent subsided. He walked over to the couch and slouched sullenly, his ego full of red mouth pouting like a child's.
  
  
  Nick felt a chill run down Ego's spine. Tonaka was right. Johnny Chow was a sadistic and homicidal maniac. Emu wondered what the Chinese ego machine had endured so far. People like Chu might have been a burden, and the Chinese weren't stupid at all. But there was another side to it - Chau would be an absolutely reliable and ruthless killer. This fact probably annulled the ego's sins.
  
  
  Johnny Chow straightened up. He grinned, showing his teeth.
  
  
  "At least we can get that son of a bitch to watch us work with a girl. The man just brought me in. It won't hurt the emu, and it might even convince the ego of something-for example, maybe it's over with it."
  
  
  He turned to look at Tonaka. "And it's useless to try to stop me! I do most of the work in this lousy operation, and I'm going to enjoy it."
  
  
  Nick, who was watching Tonaka closely, saw her give up. She nodded slowly. Good. Johnny. If you want. But be very careful - he's tricky and slippery as an eel."
  
  
  "Ha!" Cho walked over to Nick and slapped his ego in the face again. "I hope he really tries it out. That's all I need - an excuse to kill my ego. A good reason - then I can tell Beijing to launch an air dragon."
  
  
  He pulled Nick to his feet and pushed him toward the door. "Go ahead, Mr. Killmaster. A feast awaits you. I'm going to show you what happens to people who disagree with us."
  
  
  He snatched the walther from Tonaka. She quietly gave up and didn't look Nick in the eye. He had a bad feeling about this. A girl? Just arrived? He remembered the orders he had given the girls at the geisha house. Matu, Sato and How. God! If something went wrong, it was his fault. The ego of wine...
  
  
  Johnny Chow pushed Ego down a long corridor, then up a twisting staircase that rotted and creaked, and into a dirty basement where rats scurried away at ih's approach. Tonaka followed them, and Nick felt the resistance in her step. Hey, you really don't like trouble, he thought bitterly. However, it does so because it is loyal to its unholy communist cause. He'll never understand ih. All he could do was fight them.
  
  
  They went down another corridor, narrow and reeking of human feces. It was lined with walls, each with a tiny barred window set high up in it. He sensed, rather than heard, movement outside the door. It was ih prison, ih place of execution. From somewhere outside, penetrating even these murky depths, came the deep lowing of a tug in the harbor. So close to the salty freedom of the dress - and so on.
  
  
  Suddenly, he knew with absolute clarity what he was about to see.
  
  
  The corridor ended in another door. Ego was guarded by a roughly dressed Japanese man in rubber shoes. He had an old Chicago Tommy gun slung over his shoulder. AXEman, no matter how preoccupied he was, still noticed the round eyes and heavy stubble. - Ainu. The hairy people of Hokkaido are aborigines, not Japanese at all. Chicoms cast a wide net in Japan.
  
  
  The man stepped aside with a bow. Johnny Chow opened the door and shoved Nick into the bright glow of a single 350-watt light bulb. In the twilight, ego's eyes rebelled, and he blinked for a moment. Gradually, he made out the face of a woman encased in a shining Buddha on stainless steel. The Buddha had no head, and the ego of the truncated neck, sprawled and limp, with closed eyes, blood flowing around the nose and rta, showed the pale face of a woman.
  
  
  How!
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  Johnny Chow pushed Nick aside, then closed and locked the door. He walked up to the radiant Buddha. Nick vented his anger the only way he could - he pulled on the cuffs until he felt his skin snap.
  
  
  Tonaka whispered. "I'm so sorry, Nick. It can't be helped. I forgot something important, and I had to go back to my apartment. Like I was there. I don't know why. Johnny Chow was with me, and she saw it. We should have taken her back then - there was nothing else I could do."
  
  
  He was a savage. "So you had to take her away. Do you need to torture her?"
  
  
  She bit her lip and nodded at Johnny Chow. "He knows. I told you that's how he gets his pleasure. Her really tried, Nick, her really tried. She can be killed quickly and painlessly."
  
  
  "You're an angel of mercy."
  
  
  Chow said, " How's that for you, big Killmaster? She doesn't look so good right now, does she? Not as good as when you fucked her this morning, I'll keep the money."
  
  
  That, of course, would be part of this man's perversion. They asked themselves intimate questions under torture. Nick could imagine the grin and the madness ...
  
  
  He still knew the risk. all the threats in the world couldn't stop him from saying that. It was not in ego's nature not to say so. He should have said it.
  
  
  He said it calmly and coldly, the ego in his voice dripping with ice. "You pathetic, vile, perverted son of a bitch, Cho. Killing you is one of the greatest pleasures of my life."
  
  
  Tonaka hissed softly. "No! Don't..."
  
  
  If Johnny Chow heard these words, he was too engrossed to pay any attention to them. The ego pleasure was obvious. He ran a hand through her thick black hair and tipped her head back. Her face was bloodless, as white as if she had been made up by a geisha. Her pale tongue poked out over the bloody rta. Cho started hitting her, driving himself into a rage.
  
  
  "She's faking it, you little bitch. She's not dead yet."
  
  
  Nick wanted her dead with all his heart. That was all he could do. He watched the slow trickle of blood, now sluggish, in the curved trough built around the Buddha's base.
  
  
  ;. The car was aptly named-the Bloody Buddha.
  
  
  It's the ego's fault. He went to Tonaka's apartment to wait. He wanted her to leave the geisha house, which he thought was unsafe, and he wanted her to stay out of the way and keep a phone nearby in case the emu needed her. Tailor take it! He twisted the handcuffs in a rage. Pain shot through my ego, wrists, and forearms. He sent as payouts straight into the trap. It wasn't ego guilt, in any realistic sense, but the burden was on him to stack the dollar like a rock.
  
  
  Johnny Chow stopped hitting the unconscious girl. He frowned. "Maybe she's already dead," he said doubtfully. "None of us around these little whores have the power."
  
  
  At that moment, I opened my eyes. She was dying. She was down to the last drop of blood. Still, she looked across the room and saw Nick. Somehow, perhaps, it is with the clarity that deals, as they say, comes shortly before death, it has become known to the ego. She tried to smile with a pathetic effort. Her whisper, the ghost of a voice, echoed through the room.
  
  
  "I'm so sorry, Nick... just..."
  
  
  Nick Carter didn't look at Zhou. Now that he was sane again, he didn't want the man to read what was in his eyes. This man was a monster. Tonaka was right. If he ever had the chance to strike back, he had to act coolly. Very cool. In the meantime, he had to put up with it.
  
  
  Johnny Gow pushed as if from himself with a savage motion that broke his neck. The crackling sound was clearly audible in the room. Nick saw Tonaka flinch. Was she losing her temper? There is a possible angle.
  
  
  Cho stared at the dead girl. His voice was plaintive, like that of a little boy who has broken his favorite toy. "She died too soon. Why? She didn't have the right to do that." He laughed like a rat squeaking in the night.
  
  
  "There's also you, Big AXEman. I bet you'll last a long time in the Buddha."
  
  
  "No," Tonaka said. "Definitely not, Johnny. Go, go get out of here. We have a lot of work to do."
  
  
  For a moment, he stared defiantly at Nah with eyes as flat and deadly as a cobra's. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes. He made a loop around the beads and hung it in front of him. He looked down at the Walther in his hand.
  
  
  "I have a gun," he said. "That makes me the boss. Chief! I can do whatever I want."
  
  
  Tonaka laughed. It was a good try, but Nick could hear the tension unwinding like a spring.
  
  
  "Johnny, Johnny! What's it? You're acting like a fool, and I know you're not. You want us all killed?" You know what happens if we don't follow orders. Come on, Johnny. Be a good boy and listen to Mama-san. "
  
  
  She coaxed him like a baby. Nick listened. Ego life was on edge.
  
  
  Tonaka walked right up to Johnny Chow. She puts a hand on Emu's shoulder and leans in close to ego's ear. She whispered. AXEman could imagine what she was talking about. She bribed the ego with her body. He wondered how many times she had done this.
  
  
  Johnny Chow smiled. He wiped his bloodied hands on his chinos. "Will you? Do you really promise?"
  
  
  She ran her hand gently over Ego's chest. "As soon as we remove the ego device. All right?"
  
  
  He grinned, showing the gaps in his white teeth. Good. Let's do this. Voice-take the gun and cover for me."
  
  
  Tonaka took the Walther and stepped aside. Beneath her heavy makeup, her face was as expressionless as No's mask. She pointed the gun at Nick.
  
  
  Nick couldn't resist. "You pay a pretty high price," he said. "Sleeping with such an abomination."
  
  
  Johnny Chow punched his ego in the face. Nick staggered and fell on one tribe after another. Chow kicked his ego high, and for a moment, darkness swirled around Agent Axe. He swayed on his knees, losing his balance because of the handcuffs on his back, and shook his head to clear it. Lights flashed in the ego's brain like magnesium flares.
  
  
  "Not forever anymore!" snapped Tonaka. "Do you want me to keep my promise, Johnny?"
  
  
  "Good! He's not hurt." Cho grabbed Nick by the collar and pulled him to his feet.
  
  
  They took Ego back upstairs to a small, empty room next to the office. It had a metal door with a heavy iron grating on the outside. There was nothing in the room but dirty bedclothes near a pipe that ran straight from floor to ceiling. Above the groans, near the chimney, was a barred window, without glass, and too small for a dwarf to slip through.
  
  
  Johnny Chow pushed Nick over to the bed. "First class hotel, big guy. Go around to the other side and cover ego, Tonaka, while I switch the cuffs on her."
  
  
  The girl obeyed. "You'll stay here, Carter, until business ends tomorrow night. Then we'll take you out to sea and put you on board a Chinese cargo ship. You'll be in Beijing in three days. They will be very happy. see you - they are preparing a reception right now."
  
  
  Cho pulled a key from his pocket and unfastened the cuffs. Killmaster wanted to try it. But Tonaka was ten feet away, against the opposite wall, and Walter was lying on his stomach. It's no use grabbing Chow and using ego as a shield. She will kill ih both. So he refused
  
  
  kill himself, and watched as Chow snapped one of the handcuffs on a vertical pipe.
  
  
  "That should deter even a great master assassin," Chu chuckled. "Unless he has a magic set in his pocket - and I don't think he does." He slapped Nick hard across the face. "Sit down, you bastard, and be quiet. Have you prepared the needle, Tonaka?"
  
  
  Nick slid to a sitting position, his right wrist extended and connected to the tube. Tonaka handed Johnny Chow a shiny hypodermic needle. With one hand, he pushed Nick down and stuck the emu's needle in the neck, just above the collar. He tried to hurt her, and he did. The needle felt like a dagger as Chow rammed the plunger.
  
  
  Tonaka said: "Just something to get you to sleep for a while. Keep quiet. It won't hurt you."
  
  
  Johnny Chow pulled out the needle. "I would like to hurt em. If it was hers, I would have done it on my own..."
  
  
  "No," the girl said sharply. "That's all we need to do now. He'll stay. Come on, Johnny."
  
  
  Seeing that Zhou was still hesitating, looking down at Nick, she added in a gentle tone. "Please. Johnny. You know what I promised - there won't be time if we don't hurry."
  
  
  I gave Nick a good-bye kick in the ribs. "Sayonara, big guy. I'll think about you while I fuck her. It's the closest thing you'll ever get to doing again."
  
  
  The metal door closed. He heard the heavy bar drop on the spot. He was alone, with a drug working in his ego veins that was going to knock him out at any second - for how long he had no idea.
  
  
  Nick struggled to his feet. He was already a little dazed and dizzy, but that might be because of the beating. He glanced at the tiny window high above him and stepped back. It's empty. Nothing anywhere. Nothing at all. Pipe, handcuffs, dirty bed mat.
  
  
  With his free left hand, he reached into the torn pocket of his pay-a-minute doublet. The Emu was left with matches and cigarettes. And a wad of money. Johnny Chow searched it quickly, almost by accident, and he felt the money, touched it, and then apparently forgot. He didn't mention it to Tonaka. Nick remembered that it had been clever. The Chow must have its own plans for this money.
  
  
  What's the deal? Twenty-five thousand dollars didn't do the emu any good now. You can't buy a key to the handcuffs.
  
  
  Now he could feel the drug working on him. It was swaying, and its target was like a balloon trying to take off in free flight. He fought it, trying to breathe deeply, sweat pouring into his eyes.
  
  
  He kept himself on his feet by sheer will. He was standing as far away from the pipe as possible, with his right arm outstretched. He leaned to the side, using his two hundred pounds, his thumb a compound one in the palm of his right hand, squeezing the muscles and bones. There are lies in every trade, and he knew that sometimes it was possible to break out around the handcuffs. The trick was to leave a small gap between the cuff and the bones, a small backlash. Flesh doesn't mistletoe matters. The ego could be torn away.
  
  
  He had a small clearance, but his ego wasn't enough. It didn't work. He jerked violently. Pain and blood. It's all. The cuff slid down and locked at the base of the ego thumb. If only the emu had something to lubricate the ego with ...
  
  
  Now the ego goal has turned into a balloon. A balloon with a face drawn on nen. He flew from ego's shoulders and flew into the sky on a long, long rope.
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  He woke up in total darkness. His head hurt a lot, and there was one huge bruise on his body. His torn right wrist throbbed with sharp pain. Through the tiny window overhead, the sounds of the harbor could be heard from time to time.
  
  
  He lay in the dark for a quarter of an hour, trying to piece together his disordered thoughts to piece together the pieces of the puzzle into a clear picture of reality. He checked the cuff and tube again. Nothing has changed. Still trapped, helpless, motionless. Emu felt as if he had been unconscious for a long time. Ego, the thirst was alive, clinging to the throat.
  
  
  Painfully, he got to his knees. He took out the matches around his jacket pocket, and then, after two failures, managed to keep one of the paper matches glowing. He had visitors.
  
  
  There was a tray on the floor beside him. There was something on nen. Something covered with a napkin. The match burned out. He lit another one and, still on his knees, reached for the tray. Tonaka might have thought to bring the emu some water. He grabbed a napkin.
  
  
  Her eyes were open and staring at him. Matchstick's tiny holy light was reflected in the dead pupils. The goal was like lying on the calculations performed on a plate. Her dark hair fell in disarray to her severed neck.
  
  
  Johnny Chow gets a kick out of it.
  
  
  Nick Carter was ill without shame. Ego threw up on the floor near the tray, vomited, and vomited until it was empty. Empty of everything but hate. In the fetid darkness, ego's professionalism was not lost, and he only wanted to find Johnny Chow and kill ego as painfully as possible.
  
  
  After a while, he lit another match. He was covering his head with a napkin when his hand touched his hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The geisha's elaborate hairstyle was a wreckage, scattered and falling apart, covered in oil. Butter!
  
  
  The match went out. Nick dug his hand deep into the thick pile of hair and began to straighten it. The target spun at his touch, almost fell, and rolled out of ego's reach. He pushed a tray of licks over and wedged ego's legs. When his left hand was covered in hair oil, he transferred the ego to his right wrist, rubbing it up, down, and around the inside of the steel cuff. He did this a dozen times, then pushed the tray away and straightened up.
  
  
  He took a dozen deep breaths. The air seeping through the window was shrouded in smoke.. Someone was coming down the corridor outside the room, and he listened. After a while, the sounds formed a pattern. Security guard in the hallway. Shell's rubber-shod security guard is at his post. The man was pacing up and down the corridor.
  
  
  He moved as far to his left as he could, pulling the chain against the handcuffs that bound Ego to the pipe. Sweat broke out on nen as he put every ounce of his immense strength into the effort. The cuff slid off the ego-oiled hand, slid a little more, and then stuck in the ego's big knuckles. Killmaster tensed again. Now the agony. Not good. It didn't work.
  
  
  Great. He admitted that it would mean broken bones. So let's get this over with.
  
  
  He went as close to the pipe as he could lick, pulling the cuff up the pipe until it was at the level of ego's shoulders. Ego's wrist, arm, and handcuffs were covered in bloody hair oil. It should be able to do this. All the emu needed was permission.
  
  
  Killmaster took one deep breath, held it, and dashed out of the tube. All the hatred and rage that had been simmering in nen had gone into a lunge. He was once an All-American linebacker, and people still spoke in awe of how he broke down opposing lines. The way it just exploded.
  
  
  The pain was short-lived and terrible. The steel made cruel grooves in his body, and he felt his bones shatter. He swung toward the groaning day, clinging to the support, his right arm a dangling bloody wreck at his side. He was free.
  
  
  Free? There was still the metal door and heavy crossbar. Now it will be a trick. Courage and brute force took the ego as far as they could go.
  
  
  Nick leaned against moaning, breathing hard, listening intently. The guard in the hallway was still sliding up and down, his rubber ballet slippers hissing on the rough boards.
  
  
  He stood in the dark and considered his decision. He only had one chance. If he shuts up his ego, all is lost.
  
  
  Nick looked out the window. Dark. But on what day? What night? Did he sleep around the clock or more? He had this feeling. If so, it was a night set up for rioting and sabotage. That meant Tonaki and Johnny Chow wouldn't be there. They will be somewhere in the center of Tokyo, busy with their murderous plans. And Philston? Philston will smile his epicenter smile of the upper class and prepare to kill the Emperor of Japan.
  
  
  AXEman realized a sudden desperate need. If the ego's opinion was correct, it may be too late. In any case, there was no time to lose - and he had to put everything on one roll of the dice. Now it was a pure gamble. If Zhou and Tonaka were still around, he would be dead. They had brains and guns, and their egos wouldn't be fooled by lies.
  
  
  He lit a match, noting that he only had three left. That should be enough. He dragged the mat near the door, stood on it, and began to tear the ego to pieces with his left hand. The ego right was useless.
  
  
  When there was enough cotton on the thin lining, he shoved it into a pile near the gathering under the door. Not enough. He pulled more cotton wool around the pillow. Then, to save his matches in case it didn't catch fire right away, he reached out for the money in a minute, intending to roll up the bill and use it. There was no money. The match went out.
  
  
  Nick swore softly. Johnny Chow took the money as he slipped inside, his head on a platter.
  
  
  Three matches left. A new pot came out on nen, and he couldn't help but tremble in his fingers as he carefully lit another match and held it to the cotton. The tiny flame flickered, wavered, almost went out, caught fire again, and began to dreadlocks. Smoke began to billow up.
  
  
  Nick crawled out around the old platte and started blowing smoke, directing the ego under the door. Now the cotton was ablaze. If that doesn't work, he might just kill himself by choking. It was easy to do. He held his breath and continued waving his cloak. sweeping away the smoke under the door. That was enough. Nick started shouting at the top of his voice. "Fire! Fire! Define-define-Fire! Define me-don't let me burn. Fire!"
  
  
  Now he'll know.
  
  
  He was standing off to the side of Day, snuggling up to Moan from the side. The door opened outwards.
  
  
  The lamp was now blazing merrily, and the room was filled with acrid smoke. The Emu didn't need to fake a cough. He screamed again: "Fire! Define-tasukete!
  
  
  Tasuketel Hi-Hi! "The guard was running down the corridor. Nick let out a cry of horror. Tasuketel
  
  
  The heavy bar fell with a crash. The door opened a few inches. Smoke came out. Nick tucked his useless right hand into his jacket pocket so it wouldn't get in the way. Now he growled in his throat and slammed his big shoulders into the door. It was like a massive spring that had been coiled up for too long and finally released.
  
  
  The door slammed out with a bang, knocking the guard backward and off-balance. They were the Ainu he had seen before. The Tommy pistol was ready in front of him, and when Nick ducked under it, the man reflexively fired a burst. Flames seared AXEman's face. He put everything he had into a short left-handed punch in a man's life. He pinned ego k moans, his ego with a knee to the groin and across the face. The guard let out a gurgling groan and started to fall. Nick hit his ego with his hand on the Adam's apple, and then hit his ego again. Teeth are broken, blood gushes around the destroyed rta man. He released Tommy's gun. Nick grabbed it before it hit the floor.
  
  
  The guard was still half-conscious, leaning drunkenly against the wall moaning. Nick knocked out the emu's leg and it went down.
  
  
  The machine gun was heavy even for Nick with ego's only good arm, and it took the emu a second to balance the ego. The guard tried to get up. Nick kicked his ego in the face.
  
  
  He stood over the man and held Tommy's gun an inch from his head. The guard was still conscious enough to stare through Malo and back into the magazine, where the heavy .45s waited with deadly patience to rip the ego apart.
  
  
  "Where's Johnny Chow? Where's the girl? One second and I'll kill you!"
  
  
  The guard didn't doubt it. He kept very calm, and muttered words like blood foam.
  
  
  "They're going to Toyo-they're going to Toyo! They're going to start riots, fires, I swear. I tell her - you won't kill her!"
  
  
  Toyo should mean central Tokyo. City center. He guessed correctly. He was absent for more than a day.
  
  
  He put his foot on the man's chest. "Who else is here? Other men? Here? They didn't leave you to guard me alone?"
  
  
  "One person. Just one person. Now he's sleeping in the office, I swear." Through it all? Nick hit the guard in the skull with the butt of Tommy's gun. He turned and ran down the hall to the office where Johnny Chow had shot the Russian Dmitry.
  
  
  A day later, a stream of flames erupted in the office, and a gawk with an unpleasant sound flew past the mimmo of Nick's left ear. Sleeping, tailor! The bastard woke up and cut Nick off from the yard. There was no time to explore, to try to find another way out.
  
  
  Blam-BLAM...
  
  
  Gawk flew too close. Gawk punched through the wall next to him. Nick turned, snuffed out the only dim holy light in the corridor, and ran back to the stairs leading to the dungeons. He jumped over the body of the guard, unconscious, and continued running.
  
  
  Now silence. Silence and darkness. The person in the office was loading up and waiting.
  
  
  Nick Carter stopped running. He fell to his life and crawled until he could look up and see, almost can't see, the lighter rectangle of an open skylight above him. Cool air blew in, and he saw a star, a single dim star, shining in the center of the square. He tried to remember how high the skylights were. He noticed ih yesterday when they brought ego in. He couldn't remember, and he knew it didn't matter. He had to give it a try anyway.
  
  
  He threw Tommy's gun through the skylight. It bumped and bounced and made a hell of a noise. The man in the office heard it and opened fire again, spilling lead down the narrow hallway. Nick hugged Paul. One round of bullets pierced Ego's hair, missing his scalp. He exhaled softly. Christ! It was close.
  
  
  The man in the office emptied his store. Silence again. Nick stood up, braced his legs, and leaped, reaching out with his good left hand. Ego's fingers closed around the coaming of the sunroof, and he hung there for a moment, swaying, then began to pull himself up. Ego tendons, hands cracked and complained. He grinned bitterly in the dark. All those thousands of pull-ups on one arm were now paying off.
  
  
  He put his elbow on the coaming and swung his legs out. He was on the roof of the warehouse. All around him, the streets were quiet and deserted, but there were lights in warehouses and docks. One particularly bright saint shone like a constellation on top of a crane.
  
  
  There is no blackout yet. The sky above Tokyo was glowing neon. A red alert was flashing on top of the Tokyo TV Tower, and far to the south, floodlights were flashing over the international airport. About two miles to the west was the Imperial Palace. Where was Richard Filston at that moment?
  
  
  He found Tommy's gun and held it in the crook of his good arm. Then, running softly like a man running over freight cars, he walked along the warehouse. He could see well enough now,
  
  
  through every skylight as he approached it.
  
  
  Then the last window in the roof of the building widened, and he realized that he was in the hall above the office and near the loading dock. He walked on tiptoe, barely making a sound on the tarmac. A single dim light shone on the standard in the courtyard, where rusty oil barrels moved like spherical ghosts. Something near the gate caught the saint and ego's influence, and he saw that it was a Jeep. Painted black. Dollar stack's ego jumped, and he felt the beginning of real hope. There might still be a chance to stop Filston. The Jeep meant the way to the city. But first he had to cross the courtyard. It won't be easy. A single streetlamp gave enough light for that bastard in ego's office to see. He didn't dare try to pay Brylev off. You can also send your ego a business card.
  
  
  There was no time to think. Emu just needed to get ahead and take the risk. He ran along the roof extension that covered the loading dock, trying to get as far away from the office as possible. He reached both ends of the roof and looked down. And directly below him was a stack of oil barrels. They looked shaky.
  
  
  Nick slung Tommy's automatic over his shoulder and, cursing his useless right hand, carefully climbed over the edge of the roof. Ego's fingers gripped the gutter. It started to sag and come off. Ego's toes touched the oil barrels. Nick breathed a sigh of relief - the chute broke out in his hand, and Alenka's whole ego was pressing the drums. The drain pipe swayed dangerously, sagged, buckled in the middle, and collapsed with the noise of a working boiler factory.
  
  
  Agent AX is lucky that Ego wasn't killed on the spot. Whatever it was, he lost a lot of strength before the emu managed to break free and run towards the jeep. Now nothing else. It was a web-based opportunity to be in the city. He ran clumsily, limping as a half-filled drum hit the emu's ankle. Tommy's gun was held at his shoulder, butt to his stomach, and little aimed at the day loading dock near the office. I wonder how many bullets he has left in his magazine?
  
  
  The man in the office wasn't a coward. He ran out of the office, spotted Nick zigzagging across the yard, and fired a bullet from his gun. Mud rose up a leg, around Nick, and gawk kissed him. He ran without shooting rheumatism, now really worried about the clip. He had to check it out.
  
  
  The gunman left the loading dock and ran to the jeep, trying to cut Nick off. He kept shooting at Nick as he ran, but Ego's fire was erratic and distant.
  
  
  Nick still didn't shoot Rheumatism until they almost met at the Jeep. The shooting was at point-blank range. The man spun around and this time took aim, holding the gun with both hands to steady it. Nick fell on top of each tribe, put Tommy's gun down on each tribe, and fired the clip.
  
  
  Most of the bullets hit the man in life and threw him back to throw him over the hood of the Jeep. Ego's gun clattered to the ground.
  
  
  Nick dropped Tommy's automatic and ran to the jeep. The man was dead, his guts ripped out. Nick swiped Ego off the Jeep, and Stahl rummaged in his pockets. He found three spare magazines and a hunting knife with a four-inch blade. Ego's smile was cold. It was more like this. Tommy's gun wasn't a weapon you could carry around in Tokyo.
  
  
  He picked up the dead man's gun. An old Browning .380-these chicks had a strange assortment of weapons. It is collected in China and smuggled to different countries. The real problem would have been the bullets, but they seemed to solve it somehow.
  
  
  He tucked the Browning into the waistband of his doublet-clad hunting knife and got into the Jeep. The keys were in the ignition. He twisted, jammed the starter, and the old car came to life with a crushing roar of exhaust fumes. There was no silencer!
  
  
  The gate was open.
  
  
  He headed for the causeway. Tokyo shone like a huge, shimmering bauble in the misty night. There is no blackout yet. What the hell was that time?
  
  
  He walked to both ends of the road and found rheumatism. Clock the window shows: 9.33. There was a phone kiosk behind the clock. Killmaster hesitated, then clicked on bullying, jumped out around the Jeep, and ran to the kiosk. He really didn't want to do this - he wanted to go both ways and clean up the mess on his own. But it was better that he didn't. It's too risky. It's gone too far. Em will have to call the American Embassy and ask for help. He racked his brain for a while, trying to remember the code for Sunday recognition, got his ego, and went into the booth.
  
  
  His name wasn't a coin.
  
  
  Nick stared at the phone, furious and disappointed. Damn it! By the time he could explain to the Japanese operator how to persuade her to take ego to the embassy, it would be too late. Perhaps it was already too late.
  
  
  At that moment, the holy light in the kiosk went out. All around him, up and down the street, in the shops, stalls, houses and taverns, the brylev went out.
  
  
  Nick picked up the phone and froze for a second.
  
  
  
  It's too late. He was on his own again. He ran back to the jeep.
  
  
  The great city lay in darkness, save for a central patch of light near Tokyo Station. Nick turned on the Jeep's headlights and drove as fast as he could toward this lonely piece of aurora borealis in the gloom. Tokyo Station must have its own power source. Something to do with the trips that went in and out.
  
  
  As he rode, leaning on the sharp croaking horn of the Jeep - as people were already beginning to take to the streets - he saw that the blackout was not as complete as he had expected. There was no central Tokyo except for the train station, but there were still spots of light around the city's perimeter. It was about individual transformers and substations, and Johnny Chow's people couldn't knock out ih all at once. This will take time.
  
  
  One of the spots on the horizon flickered and went out. They were getting close to it!
  
  
  He got caught in traffic and had to slow down. Many drivers stopped and waited to see what would happen. A stuck electric tram blocked the intersection. Nick rounded Ego and continued driving the Jeep slowly through the crowd.
  
  
  Candles and lamps flickered in the houses like large fireflies. He passed a mimmo group of laughing kids on the corner. It was a real ball for them.
  
  
  Even he turned left on Ginza. He could turn straight for Sotobori-even walk a couple of blocks and then turn north on the street that would take Egoist directly to the palace grounds. He knew the poster that led directly to the bridge over the moat. Sure, the place was swarming with cops and military personnel, but that was okay. Emu just needed to find someone with enough authority, get ih to listen to ego, and lead the Emperor to shelter and safety.
  
  
  He entered Sotobori. Frank ahead, beyond the point where he intended to turn north, was the sprawling American Embassy building. Killmaster was very tempted. Emu needed help! This thing was getting too big for him. But it was only a matter of seconds, precious seconds, and he couldn't afford to lose even one second. As he pushed the jeep, tires screamed around the corner, the saint in the embassy caught fire again. Emergency generator. It had occurred to him then that the Palace would also have emergency generators that would use ih, and Filston must have known about this. Nick shrugged his big shoulders and stepped hard on the gas, trying to push his ego through the floorboards. Just go there. During.
  
  
  Now he could hear the sullen murmur of the crowd. Despite. He'd heard crowds before, and they always scared ego a little more than anything else. The mob is an unpredictable, crazy beast capable of anything.
  
  
  He heard gunfire. A ragged scattering of gunfire in the dark, open ahead. The fire, rough and fierce, painted the blackness. He came to the intersection. The palace was now only three blocks away. A burning police car was lying on the ground. It exploded, and flaming fragments flew up and down like miniature rockets. The crowd retreated, shouting and running for cover. Further down the street, three more police cars blocked the road, their moving flashlights playing in the packed crowd. Behind them, a fire truck was moving alongside a hydrant, and Nick caught a glimpse of a water cannon.
  
  
  A thin line of policemen passed down the street. They were wearing blog helmets, batons, and pistols. Behind them, several more police officers fired tear gas over the line and into the crowd. Nick could hear the gas shells shattering and scattering with a typical wet thuuckk-thuuckk. The crowd smelled of lachriminators. Men and women were choking and coughing when the gas hit. The retreat began to turn into a rout. Nick turned the Jeep helplessly to the side of the road and waited. The crowd swooped down on the jeep like a promontory at sea and circled around it.
  
  
  Nick got up in the Jeep. Looking through the crowd to the pursuing police and the high wall, he could see lights in the palace and on its grounds. They used generators. That should have made it harder for Filston. Or was it? Anxiety haunted AXEman. Philston would have known about generators, and not taught ih. How did he expect to get to the Emperor?
  
  
  Then he saw Johnny Chow standing behind him. The man stood on the roof of the car and shouted at the passing mimmo crowd. Odin was picked up by ego around the searchlights of the police car and held in the lane by mir. Chow continued waving his arms and wheezing, and gradually the flow of the crowd began to slow down. Now they were listening. They stopped running.
  
  
  Tonaka, standing near the right wing of the car, was illuminated by a floodlight. She was wearing black, slacks, and a sweater, and her hair was pulled back in a headscarf. She stared at the shrieking Johnny Chow, her eyes narrowed, feeling strangely calm, oblivious to the crowd that was constantly jostling and jostling around the car.
  
  
  It was impossible to hear what Johnny Chow was saying. Ego's mouth opened and the words came out, and he kept pointing around.
  
  
  They listened again. Shrill whistles rang out around the police lines, and the police lines began to retreat. A mistake, Nick thought. Forever was to keep ih on. But there were a lot fewer police officers, and they were playing it safe.
  
  
  He could see men in gas masks, at least a hundred of them around them. They were circling around the car where Chow was preaching, and they were all carrying some sort of weapon - batons, bearskin, pistols, and knives. Nick caught the flash of Wall's gun. They were the core, the real troublemakers, and with guns and gas masks, they had to lead the crowd through the police lines and into the Palace grounds.
  
  
  Johnny Chow was still shouting and pointing at the palace. Tonaka watched from below, her face impassive. The men in gas masks began to form a rough front, moving into the ranks.
  
  
  Killmaster looked around. The Jeep was caught in the press of the crowd, and he stared across the sea of angry faces to where Johnny Chow was still the center of attention. The police showed restraint, but they got a good look at the bastard.
  
  
  Nick pulled the Browning out of his belt. He glanced down. No one around him paid him the slightest attention. He was the invisible man. Johnny Chow was delighted. He was finally the center of attention. Killmaster smiled briefly. He would never have that chance again.
  
  
  It should be fast. This crowd was capable of anything. They will tear the ego to bloody pieces.
  
  
  He hadn't guessed (he's in a hall about thirty yards away. Thirty yards around the strange weapon he'd never fired around.
  
  
  Johnny Chow was still the focus of the police's attention. He wore his popularity like a halo, unafraid, reveling in it, spitting and shouting his hatred. Lines of armed men in gas masks formed a wedge and moved towards the police lines.
  
  
  Nick Carter picked up the Browning and leveled it. He took a quick, deep breath, exhaled half of it, and pulled the trigger three times.
  
  
  He could barely hear the gunshots over the noise of the crowd. He saw Johnny Chow spin on the roof of the car, grab his chest, and fall. Nick jumped out around the jeep, as far into the crowd as possible. He descended into the writhing mass of jostling bodies, hit it with his good arm, breaking through space, and began to make his way to the edge of the crowd. Only one person tried to stop the ego. Nick stuck an inch of his hunting knife into it and walked on.
  
  
  He had made his way to the partial shelter of a hedge at the head of the palace lawn when the "new note of the crowd"was picked up. He crouched in the hedge, disheveled and bloodied, and watched the mob attack the police again. In the van were armed men led by Tonaka. She waved a small Chinese flag - now all cover was gone - and ran screaming at the head of the tattered, disorderly wave.
  
  
  Shots rang out at the police. No one fell. They were still firing over the top of their attack skill. The crowd, again ecstatic, unthinking, moved forward to be the spearhead of the armed men, a solid core. The thunderbolt was terrifying and bloodthirsty, the maniacal giant shouting about its thirst for murder.
  
  
  The thin line of policemen parted and the horsemen came out. Mounted police, at least two hundred around them, rode toward the crowd of Negroes. They used sabers and meant to cut down the crowd. The patience of the police came to a thread. Nick knew why-the Chinese flag had done it.
  
  
  The horses slammed into the crowd. People staggered and went down. The screams started. The sabers rose and fell, catching the sparks from the searchlights and throwing them like bloody dust motes.
  
  
  Nick was close enough to see it clearly. Tonaka turned and tried to run to the side to avoid the attack. She tripped over a man who was already downstairs. The horse reared and dived, as frightened as humans, almost knocking the rider over. Tonaka was halfway there and running again when a steel hoof came down and crushed her skull.
  
  
  Nick ran to the palace stone, which was now sitting behind a hedged lawn. Now is not the time for posters. He was like a loafer, like a rebel himself, and the ego was never allowed in.
  
  
  The wall was ancient and covered in moss, covered in lichen, with many toes and footholds. Even with just one hand, it wasn't difficult for him to overcome it. He jumped down into the grounds and ran to the fire near the moat. An asphalt driveway led to one of them around the main roadway, and a barricade was set up. Cars were parked behind the barricade, people were crowding around, and the voices of the military and police were shouting softly.
  
  
  A Japanese soldier stuck a carbine in the emu's face.
  
  
  "Tomodachi," Nick hissed. "Tomodachi is different! Take me to see Commander-san. Hubba! Hayai!"
  
  
  The soldier pointed to a group of men near one of the trucks. He pushed Nick toward them with the carbine. Killmaster thought about it: "It will be the most difficult thing to look like her. He probably didn't speak too well either. He was nervous, tense, beaten, and almost defeated. But he had to make ih understand that the real ones
  
  
  the trouble was just beginning. Somehow, emu had to do it ...
  
  
  The soldier said: "Put your hands on your head, please." He spoke to one of the men in the group. Half a dozen curious faces turned to Nick. He recognized one around them. Bill Talbot. Embassy attache. thank god!
  
  
  Until then, Nick hadn't known how badly he'd been hurt-his ego-from the beating he'd taken. He cawed like a raven.
  
  
  "Bill! Bill Talbot. Come here. This is Carter. Nick Carter!"
  
  
  The man slowly approached him. There was no recognition in the ego's gaze.
  
  
  "Who? Who are you, buddy? How do you know my name?"
  
  
  Nick struggled for control. Now it is useless to blow up the ego. He took a deep breath. "Just listen to me, Bill. Who will buy my lavender?"
  
  
  The man's eyes narrowed. He walked over to Lick and looked at Nick. "Lavender is missing this year," he said. "I want clams and mussels. Sweet Jesus, is that really you, Nick?"
  
  
  "That's right. Now listen and don't interrupt. There's no time..."
  
  
  He told his story. The soldier took a few steps back, but kept his carbine trained on Nick. The group of men by the car stared at them in silence.
  
  
  Killmaster finished. "Take this now," he said. "He does it quickly. Philston must be on the property somewhere."
  
  
  Bill Talbot frowned. "You've been misinformed, Nick. The Emperor is not here. I haven't been here in a week. He secludes himself. He meditates. Satori. He's at his personal shrine, not far from Fujiyoshida."
  
  
  Richard Filston tricked ih all of them.
  
  
  Nick Carter swayed, then caught himself. You did what you had to do.
  
  
  "All right," he croaked. "Bring me a fast car. Hubba! There might still be a chance. Fujiyoshida is only thirty miles away, and the plane is no good. I'll go ahead with it. You organize things here. They know you, and they'll listen. Call Fujiyoshida. And..."
  
  
  "I can't. The communication lines are gone. Tailor damn it, it's almost all gone, Nick, you look like a corpse - don't you think I'm better off..."
  
  
  "I think you'd better get me that car," Nick said grimly. Sincerely at this damned moment.
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  The big embassy Lincoln had been bored all night, heading southwest on a road that wasn't suitable for short stretches, and was bad most of the time. When it was finished, it would be a super highway - now it was a mass of bypass roads. He walked three miles before he was ten miles from Tokyo.
  
  
  However, it was probably the shortest route to the small shrine at Fujiyoshida, where the Emperor was currently in deep meditation, contemplating cosmic mysteries and no doubt seeking to know the unknowable. The latter was a Japanese trait.
  
  
  To Nick Carter, hunched over the wheel of the Lincoln and keeping the speedometer as high as possible without killing himself, it seemed highly likely that the Emperor would be able to penetrate the secrets of the afterlife. Richard Filston mistletoe handicap, enough time, and so far the emu ferret has managed to lure Nick and the Chicomes nicely to the palace.
  
  
  That scared Nick. How stupid of me not to check. Don't even think about checking it out. Philston had accidentally mentioned that the Emperor was in the hall at the residence in the palace-hence! He accepted it without question. Johnny Chow and Tonaka didn't get into a tailspin because they didn't know anything about the plot to assassinate the Emperor. A killmaster who doesn't have access to newspapers, radio, or television is easily deceived. It was, he thought now, as he came to the next roundabout sign, a common occurrence for Filston. It would have made no difference to the job Pitt Fremont was taking on, and Filston was hedging against any last-minute change of heart, betrayal, or breach of duty. It's so beautifully simple to send the audience to one theater and stage your own play in another. We need applause, our intervention, and our witnesses.
  
  
  He slowed the Lincoln's speed as it passed through a village where candles left a thousand saffron dots in the dark. They were here on Tokyo electricity, and it was still missing. Beyond the village, the detour continued, muddy and soaked with recent rains, better suited to ox carts than the low-slung work he was doing. He stepped on the gas pedal and rode it through the mud that clung to it. If it gets bogged down, it will be a thread.
  
  
  Nick's right hand was still tucked uselessly into his jacket pocket. The Browning and hunting knife were on the seat next to him. Ego's left arm and arm, numb to the bone from pulling out the big steering wheel, have sunk to a constant relentless pain.
  
  
  Bill Talbot shouted something at Nick as he drove away in the Lincoln. Something about helicopters. This might work. Probably not. By the time they got things right, which with all the chaos in Tokyo and everything was knocked out, and by the time they were able to get out to the airfields, it was already too late. And they didn't know what to look for. He knew Filston by sight. They didn't do it.
  
  
  A helicopter flying into the serene temple will scare Filston away. Killmaster didn't know that. Not now. Not after he'd gotten this far. Saving the Emperor was number one, but getting Richard Filston once and for all was very close. This man has done too much harm in the world.
  
  
  He came to a fork in the road. He missed the sign, clicked on mock, and backed up to catch the sign in his headlights. All he needed was to get lost. The sign on the left said Fijiesida, and emu had to trust that.
  
  
  The road was good for the lot now, and he drove the Lincoln to ninety. He rolled down the window and let the damp wind blow in. Now he was feeling better, starting to recover, and he had a second active rest period of reserve strength. He drove through another village before he realized it was there, and thought he heard a frantic whistle behind him. He grinned. That would be one indignant copp.
  
  
  The emu was going to make a sharp left turn. Beyond it was a narrow arched bridge for one car. Nick saw the signs just in time, hit the bullying button, and the car went into a long, sliding right-hand skid with tires screeching. The wheel lashed out at ego, trying to pull away from his numb fingers. He tore it around the skid, drove it into the signposts with an agonizing scream of springs and bumps, and bricked the right rear fender as it just hit the bridge.
  
  
  Beyond the bridge, the road was hell again. It made a steep S sign and moved parallel to the Fujisanroku Electric Railway. He passed a large red car, dark and helpless, standing on the tracks, and immediately saw the faint flash of people waving at the emus. Tonight, many people will find themselves in a quandary.
  
  
  The shrine is less than ten miles away. The road worsened, and the emu had to slow down. He forced himself to calm down, fighting the irritation and impatience that gnawed at his ego. He was not an Oriental, and every nerve required immediate and final action, but a bad path was a fact that had to be faced with patience. To calm his mind, he allowed himself to recall the intricate path schell had taken. Or rather, the path that the ego has been pushed through.
  
  
  It was like a huge tangled maze, with four vague figures prowling around, each pursuing their own plans. Black symphony of counterpoint and double cross.
  
  
  Tonaka-she was ambivalent. She loved her father. Still, she was a pure communist, and in the end, she had framed Nick for death at the same time as her father. That must have been the case, but the killer messed up and killed Kunizo Mata first, giving Nick a chance. The cops might have been a coincidence, but he still didn't think so. Probably Johnny. Chow arranged the murder against Tonaka's better judgment and called the police as a secondary measure. When that didn't work out, Tonaka made herself known and decided to bring Nick back online. She could wait around Beijing for orders. And working with a maniac like Chow can never be easy. So the fake rapture and breast are sent to the emu along with the note. This meant that he was being followed all the time, and he never noticed the tail. Nick winced and almost stopped to see the giant hole. It happened. Not parts, but it was. Sometimes you were lucky and the mistake didn't kill you.
  
  
  Richard Filston was as good as Nick had always heard. My idea would be to use Fremont's Story to tell the story in the world's press. At this time, they must have planned to use the real Mr. Fremont. Maybe he would have. Maybe Nick, who played Pete, was telling the truth when he said that a lot of whiskey had gone in that time. But if Pete was willing to sell, Kunizo Matu didn't know about it - and when he decided to use Pita Bread as a cover for Nick, he got frank ih's hands on it.
  
  
  Nick shook his head. It was the most intricate web he had ever broken through. He died without a cigarette, but without a chance. He made another detour and began skirting the swamp that must have once been a rice paddy field. They put down logs and covered ih with gravel. From the rice fields to the swamp, the breeze carried the smell of rotting human feces.
  
  
  Philston had been watching the Chinese, probably as a normal precaution, and the ego people had no trouble picking up Nick. Philston thought he was Pitt Fremont, and Tonaka didn't say anything to Emu. She and Johnny Chow must have taken a serious hit-snatching Nick Carter's candid out from under Filston's nose. Killmaster! They were just as hated by the Russians and as important to them as Philston himself is to the West.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Filston also got her case. He used a man thought to be Pete Fremont - with the knowledge and permission of the Chicoms - to set up ih for real gain. To defame the Chinese with the burden of killing the Emperor of Japan.
  
  
  Figures in a maze, each with a different plan in mind, each trying to figure out how to trick the other. Using terror, using money, moving small people like pawns on a big board.
  
  
  The road was paved now, and he stepped onto nah. He had been to Fujiyoshida once - a walk with a girl and a Saki for fun-and now he was grateful for it. The sanctuary was closed that day, but Nick remembered
  
  
  reading the map in the guidebook, and now he tried to remember ee. When he concentrated, he could remember almost everything, and now he concentrated.
  
  
  The sanctuary was open up ahead. Maybe half a mile. Nick switched off the headlights and slowed down. He might still have a chance, he couldn't know, but if he did, he shouldn't have screwed up right now.
  
  
  The alley led to the left. They went this way that time, and he knows it. The path skirted the area to the east. It was an ancient wall, low and crumbling, which would not have been a problem even for a one-armed math student. Or Richard Filston.
  
  
  The alley was muddy, just over two ruts wide. Nick drove the Lincoln for several hundred feet and was solving engine research problems. Painfully, stiffly, cursing under his breath, he left without making a sound to us. He slid the hunting knife into the left pocket of his doublet and, with a clumsy left hand, inserted a new clip into the Browning.
  
  
  Now it had dissipated, and the crescent moon was trying to float through the clouds. It gave Rivnenskaya so much light that he could feel his way down the alley, into the ditch, and up the other side. He walked slowly across the wet grass, now high, to the old moan. There he stopped and listened,
  
  
  He was in the darkness of a giant wisteria tree. Somewhere in the green cage, a bird squeaked sleepily. Nearby, several chickadees began to sing their own rhythmic song. The strong fragrance of peonies was set off by a faint breeze. Nick put his good hand on the low wall and jumped over.
  
  
  Of course, there will be guards. Maybe the police, maybe the military, but there won't be much ih, and they'll be less than vigilant. The average Japanese person couldn't think that the Emperor could be summoned in all the houses around. It wouldn't have occurred to them. Not unless Talbot had worked a miracle in Tokyo and somehow survived.
  
  
  The silence, the quiet darkness, belied that. Nick was still alone.
  
  
  He stayed under a large wisteria tree for a minute, trying to visualize a map of the area as he had seen it once. It came from the east , which meant that the small shrine, qisai, where only the Emperor was allowed to go, was somewhere to his left. A large temple with curved torii above the main entrance was open in front of him. Yes, this should be correct. The main gate was on the west side of the grounds, and he entered from the east.
  
  
  He began to follow the wall to his left, moving cautiously and bending slightly as he went. The turf was firm and wet, and he didn't give us a sound. And Philston, too.
  
  
  It was then that Nick Carter was first struck by the fact that if he was late, he would enter the small sanctuary and find the Emperor with a knife in his back or a bullet in his head, and Carter would be in the same hellish place. It can be pretty damn messy, and I wish it hadn't happened. Hawk needed to put on a straitjacket. Nick shrugged and almost smiled. He didn't think about the old man for hours.
  
  
  The moon came out again, and he saw the glint of black water to his right. Lake with carp. The fish will live longer than he does. He continued, more slowly now, attentive to the sound and light.
  
  
  He came out on a gravel path that led in the right direction. It was too noisy, and after a moment, he left ego and walked along the side of the road. He fished a hunting knife around his pocket and shoved it between Ego's teeth. There were bullets in the Browning's chamber, and the safety catch was unlocked. He was as ready as ever.
  
  
  The path wound through the grove around giant maple and keaki trees, connected by thick vines to form a natural gazebo. Just beyond it was a small pagoda, its tiles reflecting the faint glow of the moon. Next to it was a white-painted iron bench. There was no doubt the body of a man lying near the bench. The brass buttons glittered. A small body in a blue uniform.
  
  
  The policeman's throat was cut and the grass under him was painted black. The body was still warm. Not so long ago. Killmaster now ran on tiptoe across the open lawn and around the grove of flowering trees until he could see the faint glow of a brylev in the distance. A small shrine.
  
  
  Sergei was very dim, as dim as a will-o ' - the-wisp. He guessed that it would be behind the altar, and it would be the only source of light. It was hardly a saint. And somewhere in the dark, there might be another body. Nick ran faster.
  
  
  Two narrow paved paths converged at the entrance to the small shrine. Nick ran softly across the grass to the top of the triangle formed by the paths. Here, a thick bush gave ego on the day of the altar. Every other day, the holy, amber-striped brylev oozed onto the sidewalk. Mute. No movement. AXEman felt a twinge of nausea. He was late. There was death in this small building. He had a feeling, and he knew it wasn't a lie.
  
  
  He picked his way through the bushes, no longer bothered by the noise. Death has come and gone. The altar door was half open. He went in. They were lying halfway between the door and the altar.
  
  
  
  Some of them, all around them, moved and groaned as Nick entered.
  
  
  They were two Japanese men who had grabbed ego from the street. Shorty was dead. The tall one was still alive. He was lying on his stomach, and his ego lay nearby, casting double reflections from the tiny lamp that glowed above the altar.
  
  
  Believe me, Philston won't leave any witnesses. And yet, something went wrong. Nick rolled the tall Japanese man over and knelt beside him. The man was shot twice in the head and neck, and he was just dying. This meant that Philston had used a silencer.
  
  
  Nick moved closer to face the dying man. "Where's Philston?"
  
  
  The Japanese was a traitor, he had sold out to the Russians - or perhaps a lifelong Communist and loyal emu after all-but he was dying of terrible pain and had no idea who was interrogating ego. Or why. But ego withering brain heard the corkscrew and gave rheumatism.
  
  
  "Go to ... k special sanctuary items. Mistake - the Emperor isn't here. Shift-on-go to the great sanctuary. I ... " He died.
  
  
  Killmaster ran out the door and ran, turning left on the paved road. There may be a time. Christ Almighty - maybe there's still time!
  
  
  What quirk had prompted the Emperor to use a large shrine instead of a small one that night, he didn't know. Or caring. This gave em one last chance. It would also upset Philston, who was working on a carefully planned schedule.
  
  
  That didn't upset the cold-blooded bastard enough to pass up the chance to get rid of his two accomplices. Philston will be alone now. Alone with the Emperor, and everything was exactly as he had planned.
  
  
  Nick stepped out onto a wide tiled path lined with peonies. Off to the side of the road was another pool, and beyond that a long, barren garden with black rocks curving grotesquely. The moon was brighter now, so bright that Nick saw the priest's body in time to jump over it. He caught a glimpse of the eyes in the bloodstained brown cloth. Philston was like that.
  
  
  Philston didn't see ego. He was busy with what he was doing, pacing like a cat about fifty yards away from Nick. Nen was wearing a cape, the brown one of a Swedish priest, and the ego-shaven target reflected the moonlight. The son of a bitch thought it all out.
  
  
  Killmaster approached licks and moans, under the arcade surrounding the shrine. There were benches here, and he wound between them, keeping Philston in sight, keeping the same distance between them. And I make a decision. Kill Philston or take ego. It wasn't a competition. Kill the ego. Now. Go to him and kill the ego here and now. One shot will do it. Then go back to the Lincoln and get the hell out of there.
  
  
  Philston turned to the left and disappeared.
  
  
  Nick Carter sped up sharply. He could still lose this battle. The thought struck Emu as cold steel. After this man killed the Emperor, it wouldn't be much fun to kill Philston.
  
  
  He came to his senses when he saw where Philston had turned off. The man was now only thirty yards away, creeping down the long corridor. He moved slowly and on tiptoe. There was a web door at the end of the corridor. It will lead to one around the big shrines, and there will be the Emperor.
  
  
  A faint holy light came from the room at the end of the corridor, with Filston silhouetted against it. Good shot. Nick raised the Browning and took careful aim at Filston's back. He didn't want to risk being shot in the head in an uncertain light, and he could always finish this person off later. He held the gun at arm's length, took careful aim, and squeezed out a shot. The Browning clicked dully. Bad ink cartridge. The chance is a million to one, and the old lifeless ammunition is hardly a big zero.
  
  
  Philston was at the door, and there was no more time. He couldn't reload the gun in time with one hand. Nick ran.
  
  
  It was for a day. The room beyond was spacious. A single flame flared up above the altar. In front of it, a man sat cross-legged, head bowed, lost in his own thoughts, unaware that Death was haunting the ego.
  
  
  Philston still hadn't seen or heard from Nick Carter. He tiptoed across the room, the pistol in ego's hand elongated and muffled by the silencer screwed on it. Without a sound, Nick set the browning on the floor and picked up his hunting knife. around the pocket. He would give anything to have this little stiletto. He only had a hunting knife. And about two seconds.
  
  
  Philston was already halfway across the room. If the person in front of the altar heard anything, if he knew what was going on in the room with him, he didn't make any sign. Ego Target was lowered to his chest, and he was breathing deeply.
  
  
  Philston raised the pistol.
  
  
  Nick Carter called softly, " Philston!"
  
  
  Philston turned smartly. Amazement, resentment, rage mixed with the ego of an overly sensitive upper feminine face. This time there was no mockery. The ego-shaven target sparkled in the flash. Ego the cobra's eyes widened.
  
  
  "Fremont!" He fired.
  
  
  Nick took a step to the side, turned to represent a narrow target, and threw the knife. He couldn't, couldn't wait any longer. .
  
  
  The pistol rattled on the stone floor. Philston stared at the knife in his folding dollar. He looked at Nick, then back at the knife, and fell. In a dying reflex, the ego's hand went to the gun. Nick kicked ego away.
  
  
  The little man in front of the altar stood up. He stood for a moment, looking calmly from Nick Carter to the body on the floor. Philston wasn't bleeding much.
  
  
  Nick bowed. He spoke briefly. The man listened without interruption.
  
  
  The man was wearing only a light brown robe, loosely fitting ego's small waist. His hair was thick and dark, with ebrosses and streaks of gray at the temples. Ego's feet were bare. He had a neatly trimmed mustache.
  
  
  When Nick finished speaking, the little man took out a pair of silver-rimmed glasses from around the pocket of his robe and put them on. He stared at Nick for a moment, then at Richard Filston's body. Then, with a low hiss, he turned to Nick and bowed very lowly.
  
  
  "Arigato".
  
  
  Nick bowed very lowly. He had a sore cleft, but he did it.
  
  
  "Make itashimashite."
  
  
  The Emperor said: "You can go as you suggest. You're right, of course. This must be kept secret. I think I can arrange that for her. You leave everything to me, please."
  
  
  Nick bowed again. "Then I'll go. We have very little time."
  
  
  "Just a moment, please," he said, taking a gold sunbeam from around his neck and holding it out to Nick on a gold chain.
  
  
  "You will accept this, please. I wish her that."
  
  
  Nick took the medal. Gold and regulations; - identify glittering in low light. "Thank you."
  
  
  Then he saw the camera and remembered that this man was a famous shutter bug. The cameras were lying on a small table in the corner of the room and must have been brought with them out of absent-mindedness. Nick went to the table and picked up the camera. There was a flash drive in the socket.
  
  
  Nick bowed again. "I can use it this way. Recording, as you understand. This is important."
  
  
  The little man bowed deeply. "Of course. But I suggest we hurry. I think I can hear it right now."
  
  
  It was by helicopter, but Nick didn't say so. He straddled Filston and photographed the dead face. Once more for reassurance, then he bowed again.
  
  
  "I'll have to leave the camera."
  
  
  "Of course. Itaskimashite. And now sayonara!"
  
  
  "Sayonara!"
  
  
  They bowed to each other.
  
  
  He reached the Lincoln just as the first helicopter arrived and hovered over the ground. The landing lights, streaks of blue-white aurora borealis, smoked in the damp night air.
  
  
  Killmaster put the Lincoln in gear and started to pull out of the alley.
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  Hawk told Rivnenskaya at nine o'clock on Friday morning.
  
  
  Nick Carter was two minutes late. He didn't feel bad about it. All things considered, he thought he was entitled to a couple of minutes of rest. He was here. Thanks to International Dateline.
  
  
  Nen was wearing one of Ego's newer suits, a light spring flannel fabric, and Ego's right arm was in a cast almost to the elbow. Strips of cordon glue formed a tic-tac-toe pattern on his thin face. He was still limping badly when he entered the waiting room. Delia Stokes was at her typewriter.
  
  
  She looked at him from head to toe, and smiled radiantly. "I'm so glad, Nick. We were a little worried."
  
  
  "I was a little worried myself for a while. Are they there?"
  
  
  “yeah. They've been waiting for you since the middle of last year."
  
  
  "Um, do you know if Hawk said anything to them?"
  
  
  "He didn't do it. Waiting for you. At the moment, only the three of us know."
  
  
  Nick straightened his tie. "Thank you, dear. Remind me to buy you a drink later." A little celebration."
  
  
  Delia smiled. "You think you should spend time with an older woman. After all, she's not a scout girl anymore."
  
  
  "Stop it, Delia. One more crack like this and you'll blow me up."
  
  
  An impatient g? n? rale came over the intercom. "Delia! Let Nick in, please."
  
  
  Delia shook her head. "He has ears like a cat."
  
  
  "Built-in sonar". He entered the inner office.
  
  
  Hawke had a cigar in his mouth. The cellophane was still on nen. This meant that he was agitated and tried not to show it. He talked to Hawk on the phone for a long time, and the old man insisted on playing out this little scene. Nick didn't understand it, except that Hawke was trying to make some dramatic impact. But for what purpose?
  
  
  Hawk introduced Ego to Cecil Aubrey and a man named Terence, a grim, lanky Scot who simply nodded and puffed on an obscene pipe.
  
  
  Extra chairs were brought in. When everyone was playing this game, Hawke said: "All right, Cecil. Tell em what you want."
  
  
  Nick listened with growing amazement and bewilderment. Hawk avoided Ego's gaze. What was the old devil up to?
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey quickly went through with it. It turned out that he wanted Nick to go to Japan and do what Nick had just been to Japan and done.
  
  
  At the end, Aubrey said: "Richard Philston is extremely dangerous. I suggest you kill the ego on the spot, not try to capture it."
  
  
  Nick looked at Hawke. The old man stared innocently at the ceiling.
  
  
  Nick took out a glossy photo around an inner pocket.
  
  
  and handed the ego special to the Englishman. "Is this your man Philston?"
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey stared at the dead face, at the shaved head. Ego's mouth opened and ego's jaw dropped.
  
  
  "Damn her! Similar - but without the hair it's a bit harder-I'm not sure."
  
  
  The Scotsman came closer. One quick glance. He tapped his superior on the shoulder, then nodded at Hawke.
  
  
  "This is Philston. There is no doubt about it. I don't know how you did it, buddy, but congratulations."
  
  
  He added quietly to Aubrey,"This is Richard Philston, Cecil, and you know it."
  
  
  Cecil Aubrey placed the photograph on Hawke's chair. “yeah. This is Dick Filston. I've been waiting for her for a long time."
  
  
  Hawk stared at Nick. "It's going to be all right for now, Nick. See you after lunch."
  
  
  Aubrey raised his hand. "But wait - I want to hear some details. It's amazing and..."
  
  
  "Later," Hawke said. "Later, Cecil, after we discuss our very private business."
  
  
  Aubrey frowned. He coughed. Then: "Oh, right. Of course, David. You have nothing to worry about. I keep my word." Nick looked back at the day. He'd never seen Hawke in that light before. Suddenly, egomaniac Stahl looks like a sly old cat-a cat with cream smeared on his mustache.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  14 seconds of hell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14 seconds of hell
  
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The man saw the two girls in the bar looking at him as he walked down the hall with a glass in his hand to the small terrace. The taller one was probably a Curacian, with a slender build and noble features; the other was a full-blooded Chinese woman, small and perfectly built. Ih the undisguised interest made Ego chuckle. He was tall and moved with the ease and controlled strength of a fit athlete. When he reached the terrace, he looked out at the lights of Hong Kong's Royal Colony and Victoria Harbour. He could feel the girls still looking at him, and he smiled wryly. There was too much at stake, and there wasn't much time left.
  
  
  
  Agent N3, Killmaster, chief agent of AX, was feeling uneasy in the damp, oppressive atmosphere of this evening in Hong Kong. It wasn't just two girls in a bar, although he felt that emu needed a woman. It was the restlessness of a boxing champion on the eve of the heaviest fight of his career.
  
  
  
  He scanned the harbor with his cerro-blue eyes and watched the green-and-white ferries connecting Kowloon and Victoria maneuver deftly among cargo ships, sampans, water taxis, and junks. Outside the lights of Kowloon, he saw the red and white flashes of planes taking off around Kai Tak Airport. As the Communists expanded their power further south, few travelers from the West used the Canton-Kowloon railway line. It was now Kai Tak Airport, which connected the crowded city to the Western world, in addition to the sea lanes. In the three days he'd been here, he'd come to understand why this crowded, insanely crowded lunatic asylum was often referred to as the Manhattan of the Far East. You could find everything that is hotels, and much that is not hotels. It was a vital industrial city, and at the same time a huge capital. It hummed and stank. It was irresistible and dangerous. That name fits the bill, Nick thought as he drained his glass and walked back to the hall. The pianist played a slow melody. He ordered another drink and walked over to a comfortable dark green chair. The girls were still there. He sat down in a chair and rested his head on the back. As on the previous two nights, the hall began to fill up. The room was dim, with benches lining the walls. Here and there were large coffee tables and comfortable chairs for guests who didn't have company.
  
  
  
  Nick closed his eyes and thought with a faint smile of the package he'd received from Hawke three days ago. The moment he arrived, he knew that votum votum something very unusual was going to happen. Hawkeye had come up with many strange meeting places in the past - when emu felt like he was being watched closely, or when he wanted to be sure of absolute secrecy-but this time he had outdone himself. Nick almost laughed when he peeled off the cardboard packaging and found the developer's pants - the same size as his, of course-a blue cotton shirt, a pale yellow helmet, and a gray lunch box. The note that was sent to him simply said: Tuesday, 12 p.m., 48 hours. South-east corner.
  
  
  
  He felt rather ridiculous when, dressed in slacks, a blue shirt, a yellow helmet, and holding a lunch box, he arrived at the intersection of Forty-eighth Street and Park Avenue in Manhattan, surrounded by the skeleton of a new skyscraper being built in the southeast corner. it was built. It swarmed with construction workers in colorful helmets and looked like a flock of birds sitting around a large tree. Then he saw a figure approaching, dressed like him in the photo. Unmistakable gait and confident shoulder stance. Shaking her head, she invited Nick to sit next to her on a stack of wooden slats.
  
  
  
  "Hey, boss," Nick said simply. Very clever, I must admit.
  
  
  
  Hawk opened the lunch box and pulled out a thick roast beef sandwich, which he chewed with relish. He looked at Nick.
  
  
  
  "I forgot to bring bread," Nick said. Hawke's gaze remained neutral, but Nick could hear the disapproval in his voice.
  
  
  
  "We have to be typical construction workers," Hawk said between meals. "I thought it was clear enough."
  
  
  
  "Yes, sir," Nick said. "I probably haven't thought it through enough."
  
  
  
  Hawk snatched another piece of bread from around the mold and handed it to Ego Nick. 'Peanut butter? Nick said, horrified. "There must be a difference," Hawke said sarcastically. "By the way, hers, I hope you'll think about it next time."
  
  
  
  As Nick ate his sandwich, Hawke began to talk, not hiding the fact that it wasn't about the latest baseball game or the increased prices of new cars.
  
  
  
  "In Beijing," Hawk said carefully, " they have a plan and schedule. We have received reliable information about this. The plan involves attacking the United States and the entire free world with the ih arsenal of atomic bombs. The schedule is designed for two years. Of course, they will first commit nuclear blackmail. They charge an insane amount. Beijing's thinking is simple. We are concerned about the consequences of a nuclear war for our people. As for the Chinese leaders, they will be concerned. This would even solve the problem of ih overpopulation. They think they can make it political and technical in two years."
  
  
  
  "Two years," Nick muttered. "It's not so long, supposedly, but a lot can happen in two years. The government may fall, a new revolution may take place, and in the meantime, new leaders with new ideas may come to power."
  
  
  
  "And that's exactly what Dr. Hu Can fears," Hawk replied.
  
  
  
  "Who the hell is Dr. Hu Cang?"
  
  
  
  "Well, the main leading scientist on atomic bombs and missiles. It is so valuable to the Chinese that it can practically run unchecked. This is the Chinese Werner von Braun. And this is putting it mildly. He controls everything they've done mostly in this area. He probably has more power than the Chinese themselves think. Also, we have good reason to believe that he is a maniac obsessed with hating the Western outdoor pool. And he won't want to risk waiting two years."
  
  
  
  "You mean, if I understand you correctly, that this guy, Xiao Can, wants to start the fireworks earlier. Do you know when?
  
  
  
  'Within two weeks.'
  
  
  
  Nick choked on the last bite of peanut butter bread.
  
  
  
  "You heard right," Hawk said, carefully folding the sandwich paper and putting it in the jar. "Two Sundays, fourteen days. He won't wait for Beijing's schedule. He is not going to risk a change in the international climate or any domestic issue that could potentially disrupt his work schedule. And the top is N3, Beijing knows nothing about its plans. But he has the means. It has all the necessary equipment and raw materials.
  
  
  
  "I think this is reliable information," Nick commented.
  
  
  
  "Absolutely reliable. We have an excellent informant. In addition, the Russians know this. Maybe they got it from the same informant we use. You know the ethics of this profession. By the way, they're just as shocked as we are, and they've agreed to send an agent to work with the person we're sending. They seem to believe that cooperation is necessary in this case, even if it is an unavoidable evil for them. They even offered to send you. I really didn't want to tell you. You can be conceited."
  
  
  
  "Well, well," Nick chuckled. "I'm almost touched. So this idiotic helmet and this lunchbox are not meant to deceive our Moscow colleagues."
  
  
  
  "No," Hawk said seriously. "You know that there aren't many carefully kept secrets in our email business. The Chinese have discovered that something is wrong, probably due to increased activity among both the Russians and our agents. But they can only suspect that the actions are directed against them. They don't know exactly what it's about." "Why don't we just inform Beijing of Xu Can's plans, or its naive?"
  
  
  
  "I'm naive, too," Hawke said coldly. "First of all, they eat according to the ego of the hands. They will immediately swallow any denial, and any excuse. In addition, they may think that this is a conspiracy on our part to discredit ih's best scientists and nuclear experts. In addition, we will reveal how well we know about ih's long-term plans and how far our secret services have penetrated the ih system ."
  
  
  
  "Then its naive as a student," Nick said, throwing back his helmet. But what do you expect from me - excuse me, my Russian friend and I can do for two Sundays?
  
  
  
  "We know the following facts," Hawke continued. Somewhere in Kwantung Province, Xu Can has seven full-name nuclear power plants and seven missile launch sites. He also has extensive laboratories and is probably working hard on developing new weapons. Your task is to blow up these seven launch pads and rockets. You're expected in Washington tomorrow. In Special Effects, you will be given the necessary equipment. In two days, you should be in Hong Kong, where you will meet with a Russian agent. They seem to have someone very good to help them in this area. Special Effects also gives you information about procedures in Hong Kong. Don't expect too much, but we've done our best to arrange everything as best as possible for this short deadline. The Russians say that in this case you will get a lot of support from the IHB."
  
  
  
  "Thanks for the loan, boss," Nick said with a wry smile. "If I can complete this assignment, I'll need a vacation."
  
  
  
  "If you can do that," Hawk replied, " next time you'll eat roast beef on bread."
  
  
  
  
  
  Vote as they met that day, and now he was here in a hotel in Hong Kong. He waited. He watched the people in the hall - many of them he could barely see in the dark-until suddenly his ego muscles tensed. The pianist performed "In the Silence of the Night". Nick waited until the song was over, then quietly walked over to the piano player, a short Oriental man, probably Korean.
  
  
  
  "Very nice," Nick said softly. 'One of my favorite songs. Did you just play nah or was it a request?'
  
  
  
  "It was a request, he said," the pianist replied after playing a few intermediate chords. Damn it! Nick grimaced. Perhaps one of those coincidences that just happen. And yet, he had to get into it. You never know when plans are going to change suddenly. He looked in the direction the piano player nodded and saw the girl in the shadow of one of the chairs. She was blonde and dressed in a simple black dress with a plunging neckline at the front. Nick walked over to her and saw that her firm breasts were barely contained by the dress. Nah had a small but determined face, and she looked up at him with big blue eyes.
  
  
  
  "It's a very nice room," he said. "Thanks for the corkscrew." He waited and, to Ego's surprise, got the correct rheumatism.
  
  
  
  A lot can happen at night ." Nah had a faint accent, and Nick could tell by the faint smile on her lips that she knew he was surprised. Nick sat down on the wide armrest.
  
  
  
  "Hello, N3," she said sweetly. "Welcome to Hong Kong. My name is Alexi Lyubov. It looks like we're destined to work together."
  
  
  
  "Hello," Nick chuckled. "Okay, I'll admit it openly. Her surprised. I didn't think they'd send a woman for this job."
  
  
  
  "Are you just surprised?" The girl asked with a woman's cunning look in her eyes. 'Or disappointed?'
  
  
  
  "I can't judge that yet," Killmaster said succinctly.
  
  
  
  "I won't disappoint you," Alexi Lyubov said shortly. She stood up and pulled up her dress. Nick looked at Nah from head to toe. Nah had broad shoulders and strong hips, full thighs and graceful legs. Her hips were slightly pushed forward, which was always quite difficult for Nick. He concluded that Alexi Lyubov was a good advertising move for Russia.
  
  
  
  She asked. "Where can we talk?"
  
  
  
  "Upstairs in my room," Nick suggested. She shook her head. "This is probably a mistake. This is usually what you do with other people's rooms in the hope of catching something interesting ."
  
  
  
  What Nick didn't tell her was that he'd checked the room from head to toe, using electronic equipment to check for microprocessors. By the way, he wasn't in his room for several hours and was there, and during that time they could put new microphones back on.
  
  
  
  "And they are," Nick joked. "Or do you mean your people are doing it?" It was an attempt to lure her around the tent. She was looking at him with cold blue eyes.
  
  
  
  "Oni is Chinese," she said. "They're also monitoring our agents."
  
  
  
  "I guess you're not around that kind of stuff," Nick said. "No, I don't think so," the girl replied. "I have a great ending to military cover. I live in the Wai Chan area and have been studying Albanian art history for almost nine months now. Come on, let's go to my house and talk. In any case, there will be a good view of the city."
  
  
  
  Wai Chan district, Nick thought aloud. "Isn't this a slum?" He knew about this infamous colony, which consisted of slums made by scraps of wood and broken barrels of oil that were placed on the roofs of other houses. About seventy thousand people lived here.
  
  
  
  "Yes," she said. "That's why we're more successful than you, N3. You agents live here in Western homes or hotels, at least not crawling into shacks. They do their job, but they can never get into people's daily lives the way we do. We live among them, we share ih problems ih life. These people are not just agents, they are missionaries. This is a tactic of the Soviet Union ."
  
  
  
  Nick looked at Nah, narrowed his eyes, and put his thumb under her chin and lifted it. Again, he noticed that he actually had a very attractive face, with an upturned nose and a cheeky expression.
  
  
  
  "Look, my dear," he said. "If we still have to work together, you'd better leave this chauvinistic propaganda behind right now, wouldn't you? You sit in this shack because you think it's a good cover and you don't have to find fault anymore. You really don't need to try to sell me this ideological nonsense. I know her better. In fact, you're not here because you love these Chinese beggars, but because you have to. So let's not beat around the bush, okay?
  
  
  
  For a moment, she frowned and pouted. Then she started laughing heartily.
  
  
  
  "I think I like you, Nick Carter," she said, and he noticed that she gave em her hand. "I've heard so much from you that I was biased and maybe a little scared. But it's all over now. Okay, Nick Carter, no propaganda from now on. This case - I think that's what you call it, isn't it?
  
  
  
  Nick watched the happy, smiling girl walking hand-in-hand down Hennessey Sturt for the first time, and thought that they would be like a couple in love taking an evening walk in Elyria, Ohio. But nu wasn't in Ohio, and they weren't newlyweds wandering aimlessly. This was Hong Kong, and he was a well-trained, highly skilled senior agent who could make life-and-death decisions if emu had to. And the innocent-looking girl was no different. At least, he hoped so. But sometimes he just had moments when em had to think about what life would be like for this carefree guy with his girlfriend in Elyria, Ohio. They could make plans for life while he and Alexi made plans to face death. But hey, without Alexi and Ego himself, these grooms in Ohio can't have much of a future. Perhaps, in the distant future, it will be time for someone else to do the dirty work. But not yet. He pulled Alexi's hand toward him and they walked on.
  
  
  
  Hong Kong's Wai Chan sector overlooks Victoria Harbour as it overlooks a beautiful clear lake. Crowded with shops, houses and street vendors, Wai Chan is Hong Kong at its ego's worst and best. Alexi led Nick upstairs to a sloping building that would have made any house in Harlem look like a Waldorf Astoria.
  
  
  
  When they reached the roof, Nick imagined himself in a different world. In front of him, thousands of shacks stretched from roof to roof, literally a sea of shacks. They swarmed and swarmed with people. Alexi walked over to the one around them, which was already ten feet wide and four feet long, and opened the door, a pair of slats nailed together and hanging from a wire.
  
  
  
  "Most of my neighbors still think it's luxurious," the Director said as they entered. "Usually six people live in a room like this."
  
  
  
  Nick sat down on one of the two folding beds and looked around. A small stove and a dilapidated dressing table filled most of the room. But despite its primitiveness, or perhaps because of it, the shack breathed a silliness that he didn't think possible.
  
  
  
  "Now," the Director began, " I'll tell you what we know, and then you can tell me what you think should be done. Ok?
  
  
  
  She moved slightly, and part of her thighs were exposed. If she'd seen Nick looking at nah, at least she wouldn't have bothered to hide it.
  
  
  
  "I know the following, N3. Dr. Xu Can has full power of attorney to trade. That's why he was able to build these installations on his own. You can say that he is a kind of general of sciences. He has his security team consisting only around people who report only to the emu ostrich. In Kwantung, somewhere north of Shilung, he has this complex with seven missiles and bombs. I hear you plan to break in as soon as we find the exact location, place explosives or detonators on each launch pad, and detonate it. Honestly, its not optimistic, Nick Carter.
  
  
  
  'Are you afraid? Nick laughed.
  
  
  
  "No, at least not in the usual sense of the word. If so, I wouldn't have this job. But I think that even for you, Nick Carter, not everything is possible."
  
  
  
  'Maybe. Nick looked at Nah with a smile, his eyes gripping her tightly. She was very provocative, almost defiant, her breasts mostly exposed by the low slit of her black dress. He wondered if he could put her to the test, test her ego courage in another area. God, that would be nice, he thought.
  
  
  
  "You don't think about your job, N3," she suddenly said with a small sly smile on her lips.
  
  
  
  "So what are you thinking, what am I thinking?" Nick said with surprise in his voice.
  
  
  
  "What would it be like to sleep with me," Alexi Lyubov deadpanned. Nick laughed.
  
  
  
  He asked. "Do they also teach you how to detect such physical phenomena?"
  
  
  
  "No, it was a purely feminine reaction," Alexi replied. "It was obviously in your eyes.
  
  
  
  "I would be disappointed if you deny it."
  
  
  
  With a momentary determination that was deeply rooted in nen, Nick answered hey with his lips. He kissed her long and languidly, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She didn't resist, and Nick decided to work on it thoroughly right away. He pushed the hem of her dress aside, making her tits pop out, and touched his fingers to her nipples. Nick felt that they were heavy. With one hand, he tore off the zipper of her dress, and with the other, he stroked her hard nipples. Now she let out a cry of sensation, but she wasn't around them who immediately allowed herself to be defeated. She began to playfully resist, which made Nick even more nervous. He grabbed her under the buttocks and pulled hard, sending her sprawling on the bed. Then he pulled her dress down until he could see her smooth body. When he started kissing her passionately between her breasts, she couldn't resist. Nick took off all of his black dress and quickly began to undress. He threw his clothes in the corner and did a bench press on the nah. She began to turn her legs wildly and twitch her lower body. Nick pushed into Nah and now began to fuck, at first very slowly and shallowly, which made her even more excited. Then he began to move rhythmically, faster and faster, his hands brushing her torso. As he entered deep into nah, she screamed: "Ja hotchu" and "Da ... Da". At the same time, she reached an orgasm. Alexi opened her eyes and looked at him with a burning gaze. "Yes," she said thoughtfully, " maybe everything is possible for you after all!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now that he was dressed again, Nick looked down at the sensuous creature he'd just made love to. Now she was wearing an orange striped blouse and tight black trousers.
  
  
  
  "I like this exchange of information," he smiled. "But we must not forget about work."
  
  
  
  "We shouldn't have done this," Alexi said, running a hand over her face. "But it's been so long since a ferret like him ... And you have something, Nick Carter, that I couldn't hold back."
  
  
  
  "Do you regret it?" Nick asked softly.
  
  
  
  "No," Alexi laughed, pushing her blonde hair back. "It happened, and I'm happy about it. But you're right, we need to share other information as well. To start it off, the hotel would like to learn a little more about these explosives, what you want to blow up the launch pads, where you hid them and how they work ."
  
  
  
  "All right," Nick said. "But to do that, we have to go back to my room. By the way, first we will need to check if there are any eavesdropping devices hidden there."
  
  
  
  "It's a case, Nick," Alexi said, with a big smile. "Go down and give me five minutes to freshen up a bit."
  
  
  
  When she was done, they went to the inn, where they carefully examined the room. No new chips were installed. Nick went to the bathroom and came back with a spray of shaving cream. Carefully, he pressed down on something below and unscrewed it until a part of the canister was released in his hands. They repeated their steps until there were seven disc-shaped metal cans on the table.
  
  
  
  'Tota? Alexi asked in surprise.
  
  
  
  "Yes, dear," Nick said. "These are masterpieces of microtechnology, the latest developments in this field. These tiny metal boxes are a fantastic combination of printed electronic circuits around a tiny nuclear power center. There are seven tiny full-name atomic bombs that, when detonated, destroy everything within a fifty-meter radius. They have two main advantages. They are clean, produce a minimum of radioactivity and have maximum explosive power. And the little radioactivity they produce is completely destroyed by the atmosphere. Ih can be installed underground; and even then, they receive activation signals.
  
  
  
  Each one with its full name is capable of completely destroying the entire launch pad and rocket."
  
  
  
  How does the ignition work?
  
  
  
  By voice signal, " Nick said, attaching the individual parts of the spray. "My voice, to be exact," he added. 'A combination of two words. By the way, did you know that nen also has enough shaving cream to allow you to shave during Sundays? One thing I don't understand yet, " the girl said. "Such ignition works by means of a mechanism that converts voice sound into electronic signals and sends these signals to the power unit. Where is this mechanism?
  
  
  
  Nick smiled. He could just say hey, but he just preferred the theater. He took off his pants and threw ih on a chair. He did the same with his underpants. He saw that the Headmaster was looking at him with growing excitement. He grabbed her hand and placed it on her hips at hip level.
  
  
  
  "It's a mechanism, Alexi," he said. "Most of the parts are made of plastic, but there are also metal parts. These methods put an ego in my skin." The girl frowned. "A very good idea, but not good enough," she said. "If you get caught, they will immediately know about it with their current investigative techniques."
  
  
  
  "No, they won't," Nick explained. "The mechanism is located in this place for a special reason. There's also some shrapnel, a reminder of one, around my previous assignments. So they won't be able to separate the wheat from the weeds."
  
  
  
  A smile appeared on Alexi's handsome face, and she nodded admiringly. "Very impressive," she said. "Insanely thoughtful!"
  
  
  
  Nick made a mental note to pass on the compliment to Hawke. He always appreciated the fun of competing. But now he saw that the girl was looking down again. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell with gasping breaths. Her hand, still on his hip, was shaking. Could the Russians have sent a nymphomaniac to work with him? He knew perfectly well that they were capable of this; there had been cases known to emus, by the way ... But they always had a purpose. The situation is different with this task. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she was just super-sexy and spontaneously responded to sexual stimuli. He could understand that very well; he had always reacted instinctively like an animal. When she looked up at him, he read the almost desperate look in her eyes.
  
  
  
  He asked. "Do you want to try again?" She shrugged her shoulders. It didn't mean indifference, but rather helpless surrender. Nick unbuttoned her orange blouse and took off her pants. He felt that grandiose body again in his hands. She didn't show any signs of resistance now. Reluctantly, she released him. She just wanted him to touch her, to take her. This time, Nick extended the foreplay even longer, making the burning desire in Alexi's eyes grow bigger and bigger. . Finally, he took her wildly and passionately. There was something about this girl that he couldn't control, and she unleashed all her ego and animal instincts. When he entered deep into the nah, almost before the hotel, she cried out in delight. Alexi, " Nick said softly. "If we survive this gamble, I will beg my government to strengthen U.S.-Russian cooperation."
  
  
  
  She lay on the floor next to him, exhausted and sated, one of her beautiful tits pressed against her ego chest. Then she shuddered and sat up. She smiled at Nick and started to dress. Nick watched her as she did so. She was beautiful enough to just look at nah, and the same could be said for very few girls.
  
  
  
  "Spokonoi notchi, Nick," she said as she dressed. "I'll come back in the morning. We have to find a way to get to China. And we don't have much time."
  
  
  
  "We'll talk about this tomorrow, honey," Nick said as he waved her off.
  
  
  
  He watched her until she entered the elevator; then he locked the door and fell on the bed. There is nothing better than a woman to relieve tension. It was late, and the noise in Hong Kong was a low rumble. Only now and then the dark horns of the ferries sounded in the night while Nick slept.
  
  
  
  He didn't know how long he had been asleep when something ego woke him up. Some kind of warning mechanism did the trick. It wasn't something he could control, but a deep-rooted alarm system that hadn't always been active, and now woke him up. He didn't move, but he knew immediately that he wasn't alone. The Luger was on the floor next to his clothes; he just couldn't reach it. Hugo, his stiletto, he took off before making love to Alexi. He was so damn careless. He immediately thought of Hawke's wise advice. He opened his eyes and saw his visitor, a small man. He walked carefully around the room, opened his briefcase, and pulled out a flashlight. Nick thought he might intervene immediately; in the end, the man focused on the contents of the suitcase. Nick jumped around the bed with a huge burst of power. When the attacker turned around, he only had time to withstand Nick's heavy punch. He hit the wall. Nick swung his face a second time, which he saw was oriental, but the man fell to his knees in a defensive motion. Nick missed and cursed his own rashness. He had a good reason for this, because the ego attacker, seeing that he was dealing with an opponent twice Ego's size, hit him hard with a flashlight in Nick's special toe. Nick lifted his leg because of the intense pain, and the little man flew mimmo him to the open window and the balcony towards them. Nick turned quickly and caught the man, slamming his ego against the window frame. Even though he was quite light and small, the man struggled with the fury of a cornered cat.
  
  
  
  When Nick's head hit the floor, his opponent dared to raise his hand and grab the lamp on the small table. He smashed his ego against Nick's head, and Nick felt blood flow as the little man broke free.
  
  
  
  The man ran back to the balcony and was already swinging his leg over the edge when Nick grabbed Ego by the throat and dragged him back into the room. He writhed like an eel, and the emu managed to break free again around Nick's arms. But now Nick grabbed Ego by the scruff of the neck, pulled him close, and slapped Ego's jaw with all his might. The man was thrown backward as if he had been thrown onto Cape Kennedy, NY, hitting the railing with the base of his spine and going over the edge. Nick could hear Ego's screams of terror until they suddenly stopped.
  
  
  
  Nick put on his pants, cleaned the wound on his temple, and Stahl waited. It was clear which room the man was in at sunset, and sure enough, the police and two hotel employees came in a few minutes later to find out. Nick described the little man's visit and thanked the police for ih's quick arrival. He casually asked if they knew the identity of the intruder.
  
  
  
  "He didn't bring anything with him that would tell us who he is," one of the police officers said. "Probably just a regular burglar."
  
  
  
  They left, and Nick lit one of the few long filter cigarettes he'd brought with him. Perhaps this man was just a small, second-rate thief, but what if he wasn't? Then it can only mean two things. Either he was an agent around Beijing , or an employee of Xu Can's special security service. Nick hoped it was a Beijing agent. This would fall under the normal precautions chapter. But if it was one around Xu Can's people, it would mean that he was anxious and the ego task would be harder, if not nearly impossible. He placed Wilhelmina's Luger next to him under the blanket and strapped the stiletto to his forearm.
  
  
  
  A minute later, he was asleep again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick had just taken a bath and shaved when the Headmaster showed up the next morning. She saw the scar on his temple, and he told her what had happened. She listened carefully, and Nick could see the same thoughts that crossed her mind: was this just a regular burglar or not? Then, as he stood in front of her, his naked body - he wasn't dressed yet-reflecting the sunlight of the saint, he saw the expression in her eyes change. Now she was thinking of something else. This morning, Nick felt good, more than good. He'd had a good night's sleep, and his ego and body were tingling with drive. He looked at Alexi, read her mind, and grabbed her and held her close. He felt her hands on his chest. They were soft and slightly trembling.
  
  
  
  He chuckled. "Why do you do this in the morning?" "This is the best time, did you know that?"
  
  
  
  "Nick, please. . Alex said. She tried to push him away. "Please ... Please, Nick, no!"
  
  
  
  "What is it?" "What is it?" he asked innocently. "Is something bothering you this morning?" He pulled her in for another lick. He knew that the heat of her naked body's ego would reach her, arouse her. He only intended to tease her to show that she wasn't as in control of the situation as she had shown at the beginning of the ih meeting. When he released her, she didn't back down, but clung tightly to him. Nick, seeing the burning desire in her eyes, wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her in for another lick. He started kissing her neck.
  
  
  
  "No, Nick," the Director whispered. 'Nu voice. But her words were nothing more than that-empty, meaningless words - as her hands began to touch her naked body, and her body spoke in its own language. Like a child, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. There they began making love in the morning sun, which warmed ihk through the open window. When they finished and lay side by side on the bed, Nick saw the silent accusation in her eyes that almost touched him.
  
  
  
  "I'm so sorry, Alexi," he said. "I really didn't want to go that far. She was just trying to tease you a little this morning, but I think the situation got out of hand. Not angry. It was, as you say, very good ... very good, isn't it?
  
  
  
  "Yes," she replied, laughing. "It was really good, Nick, and I'm not angry, just disappointed in myself. Her lie, a highly qualified agent who must pass all possible tests. With you, I lose all my willpower. It's very confusing."
  
  
  
  "It's such a mess that I love it, honey," Nick said with a laugh. They got up and dressed quickly. "What exactly are your plans for entering China, Nick?"
  
  
  
  "AX arranged a boat trip for us. The Canton-to-Kowloon railway will be the fastest, but it's also the first route they'll be following closely."
  
  
  
  "But we have been informed," the Director replied, " that the coastline on both sides of Hong Kong is closely guarded by Chinese patrol vessels for at least three hundred kilometers. Don't you think they'll notice the boat right away? If they catch us, there's no way out."
  
  
  
  "It's possible, but we'll go like Tankas."
  
  
  
  Ah, Tankas, Alexi thought aloud. "The Boatmen of Hong Kong".
  
  
  
  'That's right. Hundreds of thousands of people live exclusively on junks. As you know, this is a separate tribe. For centuries, they were forbidden to settle on land, marry landowners, or join the civil government. Although some restrictions have been relaxed, they still live as individuals, seeking the support of one on top of the other. IH's port patrols are almost non-stalking. The junk tankas, sailing along the coast, attracts almost no attention ."
  
  
  
  "It seems good enough to me," the girl replied. "Where do we go ashore?"
  
  
  
  Nick walked over to one of his suitcases, grabbed the metal clasp, quickly moved it back and forth six times until he loosened it. Around the pipe-shaped hole at the bottom, he pulled out a detailed map of Kwantung Province.
  
  
  
  "The voice," he said, unfolding the map. "We'll take the junk there as far as we can, up the Hu Canal, mimmo Gumenchai. Then we can go walking overland until we reach the railway. According to my information, the Xu Can complex in the hall is somewhere north of Shilong. When we get to the railway around Kowloon to Canton, we can find a way ."
  
  
  
  'How so?'
  
  
  
  "If we're right, and Xu Can's headquarters is really in a hall somewhere north of Shilong, I swear to him that he won't go to Canton to pick up his edu and equipment. I bet he'll stop the train somewhere in the area and take out the items he ordered.
  
  
  
  "Maybe N3," Alexi said thoughtfully. "That would be good. We have a contact person, a farmer, just below Taijiao. We can get a sampan or a table there."
  
  
  
  "That's great," Nick said. He replaced the card, turned to Alexi, and gave her a friendly pat on her small, hard ass. "Let's go to our Tankas family," he said.
  
  
  
  "I'll see you at the harbor," the girl replied. "I haven't sent a report to my superiors yet. Give me ten minutes.
  
  
  
  "All right, honey," Nick agreed. "Most around them can find shelter from Typhoon Yau Ma Tai. We'll meet you there." Nick walked over to the small balcony and looked out at the noisy traffic below. He saw Alexi's lemon yellow shirt as she came out, circled the hotel and started to cross the street. But he also saw a parked black Mercedes that is usually used as a taxi in Hong Kong. Ego's brows drew together as he saw the two men quickly get out and stop Alexi. Although they were both dressed in Western clothing, they were Chinese. They asked the girl something. She started searching in her bag, and Nick saw that she had pulled out what looked like a passport. Nick swore loudly. It was an inappropriate time for her to be arrested and possibly detained at a police station. It might have been a routine checkup, but it didn't interest Nick.that convinced me. He flew over the edge of the balcony and grabbed a drainpipe that was already running through the groaning buildings. This was the fastest way.
  
  
  
  Ego's feet were barely touching the sidewalk when he saw one of the men grab Alexi's elbow and force her to walk to the Mercedes. She shook her head angrily, then allowed herself to be led away. He began to run across the street, pausing for a moment to avoid an old woman who was already carrying a heavy load of clay peas.
  
  
  
  They went to the car and one of the men opened the door. As he did, Nick saw Alexi's hand shoot up in a quick motion. With perfect precision, she touched the man's throat with her palm. He fell as if decapitated by an axe. With the same movement, she elbowed into the life of another opponent. When he cringed, gurgling, she poked ego in the eye with two outstretched fingers. She-my-ego shouted with a karate kick behind her ear and ran before it hit the cobblestones. At a sign from Nick, she stopped in an alley.
  
  
  
  "Nicky," she said softly, her eyes wide. "You have to come and save me. How nice of you!' She hugged ego and kissed him.
  
  
  
  Nick knew she was playing a trick on her ego with a little secret. "Okay," he laughed, " great job. I'm glad you can take care of yourself. I wouldn't want you to spend a few hours in the police station trying to get out of it."
  
  
  
  "My idea," she replied. "But honestly, Nick, I'm a little worried. I don't believe they were what they pretended to be. Here, detectives conduct more passport checks on foreigners, but this was too startling. When I was getting out, I saw them get out, around the car. They should have taken me and no one else."
  
  
  
  That means we're being watched, " Nick said. "They can be ordinary Chinese agents or guys from Hu Can. In any case, you will now have to act quickly. Your cover has also fallen into disrepair. I was originally planning to leave tomorrow, but I think we'd better go sailing tonight."
  
  
  
  "I still need to deliver this report," Alexi said. "See you in ten minutes."
  
  
  
  Nick watched Nah as she quickly ran away. It has proven its quality. The initial objections to working with a woman in this situation quickly disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Yau Ma Tai Typhoon Shelter is a huge dome with wide gates on both sides. The embankments resemble the outstretched hands of a mother protecting hundreds and hundreds of aquatic inhabitants. Nick looked around at the jumble of junks, water taxis, sampans, and floating shops. The junk he wanted had three fish in the stern for identification. It was the Lu Shi family's junk.
  
  
  
  AX has already made all the payment arrangements. All Nick had to do was say the password and give the travel order. He was just beginning to check the stern of the nearest junks when Alexi came up. It was a laborious job, as many junks were stuck between the sampans, and the stern was barely visible from the embankment. Alexi saw the junk first. It had a blue body and a battered orange nose. Three fish are drawn by Rivnenskaya in the center of the stern.
  
  
  
  As they approached, Nick looked around at its occupants. A man was mending a fishing net. A woman was sitting in the stern with two boys of about fourteen. The old bearded patriarch was sitting quietly in a chair, smoking a pipe. Nick saw the family altar, surrounded by red gold, opposite the canvas-covered center of the junk. An altar is an integral part of every Tankas Otar. Next to it, a stick of incense was burning, giving off a sharp, sweet fragrance. A woman was cooking fish on a small clay brazier, under which a coal smouldered. The man put down the fishing net as they walked up the ramp to the boat.
  
  
  
  Nick bowed and asked: "Is this the Lu Shi family's boat?"
  
  
  
  The man in the stern answered. "This is the Lu Shi family's boat," he said.
  
  
  
  Lu Shi's family was blessed twice that day, " Nick said.
  
  
  
  The man's eyes and face remained blank as he replied softly. "Why did you say that?"
  
  
  
  "Because they help and get help," Nick replied.
  
  
  
  "In that case, they are truly doubly blessed," the man replied. "Welcome aboard. We've been waiting for you."
  
  
  
  "Is everyone on board now?" Nick asked. "Everything," Lu Shi replied. "As soon as we get you to your destination, we will receive instructions to go to the shelter immediately. Moreover, if we were detained, it would raise suspicions if there were no women and children on board. Tanks always take their families with them wherever they go."
  
  
  
  "What will happen to us if we are arrested?" Alexi asked. Lu Shi beckoned the two of them to a closed part of the trash, where he opened a trapdoor leading to a small hall. There was a pile of reed mats.
  
  
  
  "Transporting these mats is a part of our lives," Lu Shi said. "You can hide under the pile in case of danger. They are heavy but loose, so air can easily pass through them. Nick looked around. Two boys were playing this game by the brazier and eating fish. Old grandpa was still sitting in his chair. Just from the smoke coming out of the ego tube, you could tell it wasn't a Chinese sculpture.
  
  
  
  - Will you be able to go sailing today? Nick asked. It's possible, " Lu Shi nodded. But most junks don't make long trips at night. We're not experienced sailors, but if we follow the coastline, we'll be fine."
  
  
  
  "We would have preferred to go no matter when," Nick said, " but the plans have changed. We'll be back at sunset.
  
  
  
  Nick led Alexi up the gangplank and they left. He glanced back at the junk. Lu Shi, sit down with the boys to eat. The old man was still sitting like a statue in the stern. The smoke around the ego tube slowly spiraled up. According to traditional Chinese veneration of the elderly, they undoubtedly brought emu edu. Nick knew that Lu Shi was acting out of self-interest.
  
  
  
  AX undoubtedly guaranteed emu and Ego's family a good future. Still, he admired the man who had the imagination and the courage to risk his life for a better future. Maybe Alexi was thinking the same thing at the time, or maybe Nah had other thoughts on her mind. They returned to the inn in silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As they entered the hotel room, Alexi screamed.
  
  
  
  "What is this takoeya?" she exclaimed."What is it?" Nick responded to Corkscrew's ee. "This room needs redecoration, honey."
  
  
  
  It was the right thing to do, because the room was a complete ruin. Every piece of furniture was turned upside down, tables were overturned, and the contents of all the suitcases were scattered on the floor. The seat upholstery was cut. In the bedroom, the mattress was on the floor. It was also opened. Nick ran to the bathroom. The spray shaving cream was still there, but there was a thick lather on the sink.
  
  
  
  "Oni wants to know if it's really shaving cream," Nick laughed bitterly. "Thank God they came before that. Now its sure of one thing ."
  
  
  
  "I know," Alexi said. "This is not the work of professional people. Awfully sloppy! Even Beijing's agents have become better because we raised ih. If they suspected you were a spy, they wouldn't have searched so hard in all the obvious places. They should have known better ."
  
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Nick said grimly. "This means that Xu Can knows something, and has sent his men there."
  
  
  
  How could he know that, Alexi wondered aloud.
  
  
  
  "Maybe he'll get our informants. Or he accidentally heard something from another informant. In any case, he can't know more than that: "AH sent a man. But he will be very vigilant, and it will not make us feel any better."
  
  
  
  "I'm glad we're leaving tonight," Alexi said. "We have three hours left," Nick said. "I think it's better to wait here. You can also stay here if you want. Then we can pick up the things you want to take with you on the way to the boat."
  
  
  
  "No, I'd better leave now, and meet you later. I have a few things I want her to destroy before we leave. Only, I thought, we might still have time to ...
  
  
  
  She didn't finish her sentence, but her eyes, which she quickly turned away, spoke in their own language.
  
  
  
  "Time for what?" Nick asked, who already knew rheumatism. But Alexi turned away.
  
  
  
  "No, nothing," she said. "It wasn't such a good idea."
  
  
  
  He grabbed it and twisted it roughly.
  
  
  
  "Tell me," he said. "What wasn't such a good idea? Or should it give rheumatism? "
  
  
  
  He pressed his lips to hers roughly and forcefully. Her body pressed against his for a moment, then she pulled away. Her eyes wanted an ego.
  
  
  
  "Suddenly her, thought this might be the last time we ..."
  
  
  
  '... can you make love? he finished her sentence. Of course, she was right. From now on, it is unlikely that they will find the time and place for this. Ego fingers, pulling up her blouse, finally answered hey. He carried her to the mattress on the floor, and it was just like the day before, when her wild resistance gave way to the silent, strong purposefulness of her desire. How different it was from what it had been in the morning a few hours earlier! Finally, when they were done, he looked at Nah with admiration. He began to wonder if he had finally found a girl whose sexual prowess could rival or even surpass his own.
  
  
  
  "You're a curious girl, Alexi Love," Nick said, standing up. Alexi looked at him and saw that sly, enigmatic smile again. His brow furrowed. Once again, he had the vague feeling that she was laughing at him, that she was hiding something from him. He looked at his watch. "It's time to go," he said.
  
  
  
  He fished out the coveralls around the clothes scattered on the floor and put it on. It looked ordinary, but it was completely waterproof and had a tangle of hair-thin wires that could turn the ego into a kind of electric blanket. He didn't think it would be necessary because it was a hot and humid time of year. Alexi, who was also dressed, watched as he put the spray shaving cream along with the razor in a small leather pouch that he attached to the waistband of his coveralls. He examined the Wilhelmina, his Luger, strapped Hugo, his stiletto to his arm with leather straps, and put a small packet of explosives in a leather pouch.
  
  
  
  "You've suddenly become so different, Nick Carter," he heard her say.
  
  
  
  'What are you talking about?'he asked.
  
  
  
  "About you," Alexi said. "It feels like you've suddenly become a different person. You suddenly emit something strange. I suddenly noticed it."
  
  
  
  Nick took a deep breath and smiled at Hey. He knew what she meant by mistletoe, and that she was right. For estestvenno. It has always been so. He didn't realize it anymore. This happened to him on every assignment. There always came a time when Nick Carter had to give way to Agent N3, who took matters into his own hands. A killmaster who strives to achieve his goal, is straightforward, not distracted by anything, and specializes in death. Every action, every thought, every movement, as much as it reminds us of the ego's previous behavior, fully served the ultimate goal: to fulfill the ego's mission. If he felt tenderness, it had to be tenderness that didn't contradict the mission's ego at all. When he felt pity, pity encouraged the ego to work. All ego-normal human emotions were discarded unless they were in accordance with the ego's plans. It was an internal change that resulted in increased physical and mental alertness.
  
  
  
  "Maybe you're right," he said soothingly. "But we can remember old Nick Carter whenever we want. ALL RIGHT.? You'd better go now, too."
  
  
  
  "Come on," she said, straightening up and giving him a light kiss.
  
  
  
  "Did you bring this report this morning?" "What is it?" he asked when she was already sitting in the doorway.
  
  
  
  'What?'the girl said. She looked at Nick, and for a moment she didn't understand, but she quickly recovered. "Ah, that ... yes, that was taken care of."
  
  
  
  Nick looked after her and frowned. Something went wrong! Ee rheumatism wasn't entirely satisfactory, and he was more careful than ever. His ego muscles tensed, and his brain was working at full capacity. Could this girl have led ego astray? When they met, she gave em the correct code, but that didn't rule out other possibilities. Even if she did appear to be the contact she pretended to be, any good enemy agent would be capable of it. Maybe she was a double agent. One thing he was sure of: the answer she'd stumbled over was more than enough to alarm ego at this stage. Before performing the operation, emu needed to make sure.
  
  
  
  Nick ran down the stairs fast enough just to see her walking down Hennessy Sturt. He walked quickly down a small street parallel to Hennessey Street, and Stahl waited for her where both streets ended in the Wai Chen area. He waited for her to enter the building, then followed her. When he reached the roof, he just saw her enter a small shack. He crawled cautiously to the rickety door and pushed it open. The girl turned quickly, and at first Nick thought she was standing in front of a full-length mirror she'd bought somewhere. But when the reflection began to move, his breath caught in his throat.
  
  
  
  Nick swore. "Damn it, Tailor, there are two of you!"
  
  
  
  The two girls looked at each other and started giggling. One of them has come up and is putting her hands on the emu's shoulders.
  
  
  
  "I'm Alexi, Nick," she said. "This is my own twin sister Anya. We're identical twins, but you found out for yourself, didn't you?
  
  
  
  Nick shook his head. That explained a lot. "I'm not sure what to say," Nick said, his eyes glittering. God, it was really impossible to tell each other apart.
  
  
  
  "We should have told you," Alexi said. Anya was sitting next to her now, looking at Nick. "That's true," she agreed, " but we thought it would be interesting to see if you could figure it out on your own. So far, ferret, no one has succeeded. We worked together on a lot of tasks, but no one ever guessed that there were two of us. If you want to know how to tell us apart, I have a mole behind my right ear.
  
  
  
  "Okay, you've had your fun," Nick said. "When you're done with this joke, there's work ahead of you."
  
  
  
  Nick watched them pack their bags. Like him, they had brought only the bare necessities with them. As he watched them, these two monuments of feminine beauty, he wondered exactly how much they had in common. It occurred to him that Emu really liked the joke one hundred percent. And, my dear, "he said to Anna," I know one more thing that I recognize you by.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At dusk, the waterfront shelters from Typhoon Yau Ma Tai looked even more cluttered than usual. In the dim light, the sampans and junks looked like a bunch, and the masts and spars stood out more clearly, like a barren forest rising around the water. As dusk quickly fell on the embankment, Nick glanced at the twins beside him. He'd seen them shove small berettas into shoulder holsters that they could easily have hidden under their loose blouses. The way each of them fastened a small leather pouch with a razor-sharp blade and space for other necessities around their waist, the emu's lingering sense of comfort. He was convinced that they could stand up for themselves well.
  
  
  
  "His voice," Alexi said as the blue hull of the Lu Shi family junk came into view. "Look, the old man is still sitting on his aft seat. I wonder if he'll still be there when we set sail.
  
  
  
  Suddenly Nick stopped and touched Alexi's arm. She looked at him questioningly.
  
  
  
  "Wait," he said softly, narrowing his eyes. Anya asked.
  
  
  
  "I'm not entirely sure," Nick said, " but something's not right."
  
  
  
  'How so? Anya insisted. "I don't see anyone else on board. Just Lu Shi, two boys, and an old man."
  
  
  
  "But you can't see the others clearly from here. I don't like it. Look, Alexi, you're moving forward. Climb up the dock until you reach the level of the junk and pretend to watch us for a bit.
  
  
  
  'What should we do? Anya asked.
  
  
  
  "Come with me," Nick said, quickly climbing one by one around the hundreds of passageways that led from the port of Bar to the moored boats. At the end of the ramp, he slipped unnoticed into the water and motioned for Anna to do the same. They swam cautiously alongside water taxis, sampans, and junks. The water was dirty and sticky. Garbage and oil floated in the nen. They swam in silence, making sure that ih didn't get noticed, until Lu Shi's blue junk case appeared in front of them. Nick motioned for Anna to wait and swam aft to look at the old man sitting on the seat.
  
  
  
  The man's eyes stared straight ahead with the dull, unseeing glare of death. Nick could see the thin rope wrapping around the ego of the fragile chest, holding the corpse upright in the chair.
  
  
  
  When he swam to Niya, hey didn't have to ask him what he knew. Ego eyes that glisten with a bright blue light will affect the deadly promise, and already, if hey rheumatism.
  
  
  
  Anya walked around the boat and swam to the railing at the same time. Nick nodded at a round canvas-covered piece of junk. There was a loose cloth at the back. They tiptoed up to it together, first trying each board carefully so as not to make a sound to us. Nick carefully lifted the cloth and saw two men waiting tensely. Ih faces were turned towards the bow, where three other men dressed as Lu Shi and two boys were also waiting. Nick saw that Anya had pulled out a thin piece of wire from under her blouse, which she now held in a semicircle. He had intended to use Hugo, but he found a round iron rod on the deck and decided it would work.
  
  
  
  He looked at the Semyonovs, nodded curtly, and they burst in at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched the girl act with the lightning-fast and confident manner of a well-trained war machine as he himself slammed the iron bar into his target with crushing force. He heard the gurgle of Anya's victim. The man fell, dying. But alarmed by the sound of metal grating, the three men on the forward deck turned. Nick responded to the ih attack with a flying kick that knocked down the biggest one around them and scattered the other two. He felt two hands on the back of his head, which just as suddenly let go. A yell from behind the emu made it clear why. The girl was pretty damn good, he chuckled to himself as he rolled over to avoid being hit. The tall man leapt to his feet, lunged awkwardly at Nick, and missed. Nick slammed his ego's head against the deck and punched him hard in the throat. He heard something snap, and the target fell limply to one side. As his hand came up, he heard a heavy thud of a body on the wooden planks next to him. It was ih's last opponent, and he was lying like a rag
  
  
  
  Nick saw Alexi standing next to Anya. "As soon as she saw what happened, her, jumped on board," she said dryly. Nick stood up. The old man's figure still sat motionless on the quarterdeck, like a silent witness to the dirty work.
  
  
  
  "How did it feel, Nick?" asked Alexi. "How did you know something was wrong?"
  
  
  "Old man," Nick said. "He was there, but licking, to the stern, than today does not when, and, most importantly, the ego of the pipe did not go smoke. That's the only thing I noticed about nen today that I didn't know when - that puff of smoke around the ego tube. It was just normal for him.
  
  
  
  "What do we do now?" Anya asked.
  
  
  
  "We're going to bring these three into the house and leave the old man in place," Nick said. "If those steamboats don't report, they'll send someone to check soon. If he sees that the old man, the bait, is still in place, he will think that all three of them are covered and watch for a while. This will buy us another hour and we can use it."
  
  
  
  "But we can't go through with our original plan right now," Anya said as she helped Nick drag the tall man into the car. "They must have tortured Lu Shi and know exactly where we are going. If they find out that we have left here, they will certainly be waiting for us in Gumenchai."
  
  
  
  "We're just not getting there, honey. An alternative plan was developed in case something went wrong. This will require a longer route to the Canton-Kowloon railway line, but there's nothing we can do about it. We will sail to the other side, to Siu-Wan, and land just below Nimshan."
  
  
  
  Nick knew that AX would assume that he was following an alternative plan if Lu Shi didn't show up big Hu. They could also tell that things didn't go as planned. He felt a grim glee at the knowledge that this, too, would give Hawke a few sleepless nights. Nick also knew that Xu Can would become restless, and that wouldn't make ih's job any easier. Ego's eyes were fixed on the jungle of masts.
  
  
  
  "We need to get another junk, and quickly," he said, and Stahl looked at the big junk in the middle of the bay. A voice like that, he thought aloud. 'Perfect!'
  
  
  
  "Big?" Alexi asked incredulously when she saw the junk, a large, freshly painted longboat decorated with dragon motifs. "That's twice as much as the others, or even more!"
  
  
  
  "We'll get through this," Nick said. "Also, it will sail faster. But the biggest advantage is that it's not a junk tank. And if they're looking for us, the first thing they'll do is keep an eye on the Tank junks. This is the Fuzhou junk in Fu-Kien Province, right around where we're going. They usually transport barrels around wood and oil. It's the kind of boat you don't notice when you're sailing north along the coast." Nick walked to the edge of the deck and slid into the water. "Let's go," he said, across a vast country. "This is not a family junk. They have a crew, and no doubt they are not on board. At best, they left a guard on.
  
  
  
  Now the girls also went down into the water and swam together to the big boat. When they reached it, Nick led the way in a wide circle. There was only one man on board, a fat, bald Chinese sailor. He was sitting at the mast next to the small wheelhouse and seemed to be asleep. A rope ladder hung from one side of the junk, another sign that the crew was undoubtedly ashore. Nick swam over to her, but Anya reached him first and pulled herself up. When Nick kicked one leg over the railing, Anya was already on the deck, half-crouching toward the guard.
  
  
  
  When she was six feet away, the man came to life with a deafening cry, and Nick saw that he was holding a long-handled axe that was hidden between his thick body and the mast. Anya fell on one of each tribe as the weapon flew in an arc, flying past mimmo ee's head.
  
  
  
  She rushed forward like a tigress to grab the man's arms before he could strike again. She hit the emu's head on life, throwing the ego out of the mast. At the same time, she heard a whoosh, followed by a suppressed thud, after which the man's body relaxed in her grip. Gripping ego's hands tightly, she glanced sideways and saw the stiletto hilt between the sailor's eyes. Nick stepped up beside her and pulled out the blade as she shuddered and stepped back.
  
  
  
  "It was too close," she complained. "A fraction of an inch down, and you'd send that thing to my brain."
  
  
  
  Nick's voice was expressionless. He saw the fire in her eyes and the quick movement of her shoulders as she started hitting him. Then Ay thought she saw a hint of irony in those steely blue eyes, and walked away pouting. Nick laughed into his fist. She would never know if he meant it or not. "Let's hurry," he said. "I want to be more Nimshan before dark." They quickly hoisted three sails and soon left Victoria Harbor and rounded Tung Lung Island. Alexi found dry clothes for everyone around them and hung them ih ih wet clothes in the wind to dry. Nick explained to the girls how to determine their course from the stars, and they each waited in line for two hours at the helm, while the others slept in the cabin.
  
  
  
  It was four o'clock in the morning, and Nick was at the wheel when the patrol boat arrived. Nick heard Ego first, and the sound of powerful engines echoed through the & nb. Then he saw flashing lights in the darkness, which became more and more obvious as the ship approached. It was a dark, overcast night, and there was no moon, but he knew that the dark hull of the huge junk would not go unnoticed. He stayed bent at the wheel and kept heading. As the patrol boat approached, a powerful searchlight came on and illuminated the junk. The boat circled the junk once, then the searchlight went out and the boat continued on its way. Anya and Alexi were immediately on deck.
  
  
  
  "It was just routine work," Nick told them. "But I have such a bad feeling that they're coming back."
  
  
  
  "Xu Can's people must have already guessed that we're not trapped," Anya said.
  
  
  
  "Yes, and the crew of that boat must have already written to the port police. And once Xu Can's men found out about it, they would radio every patrol boat in the area. This may take several hours, but it may only be a few minutes. We just need to prepare for the worst. We might be forced to leave this floating palace soon. A seaworthy vessel like this usually has a table or lifeboat. You'll see if you can find anything."
  
  
  
  A minute later, a shout from all over the tank told Nick that they had found something. "Untie the ego and lower it over the railing," he shouted in rheumatism. "Find the skulls. And bring our clothes upstairs." When they returned, Nick secured the wheel and quickly changed clothes. He looked at Alexi and Semyonov, and was again struck by the absolute symmetry of their figures, the same way they wear trousers and a blouse. But then he turned his attention to the sea. He was grateful for the cloud cover that blocked out most of the moonlight. This made it difficult to navigate, but he could always focus on the poorly visible coastline. The tide will carry ih to the shore. It was profitable. If ih were forced to sit on the table, the tide would wash ih ashore. Alexi and Anya were talking quietly on the deck when Nick suddenly held out his hand. Ego's ears had been waiting for just that sound for half an hour, and now he'd heard it. At the ego sign, the twins fell silent.
  
  
  
  "A patrol boat," Anya said.
  
  
  
  "Full power," Nick added. "They'll be able to see us in five to six minutes. One around you should take the helm, and the other should control the raft overboard. Her going down. I saw two fifty-liter barrels of oil there. I don't want to leave without leaving a surprise for our pursuers."
  
  
  
  He ran to the two barrels of oil strapped to the starboard side. Around his leather pouch, he poured white explosive powder onto one of the barrels.
  
  
  
  Five minutes to go, Nick thought aloud. One minute left to go up to him and go in. They will be careful and take their time. Just one more minute. Half a minute to conclude that there was no one on board, and another half a minute to report to the captain of the patrol boat and decide what to do next. Let's see, it's five, six, seven, seven and a half, eight minutes. He plucked a strand of rattan from the floor of the junk, used a handful of his eyes for a moment, and then broke off a piece. He lit one stream with a lighter, checked to see if it was lit, then made a makeshift fuse for the explosive powder in the oil barrel. "That should work," he said grimly, " in about half a minute, I guess."
  
  
  
  Alexi and Anya were already on the raft when Nick jumped on it. They could see the searchlight of a patrol boat that wanted to shadow the junk Fuzhou in the dark. Nick took the oar from Anya and began to row frantically toward the shore. He knew they had no chance of reaching the shore before the patrol boat found the junk, but he wanted to put as much distance between them and the junk as possible. The outline of the patrol boat was now clearly visible, and Nick watched as it shifted and heard the sound of its engines shutting down as they found the junk. The searchlight shone down on the deck of the junk. Nick put down the paddle.
  
  
  
  "Get down on the bottom and don't move!" "Stop it!" he hissed. He rested his head on his hand so that he could watch the patrol boat's actions without turning his head. He saw the patrol boat approach the junk. The voices were clearly audible; first measured orders intended for the crew of the junk, then brief instructions for the crew of the patrol boat, then moments of silence, shouts of excitement. Then it happened. D-high flames and an explosion on board the junk, followed almost immediately by a series of explosions as ammunition on the deck and later in the engine room of the patrol boat rose into the air. At the Trinity Cathedral, the Trinity on a raft had to protect their heads from the flying wreckage of two ships. When Nick looked up again, the junk and the patrol boat seemed glued together, and the only sound was the hiss of fire hitting the water. He grabbed the oar again and began paddling toward the shore in the orange glow that lit up the area. They had reached the dark shoreline when, with a hiss of escaping steam, the flames subsided and calm returned.
  
  
  
  Nick felt the table scrape on the sand and plopped into the water up to his ankles. From the semicircle of hills that had formed in the light of dawn, he judged that they were in the right place, in This Van, a small bay just below Nimshan. Not bad considering all the complexities. They dragged the table into a thicket fifty yards from the shore, and Nick tried to remember the map and instructions Emu Lee had left at AX headquarters. It had to be Taia Wang. This hilly area was located at the foot of the mountains, and Kai Lung, extending to the north. This meant heading south, where the railway runs from Canton to Kowloon. The terrain will be very similar to Ohio, hilly, without high mountains.
  
  
  
  Anya and Alexi had documents confirming that they were Albanian art history students, and according to the fake passport Nick had, he was a journalist for a British newspaper with leftist sympathies. But these false documents would not be an absolute guarantee of ih's safety. They can convince the local police, but ih real enemies won't be fooled. They'd better hope they don't get arrested at all. There wasn't much time left. The precious hours and days had already passed, and it would take them another day to reach the railway.
  
  
  
  "If we can find good cover," Nick told the twins, " we'll move on during the day. Otherwise, we will have to sleep at the wrong time and travel at night. Let's go and hope for the best."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Shell is a fast and smooth stride that he developed while learning speed running and running techniques. Looking back, he saw that the two girls were quite capable of adjusting to the ego rhythm.
  
  
  
  The sun quickly became hotter and hotter, and became a heavy burden. Nick felt his ego slump, but he kept going. The landscape became increasingly hilly and rough. Looking back, he saw that Alexi and Anna were having a very difficult time climbing the hills, even though they didn't show it. He decided to take a break: "They still had quite a long distance to go, and it made sense to arrive at their destination exhausted. He stopped in a small valley where the grass was tall and thick. Not saying our words, but with gratitude in their eyes, the twins fell into the soft grass. Nick looked around, taking in the area around the valley, then the bench press next to them.
  
  
  
  "Now you should relax," he said. "You'll see that the longer you do it, the easier it gets. Your muscles should get used to it."
  
  
  
  "Yeah," Anya gasped. It didn't seem convincing. Nick closed his eyes and set the built-in alarm for twenty minutes. The grass moved slowly in the light wind, and the sun shone on ih. Nick didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but he knew it hadn't even been twenty minutes when he suddenly woke up. It wasn't the built-in alarm clock, and a sixth sense of danger had woken him up. He immediately sat up and saw a small figure standing in front of him, maybe a few feet away, watching them with interest. Nick guessed it was a boy between ten and thirteen years old. When Nick got up, the boy ran.
  
  
  
  'Damn it! Nick swore and jumped to his feet.
  
  
  
  'Child!'he called two girls. "Hurry up, spread out! He can't escape."
  
  
  
  They started looking for egos, but it was too late. The boy was gone.
  
  
  
  "That child must be here somewhere, and we must find it," Nick hissed furiously. "It should be on the other side of the ridge."
  
  
  
  Nick ran over the ridge and looked around. Ego's eyes scanned the undergrowth and trees for any signs of moving leaves or other sudden movement, but he didn't notice anything. Where did this child come from and where did he suddenly disappear to? This imp knew the area, that's for sure, otherwise he would never have escaped so quickly. Alexi came to the left side of the ridge and was almost out of sight when Nick heard her soft whistle. She was curled up on the ridge when Nick came up to her and pointed to a small farm next to a large Chinese elm. Behind the house was a large pigsty with a herd of small brown pigs.
  
  
  
  "It has to be like this," Nick growled. "Let's do this."
  
  
  
  "He saw us, so what?" He was probably as shocked as we were. Why don't we just move on? '
  
  
  
  "Not at all," Nick said, narrowing his eyes. "In this country, everyone is a potential snitch. If he tells the local authorities that he saw three strangers, the child is likely to receive as much money as the ego father earns on the farm he does in a year."
  
  
  
  "Are you all so paranoid in the West, too?" Anya asked, a little irritated. "Isn't it an exaggeration to call a child 12 years old or younger a snitch? And besides, what would an American child do if they saw three Chinese people loitering suspiciously near the Pentagon? Now you've really gone too far! "
  
  
  
  "Let's put politics aside for now," Nick commented. "This child could endanger our mission and our lives, and I can't let that happen. Millions of lives are at stake! "
  
  
  
  Without waiting for any further comment, Nick ran back to the farm. He heard Anya and Alexi following him. Without making any detours, he broke into the house and found himself in a large room that also served as a living room, bedroom, and kitchen. There was only one woman who just stared at him blankly, with no expression in her eyes.
  
  
  
  "Watch the nah," Nick barked at the two girls as he flew past the woman's mimmo and searched the rest of the house. The small rooms leading to the larger room were empty, but the one around them had an outer door through which Nick could see the barn. A moment later, he was back in the living room. He pushed the sullen boy in front of him.
  
  
  
  "Who else lives here?" he asked in Cantonese.
  
  
  
  "Nobody," the child snapped at emu. Nick Emu gave a thumbs up.
  
  
  
  "You're a bit of a liar," he said. "I saw men's clothing in the other room. Answer me, or you'll get hit again!" "
  
  
  
  'Let go of the ego.'
  
  
  
  It was the woman who started to speak. Nick released the child.
  
  
  
  "My husband also lives here," she said.
  
  
  
  'Where is he? Nick asked sharply.
  
  
  
  "Doesn't speak Emu," the boy shouted.
  
  
  
  Nick tugged at Ego's hair, and the baby screamed, which hurt. Anya doubted it. "He's gone," the woman replied timidly. 'To the village.'
  
  
  
  'When? Nick asked, releasing the child again.
  
  
  
  "A few minutes ago," she said.
  
  
  
  "The boy told you he saw us, and your husband went to report, didn't he?" said Nick.
  
  
  
  "He's a good man," the woman said. "The child goes to a public school. There, the emu is told that it must report everything it sees to its neighbor. My husband didn't want to go, but the boy threatened to tell his teachers about it."
  
  
  
  "A good kid," Nick commented. He didn't quite trust the woman. What concerned the child might be true, but he had no doubt that this person wouldn't mind a small tip either. "How far is the village in the hall?" he asked.
  
  
  
  "Three kilometers down the road."
  
  
  
  "Watch them," Nick said to Alexi and Anna, please.
  
  
  
  Two miles, Nick thought as he raced down the road. Enough time to catch up with the man. He didn't know that ego was being stalked, so he took his time. The road was dusty, and Nick could feel it filling his lungs. He ran along the side of the road. It was a bit slower, but he was able to keep his lungs clean for what the emu needed to do. He saw a farmer passing mimmo on a small rise, perhaps five hundred yards in front of him. The man turned when he heard shaggy behind him, and Nick saw that he was solidly built and broad-shouldered. And more importantly, he had big razor-sharp hair.
  
  
  
  The farmer approached Nick with his scythe raised. Using his meager knowledge of Cantonese, Nick tried to talk to the man. Em managed to make it clear that he wanted to talk and didn't want to cause trouble in all the houses around for math. But the peasant's expressionless, flat face didn't change its expression as he continued to walk forward. It soon became clear to Nick that the man was only thinking about the reward he would get if he turned one of the strangers over to the authorities, dead or alive. Now the farmer ran forward with amazing speed and let the scythe whiz through the air. Nick jerked back, but the hair almost caught the emu in the shoulder. With cat-like speed, he dodged. The man moved steadily forward, forcing Nick to step back. He didn't dare use his Luger. God only knows what will happen if a shot is fired. Hair whizzed through the air again, this time the razor-sharp blade slammed into Nick's face a millimeter away. The farmer was now continuously mowing with that terrible weapon, as if he were mowing grass, and Nick was forced to give up the retreat. The length of the weapon prevented the emu from lunging. Looking back, Nick realized that Ego would be herded into the undergrowth by the side of the road, where he would be easy prey. He had to find a way to break the incessant swings of the scythe to dive under the nah.
  
  
  
  Suddenly, he fell on one of the tribes and grabbed a handful of loose dust from the road. As the man moved forward, Nick threw dust in the emu's eyes. The farmer closed his eyes for a moment, and the motion of the scythe stopped. That's all Nick needs. He ducked under the sharp blade like a panther, grabbed the man's knees, and yanked him backward. Volos had fallen to the ground, and now Nick was attacking him. The man was strong and had muscles like ropes from years of hard work in the fields, but without the scythe, he was nothing more than a big, strong man around them, whom Nick had defeated dozens of times in his life. The man struggled hard and managed to get up, but then Nick gave emu a right, which caused him to roll three times on his axis. Nick thought the farmer had already left, and relaxed when he was surprised to see the man shaking his head wildly, straightening up on one shoulder, and grabbing the braid again. He was too stubborn, Nick thought. Before the man could get up, Nick kicked the handle of the scythe with his right foot. The metal blade rose and fell like a snapping mousetrap. Only now there was no mouse, just the farmer's neck and a hair stuck in it. For a moment, the man made a few muffled gurgling sounds, then it was all over. It was for the best, Nick thought as he hid the lifeless body in the thicket. He still had to kill the ego. He turned and walked back to the farm.
  
  
  
  Alexi and Elena tied the woman's hands behind her back and tied the boy's hands and feet. They didn't ask any questions when he entered, only the woman looked at him questioningly as his broad frame filled the doorway.
  
  
  
  "We can't let them do it again," he said flatly.
  
  
  
  'Nick! It was Alexi, but he could see the thoughts reflected in Annie's eyes. They looked from the boy to Nick, and he knew exactly what they were thinking. At least save the boy's life. He was just a kid. A hundred million lives depended on the success of the ih mission, and this kid almost lost the ih chance. Ih maternal instincts surfaced. Damn his mother's dollar bill, Nick cursed himself. He knew that it was impossible for any woman to completely get rid of it, but this was the right situation to face. He also wasn't interested in this woman and having a child to help. He would have preferred to let this farmer live. It was all the fault of a single idiot who needed to wipe out the Western world. And there were such idiots in his own country, Nick knew all too well. Disgusting fanatics who combined poor, hard-working scoundrels with a bunch of delusional ideologues in Beijing and the Kremlin. These were the real culprits. These sick careerists and dogmatists are not only here, but also in Washington and the Pentagon. This farmer Stahl is Xu Can's victim. Ego death could have saved the lives of millions of others. Nick needed to think about it. He hated the dirty side of his job, but he didn't see any other solution. But this woman and this child ... Nick's brain would make the decision. If he could find ih, he would let ih live.
  
  
  
  He called the girls over and asked ih to ask her a few questions. Then he grabbed the boy and carried ego outside. He raised the child so that he could look the emu straight in the eye, and spoke to him in a tone that left no room for doubt.
  
  
  
  "Your mother answers their questions the same way you do," he told the boy. "If your answers differ from your mother's, you will both be dead in two minutes. Do you understand me?"'
  
  
  
  The boy nodded, his eyes no longer sullen. There was only fear in his eyes. During the school's political hour, Emus must have been told the same nonsense about Americans that some American teachers tell about Russians and Chinese. They would tell a child that all Americans were weak and degenerate creatures. In the example of this cold-blooded giant, the boy will have something to say to the teachers when he returns to school.
  
  
  
  "Listen carefully, only the truth can save you," Nick snapped. "Who's going to visit you here?"
  
  
  
  "The village salesman," the boy replied.
  
  
  
  'When will it be?'
  
  
  
  "In three days to buy pigs."
  
  
  
  "Is there anyone else who can come earlier? Your friends or something?
  
  
  
  "No, my friends won't come until Saturday. I swear it.'
  
  
  
  "And your parents' acquaintances?"
  
  
  
  "They're coming on Sunday."
  
  
  
  Nick put the boy down and led him into the house. Anya and Alexey waited.
  
  
  
  "The woman says there's only one customer coming," Alexi said. "A merchant in the village market."
  
  
  
  'When?'
  
  
  
  "Within three days. On Saturday and Sunday, the boy's friends are also waiting for guests. And the house has a basement."
  
  
  
  So, the answers matched. Nick thought for a moment, then decided. "All right," he said. "We just have to take the risk. Tie the ih tightly and place the gags in your mouth. We'll lock ih in the basement. After three days, they won't be able to harm us anymore. Even if they are found in just a week, they will at most be hungry."
  
  
  
  Nick watched as the girls followed their ego's orders. Sometimes he hated his profession.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick was angry and worried. So far ferret they have had many setbacks. It hadn't been as long as emu would have liked, and he wondered how much longer they could go on like this. Was it a bad omen , all those failures and breakthroughs on the edge? He wasn't superstitious, but he'd seen more of those surgeries where things were getting worse and worse. Not that it could get any worse. How can it be worse when the situation is no longer possible? But there was one thing that bothered him most. Not only were they far behind schedule, but what wouldn't have happened if Xu Cang had been nervous? By now, he must have realized that something wasn't right. And imagine if he decided to implement his plan? Ego rockets were ready to launch. If he wanted to, the free world only had a few minutes to add to its history. Nick walked faster. It was all he could do except hope that he would arrive on time. In his race against time through a wooded area, he almost reached the road before he realized it. At the very last moment, he went behind the bushes. In front of him, near a low building, was a column of Chinese army trucks. The building was a supply station of sorts; soldiers came in and out with flat, pancake-like things in their hands. Probably dried bean cakes, Nick thought. There were two soldiers in each truck, a driver and a navigator. They were probably coming for the soldiers, or maybe they just sent them somewhere. The first cars were already pulling away.
  
  
  
  "This is the last car," Nick whispered. "By the time she goes, the other trucks will have already passed the signposts over this hill. It's a little tricky, but it might work. Besides, we don't have much time to be too careful."
  
  
  
  The two girls nodded, their eyes flashing. Danger inspired me, Nick thought. But not just because of that, he thought immediately afterwards with a wry smile. So far, nothing will work out around this. The roar of engines solving research problems all sounds when the last trucks have left. The latter was already idling when two soldiers came out around the building with their hands full of dried tortillas. Nick and Alexi hit the undergrowth in silence. Men will never be able to tell you what struck ih. Anya entered the building to see if anyone else was there.
  
  
  
  This was not the case, and she went out again, laden with dried tortillas. Nick rolled the bodies of the two soldiers into the back of the truck. Anya got in the back to make sure they didn't catch up, and Alexi got in the driver's seat next to Nick.
  
  
  
  "How long will we stay in the convoy?" Alexi asked, taking a bite of one of the tortillas Anya had given her through the trapdoor.
  
  
  
  "So far, they are moving in the right direction for us. If they do this long enough, we're in luck.
  
  
  
  For most of the day, the column continued to move south. At noon, Nick saw a sign that said "Tintongwai." This meant that they were only a few miles away from the railroad. Suddenly, at a fork in the road, the column turned straight and headed north.
  
  
  
  "We should get out of here," Nick said. Nick looked ahead and saw that the road rose steeply, then descended steeply again. There was a narrow lake in the valley.
  
  
  
  'Here! Nick said. "I'm going to slow down. When I say that, you guys should jump out. Attention... All right, now! As the girls jumped out around the car, Nick turned the steering wheel to the right, waited until he felt the front wheels fly out onto the embankment, and then jumped out around the truck. As the splash of a truck crashing into the water echoed through the hills, the convoy came to a stop. But Nick and the twins ran, jumped over the narrow ditch, and were soon out of sight. They were resting near a low hill.
  
  
  
  "It would have taken us two days to get here," Nick said. "We've bought some time, but let's not spoil the ego with our inattention. I suspect the railroad is in the hall on the other side of the hill. A freight train runs twice a day, in the morning and early in the evening. If our calculations are correct, the train will stop somewhere nearby to resupply Hu Zan's men.
  
  
  
  They crawled to the edge of the hill, and Nick couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and satisfaction at the double row of shiny rails. They descended the hill to a rocky outcrop that served as an excellent shelter and viewing platform.
  
  
  
  They had barely hidden when they heard the roar of engines. The three motorcyclists sped down the hill road and stopped in a cloud of dust. They wore uniforms that closely resembled the regular shirts of the Chinese army, but in a different color, dark gray trousers and milky white shirts. The orange rocket motif was depicted on ih uniform jackets and motorcycle helmets. Xu Can's Special Forces, Nick guessed. Ego's lips tightened as he watched them dismount, pull out metal detectors, and start checking the road for explosives.
  
  
  
  "Ehto me nie nrahvista," he heard Annie Alexi whisper.
  
  
  
  "I don't like it either," he agreed with them. "This means that Xu Can is sure that I have outsmarted people's egos. He wouldn't want to take any chances. I assume that they will be ready very soon and will take measures to avoid sabotage ."
  
  
  
  Nick felt his palms get wet and wiped his pants. It wasn't the tension of a while, but the thought of what lay ahead. As usual, he saw more than a casual observer could already see, and he considered the possible dangers that lay ahead. The motorcyclists were a sign that Hu Zan was very careful. This meant that Nick had lost one of his strengths in the game - the element of surprise. He also thought that further events might cause ego to turn its back on one of its excellent helpers. no, maybe both. If it proves necessary, he knows what the ego solution should be. Ih could have been missed. The ego itself could be missed. The survival of an ignorant world depends on this unpleasant fact.
  
  
  
  When the motorcyclists finished their inspection, it was already dark. Two of the men around them started setting up torches along the road, while the third spoke into a walkie-talkie. In the distance, Nick heard the sound of engines starting up, and a few minutes later, six trucks with M9T trailers appeared. They turned around and stopped near the train tracks. As the ih engines died, Nick heard another noise that broke the night's silence. It was the heavy sound of a locomotive slowly approaching. Nick walked over to Lick and saw in the dim glow of the flares that the locomotive was a Chinese version of the big 2-10-2 Santa Fe.
  
  
  
  The huge car came to a stop, sending out huge clouds of dust that took on strange hazy shapes in the flickering torchlight. Crates, cartons, and bags were now being quickly transferred to waiting trucks. Nick noticed flour, rice, beans, and vegetables. The truck closest to the train was filled with beef and pork, followed by packs of rafts. Xu Can's elite soldiers well, eli, that was clear. Beijing may have had the greatest difficulty finding solutions to a major food shortage, but the people's government elite always had enough to eat. If Nick succeeds in carrying out his plans, he will still be able to contribute to the solution of this problem in the form of a small reduction in the population. He simply couldn't stay to receive gratitude. Xu Can's men worked quickly and efficiently, and the entire operation lasted no more than fifteen minutes. The locomotive pulled up, the trucks began to turn around and drive away, and the warning lights were removed. Motorcyclists began escorting trucks. Anya poked Nick in the ribs.
  
  
  
  "We have knives," she whispered. "We may not be as skilled as you, Nick, but we are quite astute. Everyone around us can kill one passing mimmo motorcyclists. Then we can use iht! '
  
  
  
  Nick frowned. "Of course, they should report back when they return," he said. "What do you think will happen if they don't show up? Do you want to send Hu Cang a telegram that we are hiding in his backyard?
  
  
  
  He could see the blush on Annie's cheeks despite the darkness. He didn't mean to be so harsh. She was a valuable assistant, but in her, too, he now discovered the learning gap that was so obvious in every Communist agent. They were excellent when it came to action and composure. They had the courage and perseverance. But foresight, even in the short term, does not join the ih k taste at all. He patted her shoulder reassuringly.
  
  
  
  "Come on, we all make mistakes sometimes," he said softly. "We'll follow in ih's footsteps."
  
  
  
  Heavy truck tire tracks were clearly visible on the uneven and dusty road. In addition, there were almost no intersections or forks in the road. They walked briskly, taking as few breaks as possible. Nick estimated that they were averaging about six miles an hour, which was a very good speed. By four o'clock in the morning, when they had covered about 40 miles, Nick began to slow down. His legs, as well-muscled and well-trained as they were to us, were beginning to tire, and he saw the tired faces of Alexi and Annie. But he also slowed down because of another, more important fact. This ubiquitous hypersensitive sense that was part of the Agent, N3, started sending out signals. If Nick's calculations were correct, they should be approaching Xu Can's domain, and now he was examining the tracks with the concentration of a bloodhound following a scent. Suddenly he stopped and fell on one of each tribe. Alexi and Anya collapsed on the floor next to him.
  
  
  
  "My legs," Alexi gasped. "I can't take this anymore, I can't take this long, Nick."
  
  
  
  "That won't be necessary either," he said, pointing to the road. Car tracks suddenly stopped. They were obviously destroyed.
  
  
  
  "What does that mean? "asked Alex."They can't just disappear."
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said, " but they stopped here and covered their tracks." This can only mean one thing. There must be a roadblock somewhere! Nick went to the edge of the road and fell, sprawling on the floor and motioning for the girls to do the same. Decimeter by decimeter, he crawled forward, his eyes scanning the trees on either side of the road for the object he wanted. Finally, he saw it. Two small trees, open opposite each other. Ego's gaze slid down the trunk of the nearest one until he saw a small round metal device about three feet high. On the tree opposite was the same object of the same height. Alexi and Anya now also saw the electronic eye. As he approached the tree, he saw a thin thread running into the base. There was no longer any doubt. This was the outer defensive belt of Xu Can's area.
  
  
  
  The electronic eye was good, better than an armed guard that could be detected and possibly suppressed. Everyone who went out on the road and fell out on the road, turned on the alarm. They could pass through the electric eye unhindered and enter further into the area, but there were undoubtedly more checkpoints further away and finally armed guards or perhaps patrols. Besides, the sun would soon be up, and they would have to find shelter for the whole day.
  
  
  
  They couldn't go on any longer, so they went into the forest. The forest was overgrown, and Nick was happy about it. This meant that they weren't going to move fast, but on the other hand, it would still give them a good cover. When they finally reached the top of a steep hill, they saw Xu Can's compound in front of them in the rising dim light of dawn.
  
  
  
  Located on a plain surrounded by low hills, it looked at first glance like a giant soccer field. Only this football field was surrounded by double rows of barbed wire. In the center, sunk into the ground, the launchers were clearly visible. From where they hid in the undergrowth, they could see the thin, pointed missile heads, the seven deadly nuclear arrows that could change the balance of power in the world in one fell swoop. Nick was lying in the thicket, watching the landscape in the rising light. The launchers were concrete, of course, but he noticed that the concrete walls were nowhere more than twenty meters long. If he could bury bombs around the edges, that would be enough. However, the distance between the launchers was at least three meters, which meant that the emu would need a lot of time and luck to place the explosives. And Nick hadn't really counted on so much time and luck. According to the various plans he pondered, he was able to write off most of the ones around them. The longer he studied the area, the more clearly ego became aware of this unpleasant fact.
  
  
  
  He thought he could break into the camp in the middle of the night, maybe in a borrowed uniform, and use the detonators. But emu better forget about it. There were three armed soldiers stationed at each launcher, not counting the guard posts near the barbed wire.
  
  
  
  On the other side of the landing was a wide wooden main entrance, and a smaller hole in the barbed wire was open underneath. A soldier stood guard at a passageway about three feet wide. But the problem wasn't nen; the problem was security inside the fence. Opposite the launch pad on the right was a long wooden building, probably for security personnel. On the other side were several concrete and stone buildings with antennas, radars, meteorological measuring equipment and transmitters on the roof. It should have been HQ. Odin's first rays of sunlight reflected sharply, and Nick looked across the street at the hills opposite them on the other side of the cordoned-off area. At the top of the hill was a large house with a large spherical window pane that hung all over the facade, reflecting the sunny brylev. The lower part of the house looked like a modern villa, but the second floor and roof were built in the pagoda style typical of traditional Chinese architecture. Maybe the whole complex would be visible around this house, and that's why they put ego there, Nick thought.
  
  
  
  Nick considered every detail in his mind. Like a sensitive film, the ego brain recorded every detail piece by piece: the number of entrances, the position of the soldiers, the distance from the barbed wire to the first row of launchers, and a hundred other details. The whole concept of weapons was obvious and logical to Nick. Except for one thing. Flat metal disks in the ground were visible along the entire length of the barbed wire. . They formed a ring around the entire complex, and the distance between them was about two meters. Alexi and Anya couldn't identify these strange objects either.
  
  
  
  "I've never seen anything like it," Anya told Nick. 'What do you think about it?'
  
  
  
  "I don't know," Nick said. "They don't seem to stick out, and they're metal."
  
  
  
  "It can be anything," the Director said. Maybe a drainage system. Or maybe there's an underground part that we can't see, and that's the tops of the metal pillars."
  
  
  
  "Yes, there are a lot of options, but I noticed at least one thing," Nick said. "No one walks on them. Everyone stays away from them. That's enough for us. We'll have to do the same."
  
  
  
  "Maybe it's a signal?" Anya suggested. "Maybe they'll trigger an alarm if you step on them."
  
  
  
  Nick admitted that it was possible, but something made Ego feel like it wasn't that easy. In any case, they should avoid things like the plague.
  
  
  
  There was nothing they could do until nightfall, and all three of them needed to sleep. Nick was also concerned about the panoramic window of the house across the street. Although he knew they were invisible in the dense undergrowth, he had a strong suspicion that the ridge was being closely watched from the house through binoculars. They crept cautiously back down the slope. They need to find a place where they can sleep in peace. Halfway up the hill, Nick found a small cave with a small opening large enough for one person to pass through. When they got inside, the shelter was quite spacious. It was wet and smelled of animal urine, but it was safe. He was sure Alexi and Anya were too tired to worry about the discomfort, and thank God it was cool anyway. Once inside, the girls immediately split up. Nick stretched out on his back, hands behind his head.
  
  
  
  To his surprise, he suddenly felt two heads on his chest and two soft warm bodies against his ribs. Alexi crossed one leg over the ego, and Anya buried herself in the hollow of the ego shoulder. Anya fell asleep almost instantly. Nick sensed that the Headmaster was still awake.
  
  
  
  "Tell me, Nick?" she murmured sleepily.
  
  
  
  "What should I tell you?"
  
  
  
  "What's life like in Greenwich Village?" it sounded dreamy. "What is it like to live in America? How many girls are there? Lots of dancing?
  
  
  
  He was still thinking about the answer when he saw that she had fallen asleep. He held the two girls close with both hands. Ih's breasts felt like a warm, soft blanket. He chuckled at the thought of what might have happened if they hadn't been so tired. But tomorrow must be hard. Emus will have to make a lot of decisions, and none of them will be very pleasant for us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick was the first to wake up. A few hours earlier, when his sensitive ears had picked up the sounds of a patrol in the distance, he, too, had woken up. He lay still and fell asleep again when the sounds died away. But now he stretched, and the twins also lifted their heads above his chest.
  
  
  
  "Good morning," Nick said, even though it was late afternoon.
  
  
  
  "Good morning," the Director replied, shaking her short blond hair like a wet dog shakes off the water after swimming.
  
  
  
  "I'm going outside to check," Nick said. If you don't hear from me in five minutes, I won't hear from you either."
  
  
  
  Nick climbed out through the narrow opening. He struggled to adjust his eyes to the bright daylight. He only heard the sounds of the forest and stood up. They can be on the ridge until late at night.
  
  
  
  It was only now that Nick noticed how beautiful the dell itself was with the woods. He looked at the honeysuckle, the beautiful red hibiscus flowers, and the trail of golden forsythias running through the lush undergrowth. What a contrast, Nick thought. It's a quiet, idyllic place and on the other side of the hill are seven deadly weapons ready to destroy the lives of millions of people.
  
  
  
  He heard the sound of running water and found a small stream for the cave. He decided to wash and shave in the cool room. He always felt much better when he shaved. He undressed and bathed in the icy water. When he had just shaved, he saw Anya and Alexi walking cautiously through the bushes in search of ego. He waved at them, and they ran to him with suppressed squeals of relief. They immediately followed Nick's example, who examined ih's naked bodies while they were bathing in & nb. He lay sprawled on the grass, enjoying ih's pure, innocent beauty. Emu wondered what they would do if he did what was most convenient for him to do right now. He suspected that they would take advantage of it.
  
  
  
  But he also knew that he wouldn't do it without taking into account the important decisions that the emu would have to make in the future. They didn't talk about this moment or what it might mean to them, and they didn't need to. They knew that he would not hesitate to sacrifice them if the need arose. Therefore, the ego is assigned to this task.
  
  
  
  Nick stopped looking at the girls and focused his thoughts on what lay ahead. He remembered the view of the area he had studied so carefully just a few hours ago. He felt a growing absolute certainty that all the plans he had hoped to use in this situation were completely useless. Emu will have to improvise again. Hell, there wasn't even a decent stone wall around the village. If that was the case, they would at least be able to approach unnoticed. He thought about sending Semyonov and Alexi into captivity. Later, he would want to invade the territory himself, betting that Hu Zan would be less careful. But now that he saw the situation on the ground, the sentries at each launcher, he realized that this emu wouldn't help much. The problem was much more complicated. First they had to go to the fence around the barbed wire. Then they had to climb that fence, then it took them quite a long time to bury the bombs. Now that each launcher was controlled separately, there was only one option left. They should distract the attention of all the soldiers at the same time.
  
  
  
  Anya and Alexey dried off, got dressed, and played this game with him. I'm not saying our words, they were watching the sun sink behind the hill. It's time to act. Nick began to creep cautiously up the hill, thinking of the house with the big panoramic window on the other side. At the top of the hill, they surveyed the base, which was now a vast panorama of activity. Methods, mechanics, and soldiers were everywhere. Two rockets were examined.
  
  
  
  Nick was hoping to find something that would make ih's job easier. But there was nothing, nothing at all. It's going to be hard, even fucking hard. 'Damn it! he swore out loud. The girls looked up in surprise. "I wish she knew what those damned round disks are for." No matter how long he stared at them, their smooth, polished surface gave nothing away. As Anya pointed out, they really could be part of an alarm system. But still, there was something that bothered him, really bothered him. But they would just have to accept the uncertainty and try to stay away from these things, he decided.
  
  
  
  "Ih will have to be distracted," Nick said. " The one around you needs to go to the other side of the installations and get attention. This is our only chance to get in, and it's our only chance to plant the bombs. We need to distract ih long enough to get the job done."
  
  
  
  "I'll go," they said at the same time. But Anya was a fraction earlier. Nick didn't have to repeat what all three of them already knew. The one who drew attention to himself was sure of his own death. Or at the very least, being caught would definitely mean only delaying the execution. He and Alexi would have a chance to escape if all went well. He looked at Alexander Semyonov. There was nothing on her face, and she returned his gaze with a cold, indifferent expression. He cursed under his breath and wished that there was no other way. But there was no ego.
  
  
  
  "I have an explosive powder that you can use, "he said, hey." Along with your Beretta, it should have the desired effect."
  
  
  
  "I can make more fireworks," she replied with a smile. "I have something to worry them about."
  
  
  
  She pulled up her blouse and wrapped the leather belt around her waist. She took out a box of small round balls. Red and white. Each bullet had a tiny pin attached to it. If it hadn't been for that, Nick would have sworn it was tranquilizers or headache pills. things were there.
  
  
  
  "Each of these pellets is equivalent to two hand grenades," Anya said. "The pin is the ignition. They work on roughly the same principle as a hand grenade, but are made from compressed transuranic elements. You see, Nick Carter, we also have some good microchemy toys.
  
  
  
  "I'm happy about that, believe me," Nick said with a smile. When this is over, we'll gather here. I hope all three of us will be there."
  
  
  
  Anya stood up. "It will take me about an hour to get to the other side," she said. "It'll be dark by then."
  
  
  
  The twins exchanged glances, briefly hugged each other, then Anya turned and left.
  
  
  
  
  "Good luck, Anya," Nick called softly after her. "Thank you, Nick Carter," she replied without looking back.
  
  
  
  Nick and Alexi watched her until she was swallowed up by the foliage, then settled back into the thicket. Nick pointed to a small wooden gate in the fence. Inside was a wooden warehouse. A lone soldier stood guard in front of the entrance.
  
  
  
  "Our first target is him," Nick said. "We'll beat the ego, then go through the gate and wait for Annie's fireworks."
  
  
  
  Darkness fell quickly, and Nick began to walk cautiously down the hill toward the gate. Fortunately, the hill was completely overgrown, and when they descended, the sentry was only five meters away. Nick already had the stiletto in his hand, and the cold, insensitive metal comforted him, reminding him that he should now be nothing more than an extension of the human blade.
  
  
  
  Fortunately, the soldier carried the rifle in its case so that it would not fall to the ground with a crash. Nick didn't want to disturb the camp prematurely. He held the stiletto loosely in his hand, trying not to strain too much. The ego will have to hit the soldier the first time. If he missed this opportunity, the whole ego plan would go up in smoke, right there on the spot. The soldier went straight from the wooden gate, stopped candid in front of a wooden post, turned, walked to the other side and stopped to make his signposts again. Then the stiletto flew into the air. He stabbed the soldier in the throat and pinned ego to the gate tree.
  
  
  
  Nick and Alexi were at his side in less than half a second. Nick took out the stiletto and laid the man on the floor while the girl reached for the rifle.
  
  
  
  "Put on your coat and helmet," Nick said shortly. "This will help you not stand out too much in the commotion. Bring your rifle, too. And remember, stay away from those damned round disks."
  
  
  
  Alexi was prepared for the moment when Nick hid the body in the bushes. She was already on the other side of the fence, in the shadow of the warehouse. Nick pulled out a tube of shaving cream and began sorting through it. He gave Alexi three thin round disks and kept four for himself.
  
  
  
  "You mine three launchers side by side," he said, hey. " Your Swedes won't single you out. Remember, you just need to stick the ih under the ground. All over the hotel, and soft enough to dig a small hole and put this thing in the ground ."
  
  
  
  Out of habit, Nick ducked as the first explosion echoed through the area. It came from the right on the other side of the field. A second explosion soon followed, then a third, almost in the center of the area. Anya must have been running around throwing bombs, and she was right, they were quite powerful. Now there was an explosion to the left. She did everything right, it sounded like a mortar attack, and the consequences were exactly what Nick had hoped. Armed soldiers poured in around the barracks, and the launcher guards ran up to the barbed wire fence and started firing randomly in the direction they suspected the enemy was going.
  
  
  
  Let's go! Nick hissed. He paused and watched as Alexi ran with her head down on the landing to the farthest object so she could get back to the gate. Now Nick, Wilhelmina in his right hand, ran to the first of the four installations that the emu needed to take care of. He put the luger on the floor next to him and buried the first detonator. Now it was the second man's turn, quickly followed by the third. Everything went smoothly, almost insanely easily, as Anya continued to bombard the northern part of the complex with her devilish mini-bombs. Nick saw that a group of soldiers were now flying around the main gate to track down the attackers. When Nick arrived at the fourth launcher, two soldiers at the main gate turned to see an unknown figure kneeling at the concrete end of the launcher. Before they could take aim, Wilhelmina had already fired twice, and two soldiers fell to the ground. Several soldiers around them, who of course couldn't have known that the shots weren't fired from the direction of the forest, fell to the ground. Nick set the last detonator and ran back to the gate. He tried to locate Alexi in the tangle of running uniformed figures, but it was impossible. Suddenly, a voice rang out around the loudspeaker, and Nick heard the Chinese order to put on their gas masks. He tried his best not to laugh out loud. The attack really scared ih. Or else Hu Cang was around them, who wasn't taking any chances. It was then that Nick discovered the meaning of the mysterious metal discs. The smile on his face quickly disappeared.
  
  
  
  First he heard the faint whirr of electric motors, then he saw the disks rise naked into the air on metal pipes. They stopped at a height of about three or four meters, and Nick saw that the disks formed the upper part of a small circular tank with several nozzles sticking out in four different directions from below. Nick could see a small gray cloud around each nozzle, and with a continuous hiss, the entire compound was covered in a deadly blanket. Nick saw the gas spread to the fence as well, in an ever-widening circle.
  
  
  
  Nick tried to cover his mouth with a handkerchief as he ran, but it was useless. Shell gas is running too fast. His ego sense of smell told him that it was a gas acting on your lungs, only temporarily intoxicating you, most likely based on phosgene. The ego goal began to spin, and it seemed that the ego lungs of votum votum would burst. Damn wise they didn't use lethal gases, he thought. They always stayed in the air for too long, and the victims couldn't be questioned. Now Ego's eyes were blurred, and as he tried to walk on, all he saw in front of him were faint, indistinct shadows: white uniforms and strange mouthpieces. He started to run toward the shadow, raised his arms, but his ego, his body felt like lead, and he felt a burning pain in his chest. The shadows and colors faded, everything washed away, and he collapsed.
  
  
  
  Alexi saw Nick fall, and she tried to change direction, but the gas continued to enter the air more and more. The plastic mouthpiece of her helmet helped a little, and even though she was starting to feel the strain in her lungs, her body was still functioning. She paused, trying to decide whether to save Nick or run. Hey, if she could get out from behind the fence, maybe she could come back later and try to help Nick escape, she thought. There were now too many soldiers around him, who picked up ego's body, which no longer offered any resistance, and carried him away. Alexi paused for a moment, tried not to breathe deeply, then ran for the wooden gate. Dressed like all the other soldiers, she didn't stand out from the other people running up and down the field. She made it to the gate, but now the gas was coming through her helmet as well, and her breathing was getting more and more painful. She fell to the edge of the gate and fell to her knees. The helmet now felt like a straitjacket, making it impossible for Ay to breathe. She pulled the ego off her head and threw it off. Hey, I managed to get up and try to hold my breath. But hey, I had to cough, which made her swallow even more gas. She stretched out and stepped through the gate.
  
  
  
  On the other side, behind the fence, Anya saw the gas start to run. She used up all her bombs, and when she saw people in gas masks coming out, she took shelter in the woods. The soldiers surrounded her, and she began to feel the effects of the gas. If Ay manages to defeat one of the other soldiers and remove Ego's gas mask, Nah will have a chance to escape. Anya waited tensely, listening to the sounds of soldiers searching the forest in their men's togas. They went five meters apart and came up to her, licking and licking, from both sides. Crawling forward, she wondered how Nick and Alexi would get out around the car. Could they have escaped before the gas was applied?syringes? Then she saw a soldier approaching her, carefully breaking up the undergrowth with a rifle. She drew her knife from the scabbard at her waist and gripped the heavy handle tightly. He was now within her reach. One quick swipe of her sword and the gas mask would be in her hands. If she had been wearing a gas mask, she could have returned to the edge of the forest, where the suffocating gas was thicker and the undergrowth less dense. She can then quickly run across to the other side of the compound and then climb a hill where she could find better cover.
  
  
  
  Anya lunged. Too late, she felt the tree root around her ankle wrap around her, knocking her to the ground. At that moment, she saw a soldier brandishing the heavy barrel of his rifle. Thousands of red and white stars exploded in their sleep. They went out like a firecracker, and she lost consciousness.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first thing Nikolai felt was a tingling sensation, a cold tingling sensation on his skin. Then a burning sensation in the eyes caused by the scorching light. It was strange, this bright saint, because he hadn't opened his eyes yet. He struggled to open his ih and wiped the moisture from his eyes. When Em managed to raise himself up on one elbow, the large room took on a clearer outline. There was a bright saint light, and figures began to appear. Em had to wipe the moisture from his eyes again, and now he felt a tingling sensation on his skin. He was completely naked and lying on a cot. Across from it, he saw two more bunks, on which lay the naked bodies of Anya and Alexi. They were conscious, and they watched as Nick swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.
  
  
  
  He sprained his neck and shoulder muscles. Ego's chest felt heavy and tight, but he knew the feeling would gradually subside. He had already seen four guards, but he didn't pay much attention to them. Nick turned as the door opened and a technician came in with a portable X-ray machine.
  
  
  
  Behind the technician, a tall, thin Chinese man entered the room with a light and confident step. A long white lab coat covered the ego, a thin body.
  
  
  
  He stopped and smiled at Nick. Nick was struck by the subtle ascetic nature of egoism. It almost looked like a saint's face, and oddly reminded Nick of the eastern version of the ancient gods depicted in ancient Greek icons. The man crossed his arms over his chest-long, sensitive, soft hands-and looked at Nick intently.
  
  
  
  But when Nick returned that gaze, he saw that the eyes completely contradicted the rest of the ego faces. There was not the slightest asceticism in our eyes, no kindness to us, no kindness to us, but only cold, poisonous arrows, the eyes of a cobra. Nick couldn't remember ever seeing such utterly devilish eyes. They were restless, even if the man was looking at one particular spot, they would still move. Like snake eyes, they continued to flicker with an unearthly dark glow. Nick immediately sensed the danger of this man that humanity most feared. Not only was he a dullard, a crafty politician, or a perverted dreamer, but he was also a devoted man, completely absorbed in one delusion, and possessed, in addition, all the intellectual and mental qualities that lead to greatness. Nen had a touch of asceticism, intelligence and sensitivity. But it was a sense in the service of hatred, a sensibility turned to cruelty and ruthlessness, and a mind devoted entirely to maniacal illusions. Dr. Hu Zan looked at Nick with a friendly, almost reverent smile.
  
  
  
  "You can get dressed in a minute, Mr. Carter," he said in perfect English. "You're Mr. Carter, of course. I saw a picture of you once, which was rather blurry, but good enough. Even without that, he should have known it was you.
  
  
  
  'Why? Nick asked.
  
  
  
  "Because you not only eliminated my people, but also showed a few personal qualities. Let's just say he knew right away that we weren't dealing with an ordinary agent. When you defeated the people aboard the Lu Shi family's junk, you left the old man in the forecastle in the same position to trick my people. Another example is the disappearance of a patrol boat. I'm honored that AX has put in all the effort for my little project ."
  
  
  
  'I hope for more ,' it'll hit your head," Nick replied in a slick tone.
  
  
  
  "Of course, I couldn't have known at first that there were three of you and around them were two gorgeous representatives of the Western female type."
  
  
  
  Hu Can turned around and looked at the two girls sprawled out on the cots. Nick suddenly saw the fire in the man's eyes as he scanned the girls ' naked bodies. It wasn't just the fire of increasing sexual desire, but something more, something terrifying, something Nick didn't like at all.
  
  
  
  "It's a great idea for you to bring these two girls along," Hu Zan remarked, turning back to Nick. "According to ih papers, Albanian female students are art historians in Hong Kong. An obvious choice for meet your people. But it was also, as you will soon discover, a very pleasant stroke of luck for me. But first, Mr. Carter, she'd like you to play this game on the X-ray machine. When you were unconscious, we examined you using a simple technique, and the metal detector gave a positive reaction. Because I know about the progressive ways AX people work, I'm forced to explore everything further ."
  
  
  
  The technician carefully examined Ego with a portable X-ray machine and handed Nick Ego the coveralls when he was done. Nick noticed that the clothes had been carefully examined. There was no luger or stiletto, of course. While he was getting dressed, the technician showed Hu Cang an X-ray. "Probably shrapnel," he said. " Here on the hip, where we already felt it."
  
  
  
  "You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd asked me," Nick commented.
  
  
  
  "It wasn't a problem," Hu Zan replied, smiling again. "Get ih ready," he said to the technician, pointing with a long, narrow hand at Semyonov and Alexi.
  
  
  
  Nick tried not to frown when he saw that the man had tied the girls ' wrists and ankles to the sides of the bed with leather straps. Then he led the square device to the center of the room. Hanging from the front of the crate were rubber tubes and hoses that Nick couldn't immediately identify. The man took two curved metal plates that looked like electrodes and attached ih to Annie's nipples. He did the same with Alexi, then connected the dots to the machine with thin wires. Nick felt his ego's brow furrow as the man grabbed a long rubber object and walked over to Alexi. With almost clinical indifference, he shoved the object into his pocket, and now Nick saw what it was. A rubber phallus! He fastened it with what looked like a regular garter belt to keep it in place. This device was also connected by a cord to a car in the middle of the room. Anya was being treated the same way, and Nick felt a growing rage that sent him skewering through lives.
  
  
  
  "What the hell does that mean?" he asked. "It's a pity, isn't it?" Hu Can answered while looking at the twins. "They are really very beautiful."
  
  
  
  'What a pity? Nick asked irritably. "What are you up to?"
  
  
  
  "Your friends have refused to give us any information about what you are doing here or what you may have already done. Now I will try to squeeze this information through them. It can be said that my method is nothing more than an improvement on the very old Chinese principle of torture."
  
  
  
  He smiled again. That damn well-mannered smile. It was like he was having a polite conversation in the living room. He continued his conversation, watching Nick's reaction carefully. Thousands of years ago, Chinese practitioners of torture discovered that pleasure stimuli can be easily converted into stimuli, and that this pain is different from ordinary pain. An excellent example is the ancient Chinese practice of tickling. At first, it causes laughter and a pleasant feeling. If you continue, the pleasure quickly turns to discomfort, then to anger and resistance, and finally to excruciating pain, eventually driving the victim crazy. You see, Mr. Carter, out of the ordinary, it hurts to defend yourself. Sometimes the victim can resist purely physical torture with their emotional resistance. But I really don't need to talk about it, no doubt you're as knowledgeable as she is.
  
  
  
  There is no defense against the torture we use, because the principle based on plays on those hypersensitive psychic elements of the human body that cannot be controlled. When properly stimulated, the organs that are sensitive to sexual stimulation cannot be controlled by willpower. And, getting back to your girlfriends, these devices serve exactly that purpose. Every time I push that little button, they have an orgasm. A perfectly thought-out system of vibrations and movements will inevitably cause an orgasm. The first one, I can say with confidence, will be more enjoyable than the orgasm they could ever achieve with any male partner. Then the excitement will turn into a feeling of discomfort, and then into the excruciating pain that I just told you about. As I increase her stimulus rate, ih pain will reach the peak of devilish torture, and they won't be able to do anything to resist, hurt, or avoid her."
  
  
  
  "What if it doesn't work?" asked Nick. "If they don't start talking?"
  
  
  
  "It will work, and they will talk," Hu Zan smiled confidently. Only, if they wait too long, they will never be able to enjoy sexual contact again. They might even go crazy. The ongoing series of orgasms affects women differently when they reach the limit."
  
  
  
  "Looks like you've been experimenting with this a lot," Nick commented.
  
  
  
  "You have to experiment if you want to improve something," Hu Zan replied. "Frankly, I'm happy to tell you all this. I have so few people I can talk to on this subject, and judging by your reputation, you are also an expert interrogator. He pointed at the guards. "He's coming with us," he said, approaching the day. "We'll go to the basement."
  
  
  
  Nick was forced to follow Hu Cang as he descended a small staircase that led to a spacious, brightly lit basement. On the white-painted walls were several cages, about three meters by three meters each. These were small compartments with bars on three sides, each with a small sink and a baby cot around it. In each of the cells was a girl or a woman in men's underwear. All but two of the women were Westerners.
  
  
  
  Every single one of these women tried to interfere with my activities, " Hu said. "There are also second-rate agents, and ordinary homeless people. Ih locked her up here. Look at them carefully."
  
  
  
  As they passed mimmo cages, Nick watched the horrifying scenes unfold. Ego estimated that the woman in the first cell was forty-five years old. Her figure looked well-preserved, and Nah had a stunningly strong chest, beautiful legs, and a smooth body. But her face, which looked terrible and neglected, with disgusting gray spots, showed that she was mentally retarded. Hu Zan probably guessed Nick's thoughts.
  
  
  
  "Hey thirty-one," he said. "It just exists and thrives. Up to twenty consecutive men can have sexual intercourse with her. Nah is not affected by this. She's completely apathetic ."
  
  
  
  Next up was a tall girl with straw-blond hair. When they arrived, she got up, walked over to the bar, and stared at Nick. She clearly wasn't paying attention to her nakedness. "You can say that she is a nymphomaniac, but she lives in the image of a six - year-old girl who has just discovered her body for the first time," Hu said. "She talks a lot, gurgles and screams, pays attention only to her own body. Ee has been the only one for decades ."
  
  
  
  In the next cage, a small Chinese woman was rocking on the edge of the bunk, looking up at the ceiling with her arms crossed. She kept swaying as they passed, as if she didn't notice ih.
  
  
  
  "That's enough," Hu Zan said cheerfully. "I think my other one understands now." He smiled at Nick, who feigned polite interest. But inside, there was an icy rage that almost squeezed the ego of life. It wasn't just a simple torture to extract information. He'd been beaten and tortured enough times to know that.
  
  
  
  It was sadism, pure sadism. All torturers were sadists by definition, but many people whose job it was to collect data were concerned with the end result, not the experience of torture. For professional investigators, torture was just a weapon in ih's arsenal, not a source of perverse pleasure. And Hu Zan, he now knew, was more than just a sadist. He had a personal motive, something that happened in the past, something in the ego of his personal life.Hu Can took Nick back to the room where the two girls were.
  
  
  
  "Tell me," Nick said with practiced calm. "Why don't you kill those girls and me?"
  
  
  
  "It's only a corkscrew of time," Hu Zan said. "You are well trained in resistance techniques. These women may also have been trained, but they are only women, Western women in this respect ."
  
  
  
  Nick remembered that last comment well. Xu Can's stance was no doubt a reflection of the ancient Eastern custom of treating women as second-rate and subordinate beings. But that wasn't the only thing. The man's torture instruments were specially adapted for women. It was aimed at them, or rather Western women! Nick decided to shoot at random to see if it would hit the target. He had to find a way to get to this satanic ascetic, find a key that would fit his dirty brain.
  
  
  
  "Who was that?" "What is it?" he asked the Aryans. Hu Zan only waited for a second to respond.
  
  
  
  "What do you mean, Mr. Carter?" "No," he said.
  
  
  
  "Did you tell her who it was?'- repeat Nickname. "Was it an American woman? No, I think it was an English girl.
  
  
  
  Xu Can's eyes turned into thoughtful expressions.
  
  
  
  "You're not clear enough, Mr. Carter," he said flatly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
  
  
  
  "I think so," Nick said. 'What happened. She played with you and then left you? Or did she laugh in your face? Yes, it must have been. You thought she was looking at you, and then she turned around and laughed at you.
  
  
  
  Hu Cang turned to Nick and looked at him openly. Nick saw the ego's mouth curl up for a moment. Too late, he saw a loose piece of wire that Hu Zan had picked up and was holding in his hand. He felt a sharp, cutting pain as the thread whipped ego's face. He felt blood trickle down ego's jaw.
  
  
  
  "Shut up, you pig!" Hu Can shouted, and he could barely contain his anger. But Nick decided to push a little more. He had more to gain than lose.
  
  
  
  "So a vote on what's behind this," he said. "Your hatred of the free outdoor pool is a personal vendetta. You are personally offended. It's still revenge for that kid who let you down, and made fun of you, God knows how long ago. Or was ih greater? You might be out of luck with twenty chickens around them. Did you really use deodorant every day?
  
  
  
  The wire slid across Nick's face again. Hu Zan gasped, took a step back, and struggled to contain himself. But Nick knew what he needed to know. The man's motives were entirely personal. His actions were not the result of any political beliefs, it was not an anti-Western ideology formed by philosophical conclusions, but a desire for personal freedom. A man wants the objects of ego hatred to turn to dust. He wants egoists to have them. This is important to remember. Maybe Nick will be able to take advantage of this trait, maybe he will soon be able to use this knowledge to manipulate this person.
  
  
  
  Hu Zan was now standing behind the car in the center of the room. Ego's lips tightened as he pressed the button. Nick watched-as if nothing had happened, as if spellbound-as the device began to do its job. Alexi and Anya reacted against their will. Ih bodies began to move, to writhe, their heads shaking with unquestionable delight. This damn machine was really efficient. Nick glanced at Xu Can. He smiled - if you could call it a smile - with his pursed lips and gasped as he looked at him.
  
  
  
  When it was over, Hu Zan waited two minutes for Rivnen, then pressed the button again. Nick heard Alexi gasp and yell, " No, not yet, not yet." But the machine hummed again, and it did its job with devilish precision.
  
  
  
  It was clear that the ecstasy that Anya and Alexi were falling into was no longer real ecstasy, and they began to make plaintive noises. Ih muffled moans and half-cries indicated that they had once again reached climax, and now Hu Zan immediately activated the device again. Anya screamed, and Alexi began to cry, at first subdued, but then louder and sharper.
  
  
  
  "No, no, not forever more, please, not forever more," Anya exclaimed as her body writhed on the cot. Alexi's incessant whimpering was interrupted by screams for help. Now it was impossible to remember when nah was having an orgasm. Ih bodies continuously writhed and twisted, ih high-pitched screams and hysterical explosions echoed through the room. Anya, Nick noticed, was almost amused, and her screams took on a cheerful tone that struck Ego to the core. Alexi continued to pull in her abs, trying to avoid the movements of the phallus, but it was just as useless as trying to avoid her fate. Her legs started twitching. Hu Zan had indeed described it correctly. It was an unavoidable pain, a terrible sensation that they couldn't shake.
  
  
  
  Nick looked around. There were four guards, Hu Zan, and a technician. They were so focused on the helpless naked girls that he could probably kill them all without much effort. But how many soldiers will be outside? And then there was a task that needed to be completed successfully. Nevertheless, it became clear that we need to act in the near future. He saw a wild, half-hysterical look in Alexi's eyes that startled him. If he was sure they weren't going to talk, em would have to control himself both ways, and the girls would probably turn into a ruined, half-crazed wreck. He thought of the wretches he had seen in their cages. It would have been a terrible sacrifice, but he had to make the sacrifice, and the success of the operation was paramount. It was the code that all three of them lived by.
  
  
  
  But there was something else-something he was afraid of. He had a terrible feeling that the girls wouldn't last. They'll give everything away. They'll tell you everything, and that could mean the flow of the Western world. Emu had to step in. Elena let out unintelligible screams; only Nick caught a few words. Her screams had changed, and he knew what that meant. Thank God, he understood her signs better than Hu Zan.
  
  
  
  This meant that she was going to give up. If he wanted to do something, he had to do it quickly. He had to give it a try. If he hadn't, Hu Zan would have received information on the tortured, shattered, empty shells of these beautiful bodies. And there was only one way to get through to this man: to give the em what he wanted, to flatter the ego's painful desire to move. If Nick could do that, if he could play Xu Can with some hyped-up story, maybe it would still be possible to complete the mission and save ih's hide. Nick knew that in a pinch, he could always activate the detonators by saying this combination of words to send ih everyone into the sky. But he wasn't ready for his final rescue yet. Suicide was always possible, but it was never attractive.
  
  
  
  Nick prepared himself. He should turn out well, acting skills are at the highest level. He flexed his muscles, then lunged madly at Xu Can and pushed him away from the console.
  
  
  
  He shouted. - 'Stay!'Stop, can you hear me?' He barely resisted when the guards rushed over and pulled him away from Xu Can.
  
  
  
  "I'll tell you everything you want to know," Nick shouted in a choked voice. "And you stop with this... I can't take it anymore! Not with her. I don't love her. He broke free of the guards ' arms and fell onto the cot where Alexi was lying. She was motionless now. Her eyes were closed, but her breasts were still moving violently up and down. He buried his head between her breasts and gently stroked her hair.
  
  
  
  "It's over, honey," he murmured. I'll tell them everything."
  
  
  
  He turned to Hu Cang and gave him a disapproving look. He said in a broken voice, " You like it, don't you? You didn't expect this to happen. Okay, now you know. Her man to ... a person like everyone else." Ego's voice broke, and he covered his head with his hands. "My God, oh Jesus, what am I doing? What's going on with me?
  
  
  
  Hu Cang smiled a satisfied smile. Ego's tone was ironic when he said, " Yes, a significant event. The great Nick Carter-Killmaster, as I assume your name is - came this far out of love. How touching ... and what a striking resemblance.
  
  
  
  Nick looked up. "What does a striking resemblance mean?" "What is it?" he asked angrily. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't love her so madly."
  
  
  
  I mean, it's a striking similarity to your social system, " Hu Zan replied coldly. "That's why you're all doomed. You have built your entire lifestyle in what you call love. Your Christian heritage has given you what you call morality, and you play with words like truth, honesty, forgiveness, honor, passion, good and evil, when there are only two things in this world: strength and weakness. Power, Mr. Carter. Do you understand? No, you won't understand. If you understood this, you wouldn't need all this Western nonsense, these empty claims, these crazy misconceptions that you have invented. Yes, they did, Mr. Carter. During this time of her childhood, I diligently studied your history, and it became clear to me that your culture invented all these symbols, all these prejudices with passion, honor and justice to cover up your weakness! The new culture won't need these excuses. The new culture is realistic. It is based on the reality of existence. The knowledge that there is only a division between the weak and the strong ."
  
  
  
  Nick was now sitting dully on the edge of the bunk. The ego's eyes stared into space, seeing nothing. "I lost," he muttered... failed".
  
  
  
  The heavy blow to his face caused him to turn his head in the other direction. Hu Zan stood in front of him and looked at him disdainfully.
  
  
  
  "Enough of your whining," he snapped. 'Tell me. I'm curious to hear what you have to say. He hit Nick in the other side of the head. Nick looked down at the floor and spoke in a flat, reserved tone.
  
  
  
  "We have heard rumors about meeting your missiles. They sent us to find out if it was true. As soon as we find the active missiles, we will need to transmit the location and data to the headquarters and send bombers here to destroy the launch complex. We have a transmitter hidden somewhere in the hills. I can't tell you exactly where. I could take you there.
  
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," Hu Can interrupted ego. "Let's have a transmitter there. Why did you invade the premises? Would you also be able to see that this is exactly the place you wanted?
  
  
  
  Nick thought quickly. He hadn't counted on this corkscrew. "We had to make sure," he replied. "From the hills, we couldn't tell if they were combat missiles or empty mock-ups for training purposes. We had to make sure ."
  
  
  
  Hu Cang seemed pleased. He turned and walked to the other side of the room, putting a long, thin hand under his chin.
  
  
  
  I don't risk it anymore, " he said. They sent you. It may have been an ih web effort, but maybe they'll come up with the idea to organize even more promotions. I was planning to attack her in twenty-four hours, but I'll move her forward. Tomorrow morning we will finish the preparations, and then you will witness both ends of your world. I even want you to stand next to me and watch my little carrier pigeons take off. I want to see the look on your face. It will be a pleasure to watch as the main agent of the free world watches ego and the world go up in smoke. It's almost symbolic, Mr. Carter, don't you think that the destruction of your so - called free world is preceded by the revelation that the ih key agent is nothing more than a weak, ineffective, lovesick plum pudding? But maybe you don't have much sense in symbolism."
  
  
  
  Hu Zan grabbed Nick's hair and lifted Ego's head. Nick did his best to keep the fury out of his eyes, which was one of the hardest things Em had ever done. But emu will have to play until the very end. He looked at Xu Can with a dull, dazed look.
  
  
  
  "Maybe I'll leave you here after the launch," Xu Can chuckled. "You even have propaganda value: an example of the decline of the former Western world. But first, just to make sure you understand the difference between strength and weakness, give you a lesson for beginners."
  
  
  
  He said something to the guards. Nick Ego didn't understand, but he soon realized what would happen when the men approached him. The first one knocked ego to the ground. Then a heavy boot kicked his ego in the ribs. Hu Zan wants to show emu that strength has nothing to do with weaknesses like honor and grace. But Nick knew that all he really wanted was the pleasure of watching the ego enemy writhe at its feet, begging for mercy. So far, the ferret has played its part well, and will continue to do so. With each kick of the boot, he let out a scream, hurt, and finally screamed and begged for mercy. "That's enough," Xu Can exclaimed. "And after you've broken through the outer layer, there's nothing left but weakness. Take ih to the house and put him in the cells. I'll be right there.'
  
  
  
  Nick looked down at Anya and Alexi's naked bodies. They were still lying there
  
  
  helpless, completely exhausted. They probably suffered a severe shock and were psychologically exhausted. He was glad they hadn't seen Ego perform. They could ruin emu's role by trying to stop ego. Perhaps that would have fooled ih, too. Emu had managed to trick Xu Cang into buying precious time; just a few hours, until the next morning, but that should be enough. As the guards dragged the naked girls around the room, Nick saw Xu Cang's worried eyes following them, and Nick thought he could read the thoughts in that sarcastic gaze. He wasn't done with them yet, that perverted bastard. He was already inventing new methods to express his hatred of women on these two copies. Nick realized with a pang of regret that there wasn't much time left. Emu needed to act very quickly, and he wouldn't have time to beat up Xu Can, even though ego's hands were itching. The guards pushed ego out into the hall and down the stairs, then escorted ih out a side door.
  
  
  
  The girls were already in a small truck, with security guards on each side. They were obviously happy with their assignment. They laughed and made obscene jokes, constantly feeling the naked bodies of unconscious girls with their hands. Nick was forced to sit on a wooden bench across from them, between two security guards, and the car drove down a narrow, bumpy road. The road was short, and as they turned onto the paved road, Nick saw the large picture window of the house they'd seen from the hills across the street. Thick, shiny black pillars supported an exquisitely carved pagoda-like superstructure. The ground floor was made of teak, bamboo and stone, and breathed traditional Chinese architecture. The guards pushed Nick around the car with the butt of their rifle and into the house, which was simply and modernly furnished. At the beginning of the second floor, a wide staircase led up. They went down the stairs to a smaller staircase that now seemed to lead to the basement. Finally, they came to a small, brightly lit room. Ego was kicked in the ass and fell to the floor. The door was locked behind him. He lay there and listened. A few seconds later, he heard another door slam shut. So Alexi and Anya were locked up in one of the cells not far from him. Nick sel and heard shaggy on duty in the hallway. He noticed that there was a tiny piece of glass on the day, probably a convex lens, and knew that he was being watched. He crawled into a corner and died there. Even now, he was playing the role of a completely defeated and unsure person. He couldn't afford to make any more mistakes, but his eyes scanned every square inch of the room. Grimly, he found that there was no way out. There were no windows, no vents for us. A bright holy light shone from a single bare lamp on the ceiling. He was glad that he maintained a defeated and submissive demeanor, because a few minutes later, Hu Cang entered the cell without warning. He was alone, but Nick sensed that the guard was watching him intently through the small round glass in the window.
  
  
  
  "You may find our guest rooms, let's just say, a little harsh," Hu Zan began. "But at least you can move. I am afraid that your accomplices have been subjected to a somewhat more rigorous incarceration. They each have one hand and one starts on an iron smash attached to the floor. Only I have the key to these chains. Because you know that my men are carefully selected and trained, but I also know that women are a curse to every man. They can't be trusted. You, for example, can be dangerous if you have a gun. In addition, your fists, your strength, your legs are a kind of weapon. But women don't need guns to be dangerous. They are weapons in themselves. You are locked up, unguarded, and helpless. But women are never helpless. As long as they can abuse their femininity, they remain dangerous. And so she was chained up by ih as an extra precaution."
  
  
  
  He tried to leave again, but stopped in the doorway and looked at Nick.
  
  
  
  "Oh, you were right, of course, "he said. That was many years ago. It was an Englishwoman. I met her in London. We both studied. Imagine her going to work hard in your civilization. But tomorrow I will destroy this civilization."
  
  
  
  Now he left Nick alone. There was no escape at night. We'll have to wait until morning and save up our strength. Anya and Alexi would undoubtedly have a good night's sleep, and it was doubtful that the ih condition would do Em any good tomorrow. A terrible experience would at least have drained and weakened ih, and perhaps they suffered irreparable psychological damage. The next morning, he finds out what needed to be done, he had to do it alone. There was one comforting thought. Hu Zan raised his plans, and any available manpower would work on powering up the missiles or stand guard. This reduced the chances of detecting detonators, which, given the extra day, was always possible.
  
  
  
  Nick crossed his legs and took a yoga pose, putting his body and mind into a state of complete relaxation. He felt the inner mechanism gradually energize the ego, body and mind, with mental and physical energy. In any case, he made sure that the girls were no longer in the room. If he had been forced to detonate the missiles before he could free ih, at least they would have survived. He found a growing sense of inner peace and security, and gradually a plan was formed in the egos of the heads. Finally, he shifted his position, stretched out on the floor, and fell asleep almost immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A huge window spanned the entire length of the house. As Nick had expected, he could see through it to the entire complex and the surrounding hills. It was a thrilling and thrilling sight that Nick Stahl witnessed as the security guard pushed ego inside. He obediently allowed himself to be led, but on the way he did not keep one eye on the audience. He noticed that there was only one guard in the corridor where the ego cells, Annie's and Alexi's cells were located. In addition, the house was not guarded. He only saw four or five guards at the entrances on the first floor, and two were standing in front of the wide staircase.
  
  
  
  The soldier who had brought ego upstairs stayed in the room, while Hu Zan, who was looking outside, turned around. Nick noticed that the annoying smile was back on his face. The room, which stretched the entire length of the facade, looked more like an observation post than a normal room. In the center of the window was an extensive control panel with numerous switches, meters, and several microphones.
  
  
  
  Nick looked out the window. Missiles stood proudly on their launchers, and the area was cleared. There were no more soldiers or technicians around the missiles. So there wasn't much time left.
  
  
  
  "My rockets have a new device that I developed personally," Xu Can said. "A nuclear warhead cannot be detonated until the missile is in the air. So the nuclear warheads here at the base can't explode because of a technical error."
  
  
  
  Now it was Nick's turn to smile. "You'll never guess what that means to me," he said.
  
  
  
  "A few hours ago, your attitude seems different to me," Hu Zan said as he studied Nick. "Let's see how long it will take when these missiles are on their way to destroy the main centers of the West. If this happens, Beijing will see what opportunity I offer them, and the Red armies will immediately take action. My men are almost done with the final preparations.
  
  
  
  Hu Zan turned to look outside again, and Nick did a quick calculation. He must act now. The transmitter in the ego hip will take one second to send a signal to each detonator, and another second for the detonator to pick up the signal and convert the ego into an electronic device. Seven rockets, two seconds each. Fourteen seconds of ejection made the free world out of hell. Fourteen seconds stood between a future of hope and a future of suffering and horror. Fourteen seconds determine the course of history for thousands of years. He had to have Xu Can with him. He couldn't risk the guard's intervention. Nick moved quietly toward the man, then turned in a flash. He put all of his pent-up anger into delivering a crushing blow to the emu's jaw, and it immediately brought him a deep sense of relief. The man collapsed like a rag. Nick laughed out loud, and Hu Zan turned around in surprise. He frowned and looked at Nick like he was a naughty child.
  
  
  
  He asked. "What do you think you're doing?" 'What is it? The last spasm will meet your idiotic principles, an attempt to save your honor? If I sound the alarm, my bodyguards will be here in a few seconds. And even if they didn't come, there's nothing you can do to stop the rockets. It's too late.'
  
  
  
  "No, you crazy idiot," Nick said. "You have seven rockets, and I will give you seven reasons why you will fail."
  
  
  
  Hu Zan laughed a joyless laugh, a hollow inhuman laugh. "You're crazy," he said to Nick.
  
  
  
  'Number one! Nick shouted, making sure to say the words that would trigger the first detonator. "Number one," he said, feeling a slight shiver under the skin of his thigh as the transmitter picked up the signal. "Truth, grace, and love are not empty concepts," he continued. " They are as real as strength and weakness."
  
  
  
  He had just taken a deep breath when he heard the first detonator explode. The explosion was followed almost immediately by a roar as the rocket seemed to take off on its own, fly into the air, and then shatter into pieces. The first group was near the barracks, and Nick saw that the explosion had leveled the wooden buildings to the ground. Concrete, pieces of metal, and human body parts flew through the air and landed on the ground a few meters away. Hu Can looked out the window with wide eyes. He ran to one of the microphones on the control panel and flipped a switch.
  
  
  
  'What happened?"Central, Central, this is the doctor. Hu Can. What's happening? Yes, of course I'm waiting. Find out. Can you hear me right away?
  
  
  
  'Number two!' Nick spoke clearly. "Tyrants can never enslave people."
  
  
  
  However, the second detonator went off with a powerful impact, and Xu Can's face turned completely white. He continued to shout at the speaker, demanding an explanation.
  
  
  
  "Number three, "Nick said," A person is more important than the state."
  
  
  
  When the third explosion hit the house, Nick saw Xu Can bang his fists on the window. Then he looked at Nick. There was pure, panicked fear in ego's eyes. Something had happened that he couldn't understand. He began running back and forth, shouting orders into various microphones as the chaos below grew increasingly cluttered.
  
  
  
  "Are you still listening, Xiao Can?" Nick said with a devilish grin. Hu Cang looked at him with wide eyes and open mouth. "Number four," Nick called. "Love is stronger than hate, and kindness is stronger than dislike."
  
  
  
  The fourth rocket flew into the air, and Hu Zan fell to his knees and started banging on the control panel. He shouted and laughed alternately. Nick, remembering the helpless, wild panic he'd seen in Alexi's eyes a few hours ago, called out in a sharp, clear tone, " Number five! There's nothing like a hot chick."
  
  
  
  During the fifth explosion, Hu Can fell onto the control panel, bursting out in a fitful, hysterical scream that was beyond comprehension. Now the entire complex was one huge column of smoke and flames. Nick grabbed Xu Cang and pressed his face against the window.
  
  
  
  "Keep thinking, you idiot," he said. "Number six! What unites people is stronger than what ih divides!
  
  
  
  Hu Can broke free around Nick's arms as the sixth rocket exploded in a spiral of flame, metal, and concrete. Ego's face turned into a hard mask, his shocked brain suddenly finding again after understanding.
  
  
  
  "It's you," he breathed. "You're doing it somehow. It was all a lie. You never loved that woman. It was only a ruse to make me stop, to save her! "
  
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Nick hissed. "And remember, it was the woman who helped take you down."
  
  
  
  Hu Can crouched at the feet of Nick, who, however, silently stepped aside and watched as the man headbutted him in the control panels.
  
  
  
  "Number seven, Xiao Can," Nick called out. "The number seven means that your plans have failed, because the humanity in the hall is far enough away to expose madmen like you in time!"
  
  
  
  "Rocket seven!" shouted Hu Can into the microphone. "Launch the seventh rocket!" There was a final explosion in rheumatism, shaking the window. He turned and lunged at Nick with a high-pitched cry. Nick stuck out his foot, causing Xiao Can to hit the door. With the unusual strength of a madman, Hu Zan quickly got up and ran out before Nick could stop ego. Nick ran after him and saw Ego's white coat disappear at the bottom of the stairs. Then four guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Ih the automatic weapon opened fire, and Nick dived to the ground. He heard rapid shaggy footsteps on the stairs. When the first one reached the top of the stairs, he grabbed the man by the ankles and threw ego down the stairs, taking the other three with him. Nick ducked down to his automatic rifle and fired. Four soldiers lay lifeless at the bottom of the stairs. Gun in hand, Nick jumped over them and ran to the first floor. Two more guards appeared, and Nick immediately fired a short burst at them. Xu Cang was nowhere to be seen, and Nick started to think. Could the scientist have run away from home? But Nick had the nagging idea that the man had gone somewhere else, and he was going down three steps at a time to the basement. As he approached the digital cameras, Alexi's jack confirmed Ego's frightening suspicions.
  
  
  
  He rushed into the room where the twins, still naked, were chained to the floor. Hu Cang stood over them like an old Shinto cook company: da nicola in a long baggy coat. In Ego's hands was a huge antique Chinese saber. He held the heavy weapon above his head with both hands, and was about to decapitate the two girls in one fell swoop. Nick managed to get his finger off the trigger. If he fired, Xiao Can would drop the heavy blade, and the result would be just as terrible. Nick dropped the gun to the ground and ducked. He grabbed Xu Can around the waist, and together they flew through the cell and landed on the ground two meters away.
  
  
  
  Normally, this man would have been broken in Nick Carter's mighty grip, but Xu Cang was moved by the superhuman strength of an enraged madman, and he still held the heavy saber tightly. He swung the broad blade down, trying to hit Nick on the head, but N3 rolled out of the way in time to avoid the full force of the blow. However, the saber blade caught Em in the shoulder, and he immediately felt a throbbing pain that almost paralyzed his arm. However, he immediately jumped to his feet and tried to dodge the madman's next attack. The latter, however, charged towards Alexy and Anna again with his sword raised, apparently undaunted by his determination to complete his revenge on the female species.
  
  
  
  As the man sent the saber whizzing down, Nick grabbed the hilt and yanked it sideways with all his might. He felt a shooting pain in his bleeding shoulder, but he got there in time. Now the heavy blade hit the ground an inch or so from Annie's head. Nick, still holding the hilt of his saber, now turned Xu Can with such tremendous force that he crashed into the wall.
  
  
  
  Now that Nick had the saber, the scientist didn't seem to be able to let go of his thoughts about page after all. He was almost there when Nick blocked the emu's path. Hu Can turned and ran back as Nick lowered the blade. The razor-sharp weapon pierced through the back of the madman, who fell to the ground with a stifled groan. Nick quickly knelt down beside the dying scientist and took out the keys to the chains around his coat pocket. He released the girls who were trembling in his arms. Fear and pain were still evident in ih's eyes, but oni struggled to maintain her composure.
  
  
  
  "We heard explosions," Alexi said. "Did it happen, Nick?"
  
  
  
  "It happened," he said. "Our order has been fulfilled. The West can breathe calmly again. Can you walk?"'
  
  
  
  "I think so," Anya said in an uncertain, hesitant tone.
  
  
  
  "Wait for me here," Nick said. "I'll get you some clothes." He went down to the hall and returned a moment later with the clothes of the two guards. As the girls began to get dressed, Nick tied up his bleeding shoulder with the ribbons he'd cut around the shirt he'd also taken off the guard. He gave each girl a vending machine and they went upstairs. It was clear that Anya and Alexi were having a lot of trouble walking, but they kept walking steadily, and Nick admired ih for her iron self-control. But perseverance is one thing, psychological damage is another. He had to make sure that they would fall into the hands of experienced doctors as soon as possible.
  
  
  
  The house seemed deserted, and there was an eerie, ominous silence. Outside, they could hear the crackle of flames and smell the acrid smell of burning kerosene. No matter how many guards there might be in Xu Can's house, it was clear that they had all escaped. The quickest way to the coast was through the hills, and that would have meant making a path for yourself.
  
  
  
  "Let's take a chance," Nick said. "If there are survivors, they'll be so busy saving their own skins that they'll leave us alone."
  
  
  
  But it was a miscalculation. They had no trouble reaching the spot and were about to push through the smoldering rubble when Nick suddenly took cover behind the half-broken wall of one of the concrete buildings. Along the road, troops dressed in cerro-green clothes were slowly approaching. They approached the place cautiously and inquisitively, and the sound of a large number of army vehicles could be heard in the distance. "Regular Chinese Army," Nick growled. "I might have known that. The fireworks here should have been clearly visible and audible for a radius of at least thirty kilometers. And, of course, they also detected egos hundreds of kilometers away with electronic measuring equipment."
  
  
  
  This was an unexpected and sad development. They could run back to the forest and hide, but if these Beijing troops did everything right, they would be here in a matter of weeks, picking up the rubble and burying the corpses. And if they found Xu Can, they would know that it wasn't some technical glitch, but sabotage. They would comb the entire area inch by inch. Nick glanced at Semyonov and Alexi. They would be able to escape for at least a short distance, but he could see that they were not in a position to engage in battle. Then there was the food problem. If they manage to find a good shelter, and the soldiers search for ih for weeks, they will also face starvation. Of course, the girls didn't last long. They still had that strange look in their eyes, a mixture of panic and infantile sexual desire. True professionals, Nick thought, had been rather unpleasant. The Russian settlement was successfully completed, but the missionaries risked being eaten by the natives.
  
  
  
  While he was still thinking about the right decision, this decision was suddenly made by Anya. He didn't know if it was the sudden panic that had triggered her, or just nerves still blinded by her tortured mind. Whatever it was, she started firing her automatic rifle in the direction of the approaching troops.
  
  
  
  "Take the tailor!" he exclaimed. He wanted to scold her, but when he looked at nah, it was useless. She looked at him hysterically, her eyes wide, not understanding. Now the troops retreated on command to the edge of the completely destroyed complex. Apparently, they haven't figured out where the salvo came from yet.
  
  
  
  "Come on," Nick snapped roughly. "And stay undercover. Back to the woods!
  
  
  
  As they ran towards the forest, a wild idea formed in Nick's mind. With any luck, it might work. At the very least, it would give them a chance to escape along this road and this place. At the edge of the forest were tall trees, oaks, and Chinese elms. Nick chose three that were close to each other.
  
  
  
  "Wait here," he ordered the twins. "I'll be right back.' He turned in a flash and raced back to the spot, trying to hold on to the remaining shards of wall and twisted metal. He quickly took something around the belts of the three dead soldiers of Xu Can's small army and ran back to the edge of the forest. The Chinese officers now directed their soldiers in a circle around the grounds, cornering anyone who fired at them.
  
  
  
  It was a good idea, Nick thought, and something else that would help the emu get things done. When he reached three trees, he left Alexi and Semyonov with their gas masks. The third gas mask was already attached to his mouth on the way.
  
  
  
  "Now listen carefully, both of you," he said in a clear, commanding tone. Everyone around us climbs as high as possible on one of these three trees. The web part of the site that has not been left untouched is the ring on which the tanks with poison are located sunk into the ground. The electrical system that manages them is undoubtedly out of assembly, but I suspect that there is still poison gas in the tanks. If you are high enough in the tree, you can clearly see each metal disc. The three of us will shoot all these things. And remember, don't waste bullets on soldiers, just on gas tanks, okay? Alexi, you aim to the right, Anya to the left, and I'll take care of the center. Alright, act now! '
  
  
  
  Nick paused, watching the girls climb up. They moved smoothly and quickly with their weapons on their shoulders, and finally they disappeared into the upper branches. He had reached the top of his tree alone when he heard the first salvo of ih weapons. He, too, began firing rapidly, at the center of each circular disk. There was no air sampling pressure to push the gas out, but it did what he'd hoped it would. Each tank had a large natural pressure, and from each impact disk, a cloud of gas began to flow out, which became larger and larger. When the shooting started, the Chinese soldiers fell to the ground and opened fire indiscriminately. As Nick had already seen, the gas masks were not part of the ih equipment, and he saw the gas starting to take effect. He could hear the officers shouting commands, which of course was too late. When Nick saw the soldiers stagger and fall, he exclaimed, " Anya! Alexi! Down. We have to get out of here."
  
  
  
  He got to the ground first, and Stahl ih waited. He was glad to see that the girls hadn't torn their gas masks off their faces. He knew that they were still not completely stable.
  
  
  
  "All you have to do now is follow me," he ordered. "We're crossing the site." He knew that the army supply vehicles were on the other side of the site, and he quickly moved between the wreckage of launchers, rockets, and buildings. The gas hung in the air like a thick fog, and they ignored the gurgling, shuddering soldiers on the ground. Nick suspected that some of the soldiers might have stayed with the wagons, and he was right. As they approached the nearest car, four soldiers rushed towards them, who were immediately killed by a volley around Alexi's weapon. Now they were out through the gas cloud, and Nick had torn off his gas mask. Ego's face was hot and sweaty as he jumped into the van and dragged the girls inside. He immediately took the van, and made a full circle around the row of wagons that were parked in front of the main gate. They quickly passed a line of cars parked on the side of the road. Now other soldiers jumped out and opened fire on them, and Nick hissed at Anna and Alexi,"Get in the back." They crawled through the small gap between the driver's cab and the cargo platform and lay down on the bottom. "Don't shoot," Nick ordered. "And lying flat."
  
  
  
  They arrived at the last army vehicle, which was followed by six soldiers who quickly spread out across the width of the road and prepared to open fire. Nick fell to the floor of the car, left hand on the steering wheel, right foot on the gas pedal, on the shelf. He could hear the bullets shattering the windshield and piercing the metal of the hood in a continuous, crackling report. But the momentum of the machine, which was now rumbling like a locomotive, was not broken, and Nick caught a glimpse of soldiers breaking through the human wall. He quickly got to his feet, just in time to turn the wheels before the rapidly approaching bend in the road.
  
  
  
  "We did it," he chuckled. "At least not yet."
  
  
  
  'What do we do now? Alexi poked her head in the driver's doorway.
  
  
  
  "We'll try to outsmart ih," Nick said. "Now they will order to build roadblocks and organize search parties. But they'll assume we're puffiness open to the shore. To the Hu Canal, where we landed; that would be the most logical course. But instead, we go back in the direction we came from, to Sei Wan. Only by the time we get there will they realize that they've made a mistake and that we're not heading for the west bank.
  
  
  
  If Nick had kept that thought to himself, at least there wouldn't have been a thousand other things that could have gone wrong! Nick looked at the gas meter. The tank was almost full, enough to get us to our destination. He made himself comfortable and focused on maneuvering the heavy car as quickly as possible on the winding and hilly road. He looked around. Alexi and Anya were sleeping on the bottom with their submachine guns like stuffed mice in their hands. Nick felt a deep sense of satisfaction, almost relief. The job was done, they were alive, and everything was going smoothly for a change. Maybe it's time. Perhaps he wouldn't be so relieved if General Ku's existence became known.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  The general was immediately alerted, and when he arrived, Nick was on the road for almost two hours. General Ku, commander of the Third Army of the People's Republic of China, walked through the wreckage. Thoughtful and focused, he absorbed everything down to the smallest detail. He didn't say a word to us, but his eyes reflected his displeasure as he walked through the ranks of sick soldiers. General Ku Wei was a professional soldier. He was proud of his family, which has trained and produced many outstanding soldiers in the past. The constant campaigns of the political wing of the new National Revolutionary Army were always a thorn in his side. Ego wasn't interested in politics at all. They thought that a soldier should be a specialist, a master, and not a continuation of an ideological movement. Dr. Xu Can and the ego people were formally under ego's command. But Hu Zan always worked with full power of attorney from above. In his own way, he managed his elite troupe and put on his own show. And now that the show had suddenly gone up in smoke, he was invited to clean up the mess.
  
  
  
  One of them, through junior officers, told emu what had happened when the regular troops entered the territory. General Ku listened in silence. Has anyone been to the house on the hill before? He took a deep breath when the emu was told that it hadn't happened yet. In his memory, he made a note of at least ten junior officers who would definitely not be next in line for promotion. The general and a small retinue drove up to the v-special house by themselves and found Xu Can's body with the saber still stuck in his back.
  
  
  
  General Ku went down the stairs of the house and climbed to the bottom step. With a professional, well-trained brain, he began to piece things together.He liked to be firmly in control of everything that happened in the ego-controlled area of Kwantung Province. It was clear that what had happened was not an accident. Just as obviously, it had to be the work of a highly qualified specialist, someone like himself, but with unusual abilities. In fact, General Ku admired the man. Other events came to mind now, such as the patrol boat that had so inexplicably disappeared without a trace, and the unexplained incident with one of the ego convoys a few days ago.
  
  
  
  Whoever it was must have been here just a few hours ago, when he himself sent his troops here to find out why the world seemed to end north of Shilung! Shooting at the gas tanks was an example of fantastic strategy, improvisational thinking that only superintelligence can produce. There were many enemy agents, but only a small part of ih was capable of such feats. General Ku wouldn't be a pure-blooded expert with a top position in the Chinese army if he didn't have all the names of such high-ranking agents etched into his memory.
  
  
  
  The Russian agent Korvetsky was good, but such a mind was not his strong suit. The British really had good people, but this somehow did not correspond to the ih model. The British still had a penchant for fair play, and General Ku thought they were too civilized for that approach. By the way, according to Ku, it was an annoying habit that made them often miss a chance. No, here he caught a diabolical, dark, powerful efficiency that can only possibly point to one person: American Agent N3. General Ku thought for a moment, then found the name: Nick Carter! General Ku stood up and ordered his driver to take Ego back to the area where Ego soldiers had set up a radio station. It was supposed to be Nick Carter, and he was still on Chinese soil. The general realized that Xu Can must be up to something that even the high command didn't know about. The American was ordered to destroy Xu Can's base. Now he was on the run. General Ku was almost sorry that he had to stop the ego. He deeply admired the skill. But he was a master himself. General Koo has established a radio link. "Give me a staff," he said calmly. "I want two battalions to be available at once. They should seal off the coastline from Gumenchai along the Hu Strait. Yes, two battalions, that's enough. This is just an updated precaution in case I make a mistake. Probably, the man chose a different direction. I don't expect that from him, which is so obvious."
  
  
  
  Then General Koo applied for a liaison with the Air Force, and now his tone was measured and sharp. "Yes, one around my regular army trucks. He must have been near Kungtu by now, heading for the east coast. Indeed, this is an absolute priority. No, definitely not planes, they're too fast, and there won't be a single car in the hills to find us. It's good that I'm waiting for more information here.
  
  
  
  General Ku returned to his car. It would be nice if the American was brought back alive. He would like to meet this person. But he knew that the chance was very small. I hope that from now on, the high Command will be more careful with its special projects and leave all ih security missiles and equipment in the hands of the regular army.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anya and Alexi woke up. Ih's eyes were shining, and Nick was happy to see it. The heavy car clattered across the road, and so far they were making good progress. He decided to test the girls a bit to see how they would react. He still wasn't sure how much damage Xu Can's torture had done to them.
  
  
  
  "Alexi," he said. Her face appeared in the hatchway between the cargo platform and the driver's cab. "Remember when you asked me what it was like in America? When we were sleeping in the cave?
  
  
  
  The director frowned. 'What?'She was obviously trying to remember.
  
  
  
  "You asked about Greenwich Village," he insisted.
  
  
  
  "Oh, yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I remember her now."
  
  
  
  "Would you like to live in America?" Nick asked, watching her expression carefully in the rearview mirror. Her face lit up and she smiled dreamily.
  
  
  
  "I think so, Nick," she said. "I've been thinking about it. Yes, actually, I think it would be nice.
  
  
  
  "Then we'll talk about it later," he replied. He's calmed down for now. She recovered, at least psychologically. She could remember things and see connections. And since they were so similar, Nick suspected that Anya would be fine, too. At least this vile device wasn't considered to seriously harm ih's brain. But he couldn't forget the poor Polish girl in the basement. She might have been thinking normally, but she was emotionally crippled, irreparably wrecked. He knew there was only one way to find out. But now was the wrong time and place. And in these or other circumstances, it can only make the situation worse.
  
  
  
  Ego Sense was so focused on the twins that he didn't hear the throbbing sound until the helicopter flew almost openly over ego's head. He looked up and saw the Chinese Air Force star on nen. The helicopter descended quickly, and Nick noticed just in time that the machine gun was small. He turned the steering wheel and began to move in a zigzag pattern, even though there wasn't much room for that on the narrow road. A volley of machine-gun fire rang out. He knew that Alexi and Anya were lying on the floor, and he didn't hear any sounds that would indicate that the one around them had been shot. Now the car passed a row of trees whose upper branches blocked the road like a gate, but as soon as they were out from under them, the helicopter was above them again. Nick glanced at the cab. The shooting stopped, and the crewman spoke into the radio.
  
  
  
  Nick rode with a grim face. He will drive for as long as possible. They should be close to shore by now. He wondered how the hell they knew he was going to run away here. Now he was driving like the devil, throttle at the limit, twisting on two wheels. He wasn't trying to move faster than the helicopter. There was no chance of that. But he wanted to get as far away as possible before they were forced to leave the car. And Nick was sure that this moment would come soon. The moment came sooner than he thought, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw half a dozen dots appear in the sky. They were getting bigger, and they were also helicopters. More! And maybe even with rockets!
  
  
  
  "Get ready to jump!" he called back and heard Alexi and Anya jump to their feet.
  
  
  
  Nick stopped the car and they jumped out. They ducked into the embankment, which was now thankfully overgrown with trees, and ran. If they had stayed in the shade of the dense undergrowth and dense trees, they might have stayed out of sight of the helicopters. The army vehicle has proven its worth, but now it's more of an obstacle.
  
  
  
  They ran like hares being chased by hunting dogs. Alexi and Anya couldn't keep up the pace for long. Ih their breathing was already irregular, and they were clearly short of breath. They fell into a narrow depression in the ground where the grass was five feet high. The girls huddled as tightly as they could and covered their heads with their hands. Nick saw, as the embassy reported, an army truck circling, and from three around them, he saw white clouds of parachutes unfurling. He straightened up a little more and looked around. Paratroopers also jumped from other helicopters.
  
  
  
  Nick realized that they should be detected in this way. If they move too fast, they'll be pinned down right away, according to the embassy. Nick watched carefully through the tall grass as the skydivers slowly descended. He had always felt that this strange hollow with hills on either side of it looked familiar to Emu, and suddenly he knew exactly where they were. Here is the child ih found. A small farm should have been nearby. Nick briefly considered running back to the farm, but it would only be a reprieve. Undoubtedly, this was one of the first places where the paratroopers went to search. He felt a hand on his sleeve. It was Alexi.
  
  
  
  "We'll stay here and lure ih in," she said. "Only you can do it, Nick. It's already close to the shore. Don't expect anything more from us. We did our job."
  
  
  
  Leave ih here! Nick knew she was right. He could do it on his own, especially if they caught the attention of the marines. And if he hadn't already completed his mission, he certainly would have. He would have sacrificed them if necessary. He knew it, and they knew it, too. But now the situation was different. The task was completed, and together they brought it to a successful conclusion. They helped em, and now he won't give up on them. He leaned in and lifted Alexi's chin. "No, dear," he said, meeting her stubborn gaze. Nick Carter looked grimly at the descending Marines. They formed a ring around the depression and would have completely surrounded ih in a few moments. And the coast was still at least five hundred yards away. He grabbed his rifle when he saw the grass moving to their right. It wasn't a noticeable move, but it was undeniable. The grass rustled dryly now, and a moment later, to his great surprise, he saw the face of the little farm boy.
  
  
  
  "Don't shoot," the boy said. 'Please. Nick lowered the gun, little as the boy crawled up to them.
  
  
  
  "I know you want to escape," he said simply. "I'll show you the way. At the edge of the hill in the hall is the beginning of an underground tunnel through which a stream flows. It's wide enough to fit through it."
  
  
  
  Nick looked at the boy suspiciously. The little face showed nothing, no excitement, no hatred, nothing at all. He could drive ih into the arms of the paratroopers. Nick looked up. As time passed, all the paratroopers had already landed. There was no more time to run.
  
  
  
  "We'll follow you," Nick said. Even if a child could betray ih, it would be better than just sitting here and waiting. They could have tried to force their way in, but Nick knew that the paratroopers were well-trained soldiers. These were not amateurs chosen by Xu Cang, but regular Chinese troops. The boy turned and ran, Nick and the twins following. The boy led ih to the overgrown brushy edge of the hill. He stopped at a clump of pines and pointed.
  
  
  
  "Beyond the pines," he said,"you will find a stream, and a hole in the hill."
  
  
  
  "Go ahead," Nick said to the girls. "I'll be there."
  
  
  
  He turned to the boy and saw that the ego's eyes still showed nothing. Em wanted to read what was behind it.
  
  
  
  'Why?'What is it?' he asked simply.
  
  
  
  The boy's expression didn't change as he answered: "You let us live. Its paid its debt now."
  
  
  
  Nick held out his hand. The boy glanced at nah for a moment, examined the huge hand that could easily have erased his life, then turned and ran. The boy refused to shake the emu's hand. Maybe he'll grow up to be an enemy and hate Nick's people; maybe not.
  
  
  
  Now it was Nick's turn to hurry. As he rushed into the bushes, ha he exposed his face to the sharp pine needles. There was indeed a stream, and a narrow tunnel. He could barely get his shoulders into it. The tunnel was designed for children, and possibly slender women. But he would have persevered if the emu had to dig further with his bare hands. He could hear the girls already crawling into the tunnel. His split ego started to bleed as he tore himself apart on the sharp protruding rocks, and after a while, the emu had to stop to wipe the dirt and blood from his eyes. The air was dirty and stuffy, but the cool water was a blessing. He dipped his head in nah to refresh himself every time he felt his ego strength waning. His ribs ached, and he felt a spasm in his legs, which were constantly exposed to the icy water. He was at the end of his strength when he felt a cool breeze and saw the twisting tunnel brighten and widen as he went. The holy sun and fresh air hit the emu in the face as it came out, around the tunnel, and to its great surprise, it saw the shore ahead. Alexi and Anya lay exhausted in the grass at the entrance to the tunnel, trying to catch their breath.
  
  
  
  "Oh, Nick," Alexi said, sitting up on one elbow. "Maybe it's useless anyway. We don't have the strength to swim anymore. If only we could find a place to hide here and spend the night. Maybe tomorrow morning we can ...
  
  
  
  "No way," Nick said softly but firmly. "When they find out that we have escaped, they will search every inch of the coastline. But I hope we have a few more pleasant surprises waiting for us. First of all, didn't we have a small boat in the bushes here, or did you forget that?
  
  
  
  "Yes, I forgot it," Alexi replied as they sped down the hill. "But what if this boat is missing? What if someone found her and took her away?
  
  
  
  "Then you'll have to swim, honey, whether you like it or not," Nick said. But don't worry yet. If necessary, I'll swim it for the three of us."
  
  
  
  But the boat was still there, and together they pushed it into the water. It was already getting dark, but the paratroopers already guessed that they had managed to avoid the encirclement. This meant that, as the embassy reported, they would start searching again, and soon enough they might appear over the coastline. Nick wasn't sure if he should have hoped it would get dark soon, or if staying bright would make ih easier to find. But not by helicopter.
  
  
  
  He paddled desperately to get as far away from the shore as possible. The sun was slowly sinking into the sky, a bright red ball, when Nick saw the first black dots appear on the horizon above the coast. Although they had already covered quite a long distance, Nick was afraid that it wouldn't be enough. If only those black bitches had flown in the right direction for a moment, they couldn't expect to go unnoticed for long. He watched as the two helicopters began to glide low over the shoreline, as low as they dared, so that the propeller blades seemed almost stationary. Then one around them took off, and Stahl circled above the water. He made a half turn and flew towards them. They found something on & nb.
  
  
  
  "He'll definitely see us," Nick said grimly. "It will appear so low to be sure. When it's on top of us, we'll give the emu full power with all our remaining ammo. Maybe we can fight back after all.
  
  
  
  Just as Nick had predicted,the helicopter began to descend as it approached them, and finally made a sharp dive. When it flew open over an ih boat, they opened fire. The distance was close enough that they could see a series of deadly holes poking through the night. plane. It flew another hundred yards, began to turn around, and exploded with a deafening thud.
  
  
  
  The helicopter crashed into the water in a column of smoke and fire, and the wreckage shook from the waves that caused the attack. But now there were other waves. They came from the other direction and tilted the boat dangerously.
  
  
  
  Nick saw it first, a black colossus rising through the depths like a sinister black dragon. But this dragon carried white U.S. Navy badges, and sailors jumped out around the open hatch and threw their ropes. Nick grabbed one of the ropes and pulled ih to the submarine. The commander was on deck when Nick followed the twins aboard.
  
  
  
  "No, I was afraid you wouldn't let us find you," Nick said. "And its damn good to see you!"
  
  
  
  "Welcome aboard," the officer said. Commander Johnson, USS Barracuda." He glanced at the approaching fleet of helicopters. "We'd better get under the water faster," he said. "We want to get out of here as quickly as possible and without further incident." Once below deck, Nick heard the sound of the conning tower closing and the increasing hum of the engines as the submarine quickly sank into deep water.
  
  
  
  "With our measurement equipment, we were able to record the explosions in detail," Commander Johnson explained. "It must have been a good show."
  
  
  
  "I'd like to be more at a distance," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "When the Lu Shi family didn't show up, we realized-of course, something went wrong, but we could only wait and see. After dealing with the explosions, we sent submarines to two places where we could expect you: the Hu Canal and here in Sei Wan. We did not watch the coast when and at night. When we saw the boat approaching, we did not dare to act immediately, because it was not yet completely clear that it was you. The Chinese can be very cunning. It would be something like sending out a decoy to get us to stick our noses out like that. But when we saw what you shot down by helicopter, we were already sure ."
  
  
  
  Nick relaxed and took a deep breath. He looked at Alexi and Semyonov. They were tired, and ih faces showed excessive tension, but there was also relief in ih eyes. He arranged for ih to be delivered to the cabins, and then continued the conversation with the commander.
  
  
  
  "We're puffiness Taiwan," the officer said. "And from there, you can take a plane to the United States. What about meet your Russian colleagues? We can guarantee that ih is delivered to the desired destination ."
  
  
  
  "We'll talk about it tomorrow, Commander," Nick replied. "Now I'm going to enjoy the phenomenon they call a bed, even though in this case it's a submarine dock. Good evening, Commander.
  
  
  
  "You did a good job, N3," the commander said. Nick nodded, saluted, and turned. He was tired, dead tired. An emu would be fine if it could sleep without fear on board an American ship.
  
  
  
  Somewhere in the field command post, General Ku, commander of the 3rd Army of the People's Republic of China, was slowly blowing smoke from a cigar. On the table in front of him were reports from the egos of the people, the Air Command, and the Special Amphibious Unit. General Ku took a deep breath and wondered if the Beijing leaders would ever find out. Perhaps they were so caught up in the machinery of their propaganda machine that they were unable to think clearly at all. He smiled in the privacy of his room. Although there was no real reason for Della to smile, he couldn't help it. He always admired the masters. It was nice to lose to Tom N3.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Formosa Airport was bustling with activity. Alexi and Anya were dressed in new dresses bought in Taiwan, and now they met Nick in a small reception area, refreshed and attractive. They'd been talking for more than an hour, and now Nick was back in a tailspin. He didn't want any misunderstandings. He asked, " So we understand each other well?" "I would like Alexi to come to America with me, and she says the hotel would. Is that clear?"
  
  
  
  "It's obvious," Anya replied. "And her, I want to return to Russia. Alexi always wanted to see America. I never had that desire ."
  
  
  
  "People in Moscow will never be able to demand her return, because as far as anyone in Washington knows, they only sent one agent, and I'm sending one back:" you."
  
  
  
  "Yes," said Anya. "Its tired. And I've had more than enough of this job, Nick Carter. And I'll tell them what Alexi thinks."
  
  
  
  "Please, Anya," Alexi said. "You have to let them know that I'm not a traitor. That I wouldn't spy on them. I just want to go to America and try to live my life. I want to go to Greenwich Village, and I want to see Buffalo and the Indians."
  
  
  
  An announcement over the loudspeaker suddenly cut off ih's conversation.
  
  
  
  "This is your plane, Anya," Nick said.
  
  
  
  He shook Ey's hand and tried to read Nah's eyes. They were still not one hundred percent fine. They were still different from the first time he'd seen them, and there was something wistful about them. It was barely noticeable, but he didn't miss it. He knew that they would study her thoroughly when she arrived in Moscow, and he decided that he would do the same with Alexi when they arrived in New York.
  
  
  
  Anya left, accompanied by two Marines. She stopped at the entrance to the plane and turned around. She waved for a moment, then disappeared inside. Nick took Alexi's hand, but he immediately felt her stiffen and she jerked it away. He released her immediately.
  
  
  
  "Go on, Alexi," he said. "There's a plane waiting for us, too."
  
  
  
  The flight to New York was uneventful. Alexi seemed very agitated and she talked a lot, but still he could feel it, somehow she wasn't herself. He knew all too well what the reason was, and he felt both grim and furious at the same time. He sent a telegram in advance, and Hawk picked up ih at the airport. Upon arriving at JFK, NY Alexi was as thrilled as a child, although she seemed to be blown away by the tall buildings of New York City. At the AX building, she was taken to a room where a team of specialists was waiting to examine her. Nick escorted Hawk to Ego's room, where a rolled-up object was waiting on Ego's desk.
  
  
  
  Nick opened it and pulled out a roast beef sandwich with a smile. Hawk looked at him briefly as he lit his pipe.
  
  
  
  "Thanks," Nick said, taking a bite. "You just forgot the ketchup."
  
  
  
  For a split second, he saw Hawke's eyes twinkle. "I'm sorry," the elderly man said calmly. "I'll think about it next time. What will happen to the girl?
  
  
  
  "I'll arrange for you to meet some people. "Some Russians I know in New York," Nick said. "She adapts quickly. She's smart enough. Nah also has a lot of other abilities."
  
  
  
  "I was on the phone with the Russians," Hawk said, tapping his pipe on the ashtray and grimacing. "Sometimes I can't help but be surprised by them. In the beginning, they were all kind and helpful. And now that it's all over, they're back to their old ways, cold, businesslike, and reserved. I gave them plenty of opportunities to say whatever they wanted, but they didn't say a word to us more than was absolutely necessary. They never told us about the girl."
  
  
  
  "The thaw was temporary, boss," Nick said. "It will take much more to make the ego permanent."
  
  
  
  The door opened and one entered through the doctors. He said something to Hawk.
  
  
  
  "Thank you," emu Hawk said. 'Voice and all. And please tell Ms. Lyubov that Mr. Carter will pick her up at the front desk.
  
  
  
  He turned to Nick. "I've reserved an apartment for you on the Square, in one of the upper floors with a view of the park. Voting keys. You have relaxed a little at our expense.
  
  
  
  Nick nodded, took his keys, and left through the rooms. He didn't tell Hawk or anyone else about the details of Xu Can's toy. He wants him to be as confident as Hawk that he can relax at the Plaza with Alexi over the next Sunday.
  
  
  
  He picked Alexi up from the check-in counters and they walked side by side through the buildings, but Nick didn't dare take her hand. She seemed happy and excited to Em, and he decided it was best to have lunch with her first. They went to the Forum. After lunch, they took a taxi that took ih across Central Park to the Plaza Hotel.
  
  
  
  The room Hawke had booked was more than spacious, and the Director was very impressed.
  
  
  
  "This is yours for the week," Nick said. "Something like a gift, you might say. But don't honestly think right now that you can live the rest of your life in America voting like this."
  
  
  
  Alexi came up to him, her eyes bright. "I know that too," she said. "Oh, Nick, I'm so happy. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be alive right now. What can I do to thank you? '
  
  
  
  He was a little taken aback by the directness of her question, but decided to take the risk. "I want to make love to you," he said. "I want you to let me take you."
  
  
  
  She turned away from him, and Nick could see her luscious breasts rising and falling furiously under her blouse. He noticed that her hands were moving restlessly.
  
  
  
  "I'm scared, Nick," she said, her eyes wide. 'I'm afraid.'
  
  
  
  He went to her and tried to touch her. She shuddered and stepped away from him. He knew what to do. It was the only way out.He was still an aroused, sensual being, at least that didn't change the way he felt about Hu Zan. He thought back to his first night in Hong Kong, when he noticed that the slightest bit of sexual arousal made her get more and more aroused. He wouldn't force her now. Emu will have to be patient and wait for her own desire to take over. If necessary, Nick could be a very gentle partner. If necessary, he could adapt to the demands and difficulties of the present time and fully respond to the needs of his partner. He's taken a lot of women in his life. Some craved the ego from the first touch, others resisted, and some discovered new games with it that they hadn't even dreamed of. But tonight there was a special problem, and he was determined to solve it. Not with him, but especially with Vyacheslav and Alexi.
  
  
  
  Nick crossed the room, turning off all the lights except for the small table lamp that gave the room a soft glow. A large window let in the moonlight and the inevitable lights of the big city. Nick knew that Alexi had enough light to see the ego, but at the same time, the dim holy Lord created an exciting yet soothing atmosphere.
  
  
  
  Alexi sat down on the couch and looked out the window. Nick stepped in front of her and began to remove his clothes painfully slowly. When he had taken off his shirt and his powerful broad chest glistened in the moonlight, he walked over to her, licking her. He stretched out in front of her and saw her casting timid glances at his naked torso. He put his hand on her neck and turned her head to face him. She was breathing heavily, her breasts pressed tightly against the thin fabric of her blouse. But she didn't flinch, and now her gaze was direct and open.
  
  
  
  He slowly took off his pants and placed her hand on his chest. He then pressed her head against his abs. He felt her hand on his chest slowly move to Ego's back, allowing him to pull ego's licks in. Then he began to undress her slowly and gently, pressing her head to his stomach. She sat up and spread her legs so that he could easily remove her skirt. Then he took off Nah's bra and firmly and reassuringly squeezed one around her beautiful breasts. For a moment, Nick felt her body convulse, but he slid his hand under her soft breast and ran his fingertips over her nipple. Her eyes were half closed, but Nick saw that she was looking at him with her mouth half open. Then he stood up and took off his underpants, so that he was standing naked in front of her. He smiled when he saw that she held out her hand to em. Her hand was shaking, but her passion tripped her resistance. Then suddenly she allowed herself to attack the ego, hugging the ego tightly and rubbing her chest against the ego's body as she fell to her knees.
  
  
  
  "Oh, Nick, Nick," she said. "I think it's a yes, yes ... but first, let me touch you a little." Nick held her tight as she explored his body with her hands, mouth, and tongue. It was as if she had found something she had long lost and was now remembering it a little.
  
  
  
  Nick leaned down, put his hands between her thighs, and carried her to the couch. Now, she didn't resist anymore, and there wasn't a trace of fear in her eyes. With increasing strength, she immersed herself in making love, and let out screams of excitement. Nick still treated her with tenderness, and he had a sense of happiness and happiness that he had rarely experienced before.
  
  
  
  When Alexi came over and hugged ego with her soft, warm body, he gently stroked the blonde hair, feeling relieved and satisfied.
  
  
  
  "I'm fine, Nick," she said softly in Em's ear, laughing and sobbing at the same time. "I'm still completely healthy."
  
  
  
  "You're more than fine, honey," he laughed. 'You're wonderful. He thought of Anna. They were both thinking about Nia, and he knew she was fine, just like she used to be. She'll find out sooner or later.
  
  
  
  "Oh, Nicky," Alexi said, snuggling into Ego's chest. "Ya lublu vas, Nick Carter. I love you.'
  
  
  
  Nick laughed. So on Sunday, the Square will still be good.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hu Can is China's leading nuclear scientist. He has taken such a position in China that almost no one holds back the ego. you can continue.
  
  
  
  It wouldn't be so bad, Nick. Worst of all, Hu Zan is not an ordinary scholar, but, above all, a man who harbors an unimaginable hatred of everything Western. Not only to the United States, but also to Russia.
  
  
  Now we know for sure that he will soon take action on his own, Nick. You go to China, get help from two Russian agents there, and you need to remove this person. I think this will be your hardest job yet, Nick...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Shklovsky Lev
  
  Defector
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Defector
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  The sun is always shining in Acapulco. In a small hotel room overlooking a white-sand beach, Nick Carter, the company's number one assassin, AX, watched the red ball of the setting sun splash over the sea. Emu liked the sight and missed the rare healing egos, but he had been in Acapulco for a month now, and he felt a growing sense of unease inside him.
  
  
  Hawkeye insisted on taking a vacation this time, and Nick was initially all for it. But a month is too long for an idle life. Em needed tasks.
  
  
  Killmaster turned away from the window, which was already darkening in the twilight, and looked at the ugly black phone on the nightstand. Em almost wished it would ring.
  
  
  Ego heard the rustle of sheets behind him. Nick finished his pointers facing the bed. Laura Best held out her long, tanned arms to Em.
  
  
  "Again, dear," she said, her voice hoarse from the vault.
  
  
  Nick stepped into her embrace, his powerful chest crushing her perfectly formed bare breasts. He brushed his lips over hers, tasting the cola on her breath. Laura's lips moved impatiently. With her toes up, she pulled the sheet between them. This move excited ih both. Laura Best knew how to make love. Her legs, like her chest - indeed, like the rest of her - were perfectly formed. There was a childlike beauty in her face, a combination of innocence and wisdom, and sometimes open desire. Nick Carter had never known a more perfect woman. She was everything to all men. Nah had beauty. She was rich thanks to the oil wealth left behind by her father. Nah had brains. She was one of the most beautiful people from all over the world, or, as Nick preferred, the remains of a Jetset. Making love was her sport, hobby, vocation. For the past three Sundays, she has been telling her international friends that she is madly in love with Arthur Porges, a buyer and seller of government surplus goods. Arthur Porges turned out to be the real cover for Nick Carter.
  
  
  Nick Carter didn't have much experience in making love, either. Few things satisfied the ego as much as making love to a beautiful woman. Making love to Laura Best completely fulfilled the ego. And still-
  
  
  "Oh!" said Laura. "And now, dear! Currently!" She arched up to him, running her nails down his muscular back.
  
  
  And when they had finished their lovemaking together, she went limp and fell off him, panting.
  
  
  She opened her big brown eyes to stare at him. "God, that was good! That was even better." Her eyes slid to his chest. "You never get tired, do you?"
  
  
  Nick smiled. "I'm getting tired." He did a bench press next to her, pulled out one of his gold-tipped cigarettes around the nightstand, lit it, and handed it to Hey.
  
  
  Laura propped herself up on one elbow to get a better look at Ego's face. She shook her head at the cigarette. "The woman who doesn't bore you should be more of a woman than her."
  
  
  "No," Nick said. He said it, partly because he believed it, and partly because it belonged to them that she wanted to hear it.
  
  
  She returned his smile. He was right.
  
  
  "That was smart of you," she said, running her index finger along ego's nose. "You always say the right things at the right time, don't you?"
  
  
  Nick took a deep drag on his cigarette. "You're a woman who doesn't know men, I'll give you this." And he was a man who knew women.
  
  
  Laura Best studied him, her large eyes twinkling with a distant gleam. Her brown hair fell over her left shoulder, almost covering her chest. Her index finger lightly grazes his lips, his throat; she places her palm on his massive chest. Finally she said: "You know I love you, don't you?"
  
  
  Nick didn't want the conversation to go the way it was going. When he first met Laura, she told him not to expect too much. Ih relationships will only be for laughs. They thoroughly enjoyed each other, and when that faded, they parted good friends. No emotional issues, no sticky theatrics. She followed him, and he followed her. They made love and had fun. Period. It was the philosophy of beautiful people. And Nick more than agreed. He had a break between assignments. Laura was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met. Fun was the name of the game.
  
  
  But lately, she's become moody. At twenty-two, she was already married and divorced three times. She talked about her past husbands as a hunter talks about his trophies. For Laura to love, Laura had to possess. And for Nick, that was the only flaw in her perfection.
  
  
  "Isn't that right?" Laura confirmed. Her eyes wanted an ego.
  
  
  Nick mashed a cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. "Feeling like swimming in the moonlight?" he asked.
  
  
  Laura plopped down on the bed next to him. "Tailor! Can't you tell when I'm trying to propose to you? "
  
  
  "What can I offer?"
  
  
  "Marriage, of course. Her, I want you to marry me to get me out of this."
  
  
  Nick chuckled. "Let's go swimming in the moonlight."
  
  
  Laura didn't smile at rheumatism. "Not until I get rheumatism."
  
  
  The phone rang.
  
  
  Nick moved toward him, relieved. Laura grabbed ego's arm, holding ee.
  
  
  "You won't pick up the phone until I get rheumatism."
  
  
  With his free hand, Nick loosened his grip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ee has a firm grip on his arm. He picked up the phone, hoping to hear Hawke's voice.
  
  
  "Art, dear," said a female voice with a slight German accent. "Can I talk to Laura, please?"
  
  
  Nick recognized the voice as Sonny, another remnant of the Jet-Set. He handed the phone to Laura. "This is Sonny."
  
  
  Laura jumped out of bed in anger, stuck her tongue out at Nick, and put the phone to her ear. "Tailor damn you, Sonny. You picked a hell of a time to call.
  
  
  Nick stood at the window and looked, but he couldn't see the white caps faintly visible above the dark sea. He knew that this would be the last night he would spend with Laura. Whether Hawke called or not, ih relationship was over. Nick was a little angry with himself for letting this go as far as it did.
  
  
  Laura hung up. "In the morning we will take a boat to Puerta Vallarta." She said it easily, for estestvenno. She was making plans. "I think I should start packing." She pulled on her panties and lifted her bra. There was a focused expression on her face, as if she was thinking a lot.
  
  
  Nick went over to his cigarettes and lit another. This time, he didn't offer.
  
  
  "All right?" Laura asked. She was buttoning her bra.
  
  
  "Okay what?"
  
  
  "When are we getting married?"
  
  
  Nick nearly choked on the cigarette smoke he inhaled.
  
  
  "Puerta Vallarta would be a good place," she continued. She was still making plans.
  
  
  The phone rang again.
  
  
  Nick raised his ego. "Yes?"
  
  
  He recognized Hawke's voice immediately. "Mr. Porges?
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "This is Thompson. As I understand it, you have forty tons of pig iron for sale.
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  "If the price is right, I might be interested in buying ten tons of this product. Do you know where my office is? "
  
  
  "Yes," Nick replied with a big smile. Hawk Hotel ego, ten o'clock. But today at ten o'clock or tomorrow morning? "Will tomorrow morning also be enough?" he asked.
  
  
  "All right," Hawk hesitated. "I have a few meetings tomorrow."
  
  
  Nick didn't need to say any more. Whatever Chief Nam had prepared for him was urgent. Killmaster stole a glance at Laura. Her beautiful face was tense. She watched him anxiously.
  
  
  "I'll take the next plane out of here," he said.
  
  
  "This will be great."
  
  
  They hung up together.
  
  
  Nick turned to Laura. If she was Georgette, or Sui Jing, or any of Nick's other girls, she would pout and make a little fuss. But they parted as friends and promised each other that it would last longer next time. But it didn't work out with Laura. He had never known anyone like Nah. It had to be all or nothing. She was rich and spoiled, and used to do things her own way.
  
  
  Laura looked beautiful, standing in her bra and panties with her hand on her hips.
  
  
  "Right?" she said, raising her eyebrows. She had the expression of a small child looking at what she was trying to take away from nah.
  
  
  Nick recommends making it as painless and short as possible. "If you're going to Puerta Vallarta, you'd better start packing. Good-bye, Laura."
  
  
  Her hands dropped to her sides. Her lower lip began to tremble slightly. "Then it's over?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Completely?"
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Nick knew that she could never be another ego girl. The break with her had to be final. He stubbed out the cigarette he had smoked, and Stahl waited. If it was going to explode, he was prepared for it.
  
  
  Laura shrugged, gave em a weak smile, and started to undo her bra. "Then let's make this last one the best," she said.
  
  
  They made love, first gently, then fiercely, each taking from the other everything they had to give. It was ih's last time together; they both knew it. And Laura was crying all the time, tears running down her temples, wetting the pillow under her. But she was right. That was the best part.
  
  
  At ten minutes past ten, Nick Carter walked into a small office in the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services building on Dupont Circle. It was snowing in the Washington shell, and ego coat's shoulders were wet. The office smelled of stale cigar smoke, but the short black butt stuck between Hawke's teeth never caught fire.
  
  
  Hawk sat at the dimly lit desk, his icy eyes studying Nick intently. He watched as Nick hung up his coat and sat down across from him.
  
  
  Nick is already promoting Laura Best, along with his cover of Arthur Porges, to the memory bank of his mind. He could remember this memory from when the hotel was, but it was more likely that he was just staying there. He was now Nick Carter, N3, Killmaster for AX. Pierre, ego's tiny gas bomb, hung in its favorite spot between ego's legs like a third testicle. Hugo's thin stiletto was firmly attached to his arm, ready to fit into ego's hand if the emu needed it. And Wilhelmina, his 9mm Luger, was snuggled up under his left armpit. Ego, his brain was attuned to Hawke, his muscular body waiting for action. He was armed and ready to go.
  
  
  Hawke closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. He pulled out an ugly black iso rta cigarette butt, examined the ego in disgust, and tossed it into the trash cans next to his desk. Almost immediately, he clamped another cigar between his teeth, and the smoke clouded his leathery face.
  
  
  "Nick, I have a difficult task for you," he said suddenly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick didn't even try to hide his smile. Both of them knew that N3 always had the coolest challenges.
  
  
  Hawk continued. "Does the word 'melanoma' mean anything to you?"
  
  
  Nick remembered reading that word once. "Something to do with skin pigment, isn't it?"
  
  
  A satisfied smile spread across Hawke's good-natured face. "Close enough," he said. He opened the folder in front of him. "Don't let those ten-dollar words confuse you." He began to read. "In 1966, using an electron microscope, Professor John Lu discovered a method for isolating and characterizing skin diseases such as melanomas, cellular blue spots, albinism, and others. While this discovery was important in itself, the true value of this discovery was that by knowing and isolating these diseases, it became easier to diagnose more serious diseases." Hawk looked at Nick through the files. "That was in 1966."
  
  
  Nick leaned forward, waiting. He knew that the chief was up to something. He also knew that everything Hawke said was important. Cigar smoke hung in the small office like a blue fog.
  
  
  "Until yesterday," Hawk said, " Professor Lu worked as a dermatologist for NASA's Venus program. Working with ultraviolet and other forms of radiation, he perfected a compound more advanced than benzophenones in protecting the skin from harmful rays. If it succeeds, it will have a compound that protects the skin from sun rays, blisters, heat and radiation ." Hawk closed the folder. "I don't need to tell you the value of such a compound."
  
  
  Nick's brain mastered the information. No, emu didn't need to be told. The ego value to NASA was obvious. In the tiny spacecraft cabins, astronauts were sometimes exposed to harmful rays. With the new composition, the beams could be neutralized. Medically, ego applications can spread to blisters and burns. The possibilities seemed limitless.
  
  
  But Hawk said until yesterday. "What happened yesterday?" Killmaster asked.
  
  
  Hawk got up and went to the gloomy window. In the conditions associated with light snowfall and darkness, there was nothing to see but the reflection of his own ego sinewy body, dressed in a loose, rumpled suit. He took a deep drag on his cigar and blew smoke into his reflection. "Professor John Lu flew to Hong Kong yesterday." The boss turned to Nick. "Yesterday, Professor John Lu announced that he was switching sides with Qi Cornes!"
  
  
  Nick lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes. He understood the gravity of such apostasy. If the compound were refined in China, its most obvious value would be protecting the skin from nuclear radiation. China already had a hydrogen bomb. Such protection may be a green light for them to use the ih full name. "Does anyone know why the professor decided to leave?" Nick asked.
  
  
  Hawke shrugged. "No one-not NASA, not the FBI, not the CIA - can come up with a reason. The day before yesterday, he goes to work, and the day goes normally. Yesterday, he announced in Hong Kong that he was going to desert. We know where he is, but he doesn't want to see anyone."
  
  
  "What about the ego of the past?" Nick asked. "Is there anything communist?"
  
  
  The cigar went out. Hawk chewed on it as he spoke. "Nothing. He is a Chinese-American, born in San Francisco's Chinatown. He got his degree from Berkeley, married a girl he met there, and joined NASA in 1967. He has a twelve-year-old son. Like most scientists, he has no political interests whatsoever. He is dedicated to two things: his job and his family. Ego son plays in the Minor Leagues. On vacation, he takes his family on a deep-sea fishing trip in the bay on an ih eighteen-foot outboard boat." The chief leaned back in his chair. "No, there is nothing in the ego past."
  
  
  Killmaster stubbed out his cigarette. Smoke hung thick in the tiny office. The radiator created a wet zest, and Nick found himself sweating slightly. "The reason has to be either work or family," he said.
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "I understand that. However, we have a small problem. The CIA informed us that it was not necessary to allow him to work on this complex in China. If ego's Qi Roots are obtained, the CIA will send an agent to kill ego."
  
  
  Nick came up with something similar. This was not uncommon. - Yes, I did it sometimes. When everything failed to get the defector back, and if he was important enough, the last step was ego killing. If the agent doesn't return, it's too bad. Agents were optional.
  
  
  "The thing is," Hawke said, " NASA wants the ego back. He is a brilliant scientist, and quite young, so what he is working on now will only be the beginning ." He smiled humorlessly at Nick. "This is your assignment, N3. Use anything other than kidnapping, but loyal egos! "
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  Hawk pulled out an iso rta cigar stub. He joined the other in the trash can. "A fellow dermatologist worked with Professor Lu at NASA. They were good working friends, but they never got together for security reasons. Ego's name is Chris Wilson. This will be your cover. This might open the door for you in Hong Kong. "
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What about the professor's family?" Nick asked.
  
  
  "As far as we know, his wife is still in the hall in Orlando. We'll give you her address. However, she had already passed the interview and couldn't give us anything useful.
  
  
  "It doesn't hurt to try."
  
  
  Hawke's icy gaze was full of approval. N3 took little credit for the words of others. Nothing was exhausted until he personally tried it. That was just one reason why Nick Carter was TOPOR's number one agent. "Our departments are completely at your disposal," Hawke said. "Get everything you need. Good luck, Nick ."
  
  
  Nick was already standing. "I'll do my best, sir." He knew that the chief never expected more or less than he could.
  
  
  In AXE's special effects and editing department, Nick got two disguises that he thought emu would need. One of them was Chris Wilson, who only dealt with clothing, some padding, and some changes in manners. The other one, which will be used later, was a bit more complicated. He had everything he needed - Swedes and cosmetics-in a secret ego luggage compartment.
  
  
  As a result, he recalled a two-hour tape-recorded lecture about Chris Wilson's work at NASA, as well as everything his personal ASSISTANT knew about the man. He received the necessary passport and documents.
  
  
  By midday, a slightly plump, mottled new Chris Wilson boarded a Boeing 707, Trip 27, in Orlando, Florida.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  As the plane circled Washington before turning south, Nick noticed that the snow had eased a little. Patches of blue sky peeked out from behind the clouds, and as the plane climbed, the ego window was lit up with sunlight. He settled into his seat, and when the "No Smoking" light went out, he lit one around his cigarettes.
  
  
  Some things seemed strange about Professor Lu's defection. First, why didn't the professor bring his family with him? If the Qi Roots offered em a better life, it seemed logical that he would want his wife and son to share it with him. Unless, of course, the woman caused the ego to run away.
  
  
  Another mystery was how Chi Korna knew that the professor was working on this skin compound. NASA had a strict security system. Everyone who worked for them was thoroughly checked. However, the Qi Roots knew about the compound and convinced Professor Lu to refine the ego for them. How? What could they offer emus that the Americans couldn't match?
  
  
  Nick was determined to find answers. He also intended to bring the professor back. If the CIA sent an agent to kill this man, it would mean that Nick had failed - and Nick had no intention of losing.
  
  
  Nick had dealt with defectors before. He found that they were deserting out of greed, or they were running away from something, or they were running towards something. In the case of Professor Lu, there may be several reasons. Number one, of course, is money. Maybe the Chi Korns had promised Em a one-time deal on the complex. Of course, NASA wasn't the highest-paid organization. And anyone can always use an extra scratch.
  
  
  Then there were family troubles. Nick guessed that every married man had had problems with his marriage at one time or another. Maybe his wife was sleeping with a lover. Maybe the Qi Roots had someone better for her. Perhaps he just didn't like the ego of marriage, and it looked like the easiest way out. For him, two things were important - the ego of family and the ego of work. If he felt that the ego family was falling apart, that might be enough to send him off. If not, it's the ego of the job. As a scientist, he probably required a certain amount of freedom in his work. Maybe the Chi Corns had unlimited freedom, unlimited resources. This would be an incentive for any scientist.
  
  
  The more Killmaster thought about it, the more opportunities opened up. A man's relationship with his son; overdue bills and threats of repossession; an aversion to American political politics. Anything is possible, possible, and probable.
  
  
  Of course, the Chi Corns could actually force the professor to run away, threatening the emu with something. To hell with it, Nick thought. As always, he played by ear, using his talents, weapons, and intelligence.
  
  
  Nick Carter stared out at the slow-moving landscape far below the window. He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Using yoga, Nick focused on completely relaxing his body. His ego remained attuned to his surroundings, but he forced his body to relax. Every muscle, every fiber, every cell is completely relaxed. To anyone watching, he looked like a man in a deep sleep, but his eyes were open and his brain was awake.
  
  
  But ego relaxation wasn't meant to happen. The flight attendant interrupted him.
  
  
  "Are you all right, Mr. Wilson?" she asked.
  
  
  "Yeah, okay," Nick said. The muscles of his ego body tensed again.
  
  
  "I thought you fainted. Can I get you anything?"
  
  
  "No, thank you."
  
  
  She was a beautiful creature with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and full, full lips. The airline's liberal uniform policy allowed her blouse to fit snugly over her large, protruding breasts. She wore a belt because all airlines demanded an ego. But Nick doubted that
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  she wore one except when she was working. Of course, hey, it wasn't necessary.
  
  
  The stewardess looked confused under Ego's gaze. Nick's ego was enough to know that even with thick glasses and a thick middle, he still affected women.
  
  
  "We'll be in Orlando soon," she said, and her fingers turned red.
  
  
  As she moved down the aisle in front of him, the short skirt revealed long, beautifully tapered legs, and Nick blessed the short skirts. For a moment, he thought about taking her out to dinner. But he knew there wouldn't be time. When he finished his interview with Mrs. Lu, Em had to catch a plane to Hong Kong.
  
  
  At the small Orlando airport, Nick hid his luggage in a locker and gave the taxi driver the professor's home address. Emu felt a little uneasy as he settled into the backseat of the taxi. The air was stifling and hot, and although Nick had shed his coat, he was still wearing a heavy suit. And all that stuffing around the ego waist didn't help much either.
  
  
  The house was sandwiched between other houses, just like the one on either side of the neighborhood. Because of the heat, sprinklers were on almost all of them. The lawns looked manicured and richly green. Gutter water flowed down both sides of the street, and the concrete sidewalks, usually white,were darkened by the moisture from the sprinklers. A short sidewalk ran from the porch to the sidewalk. As soon as Nick paid the taxi driver, he felt like he was being watched. It all started with the thin hair standing up on his neck. A slight, prickly chill went through his ego and body, then quickly left. Nick turned back to the house just in time to see the curtain slide back into place. Killmaster knew that Ego was expected.
  
  
  Nick wasn't particularly interested in this interview, especially with housewives. As Hawke pointed out, she has already been interviewed, and has nothing useful to offer.
  
  
  When Nick came up to her, he stared up into her face, revealing his biggest boyish grin. He rang the bell once. The door opened immediately, and he found himself face to face with Mrs. John Lou.
  
  
  "Ms. Lou? " the Killmaster asked. When he received a curt nod, he said, " My name is Chris Wilson. I worked with your husband. I wonder if I can get her to talk to you for a bit."
  
  
  "What?" Next, Lobka frowned.
  
  
  Nick's smile froze on his face. “yeah. John and I were good friends. I can't understand why he did that."
  
  
  "I've already talked to hema-ono from NASA." She didn't make the slightest move to open the door wider or invite ego in.
  
  
  "Yes," Nick said. "I'm sure you are." He could understand her hostility. The departure of her husband was quite a difficult ordeal for Nah, since she was not molested by the CIA, the FBI, NASA, and now he himself. Killmaster felt like the ass he was pretending to be. "If I could just talk to you..." He let the words trail off.
  
  
  Mrs. Lu took a deep breath. "Excellent. Log in." She opened the door, stepping back a little.
  
  
  Once inside, Nick paused awkwardly in the hall. It was a little cooler in the house. For the first time, he really looked at Mrs. Lu.
  
  
  She was short, under five feet tall. Nick guessed her age to be under thirty. Her raven-colored hair lay in thick curls on top of her head, trying to create the illusion of growth, but not quite carrying away the sl. The curves of her body smoothly turned into a roundness, not particularly thick, but heavy than usual. Nah had a twenty-five-pound alenka. Her Oriental eyes were her most prominent feature, and she knew it. They were carefully created using the right amount of liners and shadows. Mrs. Lou didn't use us, lipstick, or any other makeup. Her ears were pierced, but no earrings hung from them.
  
  
  "Please come into the living room," she said.
  
  
  The living room was furnished with modern furniture and, like the foyer, was covered with a thick carpet. An oriental pattern swirled across the carpet, but Nick noticed that the carpet pattern was the only oriental pattern in the room.
  
  
  Mrs. Lu motioned Killmaster to a fragile-looking sofa and sat down in the chair across from him. "I think I've told the others everything I know."
  
  
  "I'm sure you did," Nick said, breaking the smirk for the first time. "But this is for my conscience. John and I worked closely together. I don't want to think he did it because of something I said or did."
  
  
  "I don't think so," Mrs. Lu said.
  
  
  Like most housewives, Mrs. Lu was wearing pants. She was wearing a man's shirt on top, too big for nah. Nick liked women's baggy shirts, especially the ones that buttoned up the front. He didn't like women's trousers. They belonged to dresses or skirts.
  
  
  Now seriously, when the smirk was completely gone, he said: "Can you think of any reason why John would want to leave?"
  
  
  "No," she said. "But if it calms you, her, I doubt it has anything to do with you."
  
  
  "Then it must be something here at home."
  
  
  "I really couldn't tell." Mrs. Lu looked nervous. She sat with her legs tucked under her and continued to twist the wedding ring around her finger.
  
  
  The glasses Nick was wearing felt heavy on the bridge of Emu's nose. But they reminded em of what he was pretending to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In this situation, it would be too easy to start asking questions like Nick Carter. He crossed his legs and rubbed his chin. "I can't shake the feeling that somehow her staff caused all this. John liked the ego of the job. He was loyal to you and the boy. Mrs. Lu said impatiently, " Whatever our egos, reasons, hers, sure they were personal."
  
  
  Nick knew she was trying to end this conversation. But he wasn't quite ready yet. "Has anything happened here at home in the last few days?"
  
  
  "What do you mean?" Her eyes narrowed and she studied him carefully. She was alert.
  
  
  "Marriage problems," Nick said sincerely.
  
  
  Her lips tightened. "Mr. Wilson, I don't think it's any of your business. Regardless of the reason my husband wants to leave, it can be found at NASA, not here."
  
  
  She was angry. Nick was fine. Angry people sometimes said things they wouldn't normally say. "Do you know what he worked on at NASA?"
  
  
  "Of course not. He never talked about his job."
  
  
  If she didn't know anything about ego work, then why did she accuse NASA of ego-wanting to leave? Was it because she thought ih marriage was so good that it should be the ego of the job? Nick decided to continue with the other line. "If John escapes, will you and the boy join him?"
  
  
  Mrs. Lu straightened her legs and sat motionless in the chair. The palms of her hands were sweating. She alternately rubbed her hands together and twirled the ring. She controlled her anger, but she was still nervous. "No," she said calmly. "I'm American. My place is here ."
  
  
  "What will you do then?"
  
  
  "Divorce him. Try to find a different life for me and the boy ."
  
  
  "I see."Hawke was right. Nick didn't learn anything here. For some reason, Mrs. Lu was wary.
  
  
  "Well, I won't take up any more of your time." He stood up, grateful for the chance. "Can I use your phone to call a taxi?"
  
  
  Mrs. Lu seemed to relax a little. Nick could almost see the tension draining from her face.
  
  
  As Killmaster was about to pick up the phone, he heard a door slam somewhere in the back of the house. A few seconds later, a boy burst into the living room.
  
  
  "Mom, I..." The boy saw Nick and froze. He shot a quick glance at his mother.
  
  
  "Mike," Mrs. Lou said, looking nervous again. "This is Mr. Wilson. He worked with your father. He's here to ask questions about your father. Do you understand, Mike?" He's here to ask questions about your father. She emphasized those last words.
  
  
  "I understand," Mike said. He glanced at Nick, his eyes as wary as his mother's ego.
  
  
  Nick Friendly smiled at the boy. "Hey, Mike."
  
  
  "Hello there."Tiny droplets of water appeared on his forehead. A baseball glove hung from his ego belt. The resemblance to the ego mother was obvious.
  
  
  "Practice a little?" Nick asked, pointing to the glove.
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  Nick took a chance. He took two steps and stepped between the boy and his mother's ego. "Tell me, Mike," he said. "Do you know why your father left?"
  
  
  The boy closed his eyes. "My father left because of his job." It doesn't make much sense to have it well-rehearsed.
  
  
  "Did you get along with your father?"
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  Mrs. Lou stood up. "I think you should leave," she said to Nick.
  
  
  Killmaster nodded. He picked up the phone and called a taxi. When he hung up, he turned to the couple. Something was wrong here. They both knew more than they were letting on. Nick guessed it was one of two things. Either they were both going to join the professor, or they were causing ego to run away. One thing was certain: he would learn nothing from them. They didn't trust emu, and they didn't trust emu. All they told em was their pre-rehearsed speeches.
  
  
  Nick decided to leave ih in mild shock. "Ms. Lou, I'm flying to Hong Kong to talk to John. Any messages? "
  
  
  She blinked, and for a moment her expression changed. But after a moment, the wary look returned. "No messages," she said.
  
  
  The taxi stopped on the street and honked its horn. Nick started toward the door. "You don't need to tell me the way out." He could feel them watching him until he closed the door behind him. Outside, in the heat again, he felt rather than saw the curtain move away from the window. They watched him as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
  
  
  In the sweltering heat, Nick rolled back to the airport and took off his thick horn-rimmed glasses. He wasn't used to glasses. The gelatin lining around his ego waist, shaped like part of an ego hide, was wrapped around him like a plastic bag. The air didn't hit his skin, and he found himself sweating profusely. Savchenko in Florida was not like the heat in Mexico.
  
  
  Nick's mind was filled with unanswered questions. The two of them were a strange couple. Not once during the visit did Mrs. Lu say that she wanted her husband back. And nah didn't have a message for him. This meant that she would probably join him later. But it also doesn't make much sense to get it wrong. Ih: It was assumed that, in ih's opinion, he was already gone, and forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  No, there was something else here, something he couldn't understand.
  
  
  IN THE THIRD CHAPTER
  
  
  Killmaster had to change planes twice, once to Miami and then to Los Angeles, before he could catch a direct flight to Hong Kong. After crossing the Pacific, he tried to relax, to get some sleep. But again that didn't happen; he felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up again. His ego still felt a chill. He was being watched.
  
  
  Nick got up and walked slowly down the aisle to the restrooms, studying the faces on either side of him. The plane was more than half full of Oriental people. Some were asleep, others were staring at their darkened windows, and still others looked lazily at him as he passed. No one turned to look at him, after he'd passed, or at us who didn't have the eye of the beholder. Once in the bathroom, Nick splashed cold water on his face. In the mirror, he looked at the reflection of his handsome face, deeply tanned by the Mexican sun. Was it the ego's imagination? He knew better. Someone on the plane was watching him. Was the observer with him in Orlando? Miami? Los Angeles? Where did Nick Ego pick it up? He wasn't going to find rheumatism by looking at his face in the mirror.
  
  
  Nick returned to his seat, looking at the backs of their heads. No one seemed to miss him.
  
  
  The flight attendant came up to him just as he was lighting one of his gold-tipped cigarettes.
  
  
  "Is everything all right, Mr. Wilson?" she asked.
  
  
  "Couldn't be better," Nick said, grinning broadly.
  
  
  She was English, with small breasts and long legs. Her fair skin smelled of health. Nah had bright eyes and rosy sticks, and everything she felt, thought, and wanted was reflected in her face. And there was no doubt about what was written on her face right now.
  
  
  "Is there anything I can offer you?" she asked.
  
  
  It was a suggestive corkscrew that meant anything, just ask: coffee, tea, or me. Nick thought hard. Crowded plane for more than forty-eight hours without vaults, too much was against it. Emu needs rest, not romance. However, it won't completely close the door.
  
  
  "Maybe later," he said at last.
  
  
  "Of course. There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she gave em a warm smile and moved on.
  
  
  Nick leaned back in his chair. Surprisingly, he was used to the gelatin belt around his waist. However, they still bothered him, and he took off his ih to wipe his lenses.
  
  
  He felt a little sorry for the stewardess. He didn't even have her name. If "later" happens, how will it find it? He'll find out her name and where she'll be for the next month before she goes out on the plane.
  
  
  The cold hit his ego again. Damn it, he thought, there must be a way to find out who was watching him. He knew that if he really wanted to, there were ways to find out. He doubted the man would try anything on the plane. Maybe they expected him to bring ihk to the professor. Well, when they got to Hong Kong, he had a few surprises in store for everyone. Right now, the emu needs to rest.
  
  
  Killmaster could have explained his strange feelings for Mrs. Lu and the boy. If they told Em the truth, Professor Lu was in trouble. This meant that he had actually defected solely because of his job. And for some reason, this is simply wrong, especially given the professor's past work in the field of dermatology. Ego discoveries, ego real experiments did not indicate that a person is dissatisfied with their work. And the less-than-cordial reception Nick received from Mrs. Lou made Ego lean toward marriage as one of the reasons. The professor must have told Jean about Chris Wilson. And if Nick had blown his cover while talking to her, there was no reason for her to be hostile towards him. For some reason, Mrs. Lou was lying. He had the feeling that "something was wrong"in the house.
  
  
  But right now, Nick needed a break, and a break he was going to get. If Mr. Whatsit wants to watch him sleep, let him. When he reported to whoever had told him to keep an eye on Nick, he was an expert at keeping an eye on the sleeping man.
  
  
  Killmaster relaxed completely. The ego sense of Stahl is empty, except for one cut off, which has always remained aware of the environment. This part of the brain's ego was life insurance. He never rested, never passed out. This has saved the emu's life many times. He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.
  
  
  Nick Carter woke up instantly, just before a hand touched Ego's shoulder. He let the hand touch him before he opened his eyes. Then, he placed his large hand on the thin female palm. He looked into the bright eyes of the English flight attendant.
  
  
  "Fasten your seat belt, Mr. Wilson. We're about to land." She feebly tried to pull her hand away, but Nick pressed it to his shoulder.
  
  
  "No, Mr. Wilson," he said. "Chris."
  
  
  She stopped trying to pull her hand away. "Chris," she confirmed.
  
  
  "And you..." He let the sentence hang.
  
  
  "Sharon. Sharon Russell ."
  
  
  "How long will you be staying in Hong Kong, Sharon?"
  
  
  Her eyes reappeared after the disappointment. "Only an hour
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I'm afraid of her. I need to catch the next fishing trip."
  
  
  Nick ran his fingers down her arm. "Hours aren't enough time, are they?"
  
  
  "It depends."
  
  
  Nick can spend more than an hour with her, but many more. "What I have planned will take no less than Sunday," he said.
  
  
  "Sunday!" Now I was curious, it was reflected in her eyes. There was something else. Delight.
  
  
  "Where will you be next week, Sharon?"
  
  
  Her face cleared. "I'm starting my vacation next week."
  
  
  "And where will it be?"
  
  
  "Spain. Barcelona, then Madrid ."
  
  
  Nick smiled. "Will you wait for me in Barcelona? We can play together in Madrid."
  
  
  "That would be great. She shoved a piece of paper into Emu's palm. "Voice where I'm staying in Barcelona."
  
  
  Nick stifled a chuckle. She had expected this. "See you next Sunday, then," he said.
  
  
  She squeezed Ego's hand and moved on to the other passengers.
  
  
  And when they landed, and when Nick was getting off around the plane, she squeezed Ego's hand again, saying softly, " Ole."
  
  
  Around Killmaster Airport, sel taxis are candid to the harbor. In the taxi, with his suitcase on the floor between his legs, Nick checked the time zone and showed his watch. It was ten-thirty-five on a Tuesday night.
  
  
  Outside, the Victoria streets hadn't changed since Killmaster's last visit. The ego driver ruthlessly steered the Mercedes through traffic, relying heavily on the beep. The air was icy cold. The streets and cars glittered from the downpour that had just passed. From curbs to buildings, people mixed aimlessly, covering every square inch of the sidewalk. They stooped, their heads bowed low, their arms crossed over their bellies, and slowly moved forward. Some sat on the curbs, swiping edu sticks around wooden bowls in their mouths. As they ate, ih's eyes darted around suspiciously from side to side, as if they were ashamed to eat when many others weren't eating.
  
  
  Nick leaned back in his seat and smiled. It was Victoria. At the other end of the harbor lay Kowloon, just as crowded and exotic. It was Hong Kong, mysterious, beautiful, and at times deadly. Countless black markets flourished. If you have a contact and the right amount of money, nothing will be priceless. Gold, receptive areas, jade, cigarettes, girls; everything was available, everything was for sale if there was a price.
  
  
  Nick was interested in the streets of any city; the streets of Hong Kong fascinated him. As he watched the crowded sidewalks around his taxi, he noticed that the sailors were moving quickly through the crowd. Sometimes they moved in groups, sometimes in pairs, but never alone. And Nick knew what they were in a hurry for; the girl, the bottle, the piece of tail. Sailors were sailors everywhere. There will be a lot of action on the streets of Hong Kong tonight. The American fleet has arrived. Nick thought the watcher was still with him.
  
  
  As the taxi neared the harbor, Nick saw sampans packed like sardines from the port of bar. Hundreds around them were tied together, forming a miniature floating colony. Because of the cold, ugly blue smoke was spewing out of the rough pipes cut into the cabins. People had lived on these tiny boats all their lives; they had eaten, slept, and died on them, and there seemed to be a hundred more ferrets with them, as Nick had last seen them. For some time, larger junks were scattered around them. Beyond that, the huge, almost monstrous ships of the American navy were anchored. What a contrast, Nick thought. The sampans were small, cramped, and always crowded. Lanterns gave them an eerie, swaying appearance, while giant American ships shone brightly with a generator of lights, making ih almost deserted. They sat as still as boulders in the harbor.
  
  
  In front of the hotel, Nick paid the taxi driver and quickly entered the building without looking back. Once inside, he asked the clerk for a room with a beautiful view.
  
  
  He got one with a view of the harbor. The undisguised waves of attack skill value below flowed in zigzags like ants taking their time. Nick stood a little way away from the window, watching the moonlight saint twinkle in the & nb. When he had tipped and dismissed the messenger, he turned off all the lights in the room and went back to the window. The salty air reached Ego's nostrils, mixed with the smell of cooking fish. He heard hundreds of voices from the sidewalk. He studied the faces carefully, and when he didn't see what he was looking for, he quickly crossed the window to make himself as nasty a target as possible. The view from the other side was more revealing.
  
  
  One man didn't move with the crowd. And he didn't cut through it. He was standing under a streetlamp, a newspaper in his hands.
  
  
  God, Nick thought. But the newspaper! At night, in the middle of a crowd, under a bad streetlight-do you read the newspaper?
  
  
  Too many unanswered questions. Killmaster knew he could lose this obvious amateur whenever and whenever he wanted. But he wants answers. And Mr. Watsit following him was the first step he took since starting this assignment. As Nick watched, Tom was approached by a second, burly-built man dressed like a turrets.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T. Ego's left hand was clutching a brown paper-wrapped package. Words were exchanged. The first man pointed to the bundle, shaking his head. There were still words getting hot. The second man shoved the bundle at the first. He started to refuse, but reluctantly took it. He turned his back on the other man and disappeared into the crowd. It was only the second man who was watching the hotel.
  
  
  Nick thought that Mr. Whatsit was about to change into his tower suit. This is probably what was included in the package. Killmaster had a plan in mind. Good ideas were digested, formed, processed, and put into a slot to become part of that plan. But it was still rude. Any plan torn around the head was crude. Nick knew that. Polishing will take place in stages as the plan is completed. At least now it will start getting responses.
  
  
  Nick moved away from the window. He unpacked the suitcase, and when it was empty, pulled out a hidden drawer. Around this crate he took out a small bundle, not unlike the one Nessus had started with the other man. He unwrapped the cloth of the bundle and rewound it lengthwise. Still in the dark, he undressed completely, removed his weapon, and laid ego on the bed. When he was naked, he carefully removed the gelatin, a soft flesh-colored lining from his waist. He stubbornly clung to some hair around the ego of life until he pulled it off. He worked with it for half an hour, and found that he was sweating more than the pain of pulling out his hair. Finally, he took it off. He allowed hey to fall to the floor at ego's feet and allowed himself the luxury of rubbing and scratching life. When he was satisfied, he took Hugo, his stiletto, and stuffing to the bathroom. He cut the membrane holding the gelatin and let the sticky mass fall into the toilet bowl. It took four washes to wash it all off. He followed her with the membrane itself. Then Nick went back to the window.
  
  
  Mr. Wotzit went back to the other man. Now it also looked like a tower. Watching them, Nick felt dirty from the drying air. But he smiled. They were the beginning. When he entered the saints ' answers to his questions, he knew that he would have two shadows.
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  Nick Carter drew the curtains on the window and turned on the saints in the room. Going to the bathroom, he took a leisurely shower, then carefully shaved. He knew that the hardest test for the two men waiting for ego outside would be time. It was hard to wait for him to do anything. He knew this because he had been there once or twice. And the longer he kept ih waiting, the more careless they became.
  
  
  After finishing in the bathroom, Nick walked barefoot to the bed. He took the rolled-up cloth and fastened it around his waist. When he was satisfied, he hung his tiny gas bomb between his legs, then pulled on his shorts and pulled the belt over the padding. He looked at his profile in the bathroom mirror. The rolled-up cloth didn't look like what p/ is, like gelatin, but it was the best he could do. Returning to the bed, Nick finished dressing, attaching Hugo to his arm and Wilhelmina, the Luger, to the waist of his pants. It's time for something to eat.
  
  
  Killmaster had left all the holy lights on in his room. He thought that one of the two men would probably want to search ego.
  
  
  There was no point in making it harder for them. By the time he's finished eating, they should be ready.
  
  
  Nick had a bite to eat in the hotel dining room. He expected trouble, and when it came, he didn't want to have a full stomach. When the last dish was cleared away, he leisurely smoked a cigarette. With them the ferret as he left through the rooms, forty-five minutes passed. After smoking a cigarette, he paid the check and went out into the cold night air again.
  
  
  The two ego followers were no longer under the streetlight. It took the emu a few minutes to adjust to the cold, then it moved quickly toward the harbor. Because of the late hour, the crowd on the sidewalks was somewhat reduced. Nick picked his way through them without looking back. But by the time he got to the ferry, he was worried. The two men were obviously amateurs. Is it possible that he has already lost nu?
  
  
  A small group was waiting on the landing. Six cars were lined up almost at the water's edge. As Nick approached the group, he saw the lights of a ferry heading for the port of Bar. He joined the others, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.
  
  
  The lights were coming closer, shaping the huge ship. The low engine sound changed the pitch. The water around the landing boiled white as the propellers were turned upside down. The people around Nick slowly moved towards the approaching monster. Nick went with them. He climbed aboard and quickly climbed the ladder to the second deck. At ego's railing, sharp eyes scanned the dock. Two cars were already on board. But he couldn't see his two shadows. Killmaster lit a cigarette, keeping his eyes on the deck below him.
  
  
  When is the last one
  
  
  
  
  
  
  with the car loaded, Nick decided to leave the ferry and look for his two followers. They may have been lost. As he moved away from the railing toward the stairs, he caught a glimpse of two towers running down the dock toward the landing. The smaller man jumped aboard easily, but the heavier and slower one didn't. He probably hasn't done anything for a long time. When he reached the side of the boat, he stumbled and almost fell. The smaller man helped the emu with difficulty.
  
  
  Nick smiled. Welcome aboard, gentlemen, he thought. Now, if this ancient tub could just ferry ego across the harbor without drowning, he would lead ih on a fun chase until they decided to make their move.
  
  
  The huge ferry chugged away from the port of bar, rolling slightly as it came out into the open water. Nick stayed on the first deck of the second deck, next to the rail. He couldn't see the two towers anymore, but he could feel ih's eyes watching him. The sharp wind was wet. Another downpour was coming. Nick watched as the other passengers huddled together in the cold. He kept his back to the wind. The ferry creaked and rocked, but it didn't sink.
  
  
  Killmaster waited on his perch at the end of the second deck until the last car rolled down toward the harbor from Kowloon. After getting off the ferry, he carefully examined the faces of the egos of the people around him. They didn't have the ego of two shadows.
  
  
  On the landing, Nick hired a rickshaw driver and gave the boy the address of the Beautiful Bar, a small place he had visited before. He wasn't going to go openly to the professor. Perhaps the two egos would come to not know where in the hall the professor was, and hoped that he would bring ih to him. It didn't make sense, but he had to consider by decision. Most likely, they were following him to see if he knew where the professor was in the hall. The fact that he came openly to Kowloon could tell them everything they wanted to know. If so, then you need to eliminate the Nickname quickly and without fuss. Problems were approaching. Nick could feel it. It should be ready.
  
  
  The boy pulling the rickshaw sped effortlessly through the streets of Kowloon, his thin, muscular legs showing the strength needed for the job. To anyone watching the passenger, he was a typical American tourist. He was leaning back in his seat, smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, his fat eyes looking first at one side of the street, then the other.
  
  
  The streets were a little warmer than the harbor. Their wooden structures and fragile-looking houses blocked most of the wind. But the moon was still hanging in low, thick clouds, waiting to come out. Since there was little traffic, the rickshaw quickly stopped in front of a dark door with a large neon sign flashing above it. Nick paid the boy five Hong Kong dollars and motioned for him to wait. He entered the bar.
  
  
  There were nine steps down to the bar itself a day. This place was small. In addition to the bar, there were four chairs, all filled. Tables surrounded a tiny open space where a cute girl sang in a low, sexy voice. The cart's colored wheel spun slowly in front of the spotlight, softly flooding the girl with blue, then red, then yellow, then green. It seemed to change with the type of song she was singing. She looked her best in red.
  
  
  Otherwise, it was dark, except for the occasional dirty lamp. The bar was crowded, and Nick knew at a glance that he was the only non-oriental in nen. He took up a position at the end of the bar, where he could see someone coming in or out every other day. There were three girls in the bar, two around whom had already received their bookmarks, and the third had dispersed, sitting first on one lap, then on the other, allowing herself to be caressed. Nick was about to get the bartender's attention when he noticed his burly, well-built Nastanet.
  
  
  The man came out through the curtain at full length around a small private table. He was wearing a spa suit instead of a tower suit. But he hastily changed his clothes. His tie was crooked, and part of the front of his shirt hung down from his trousers. He was sweating profusely. He kept wiping his earlobe and mouth with a white handkerchief. He casually glanced around the room, then his ego's eyes settled on Nike. Ego flabby sticks broke into a polite smile, and he headed straight for Killmaster.
  
  
  Hugo fell against Nick's arm. He quickly scanned the bar, looking for a smaller man. The girl finished the song and bowed to the occasional round of applause. She began to speak more Chinese to the audience. A blue saint flooded it when the bartender was on Nick's right. In front of him, a large man was four steps away from him. The bartender asked him in Chinese what he was drinking. Nick put off his rheumatism, keeping his eyes on the man approaching him. The combo started playing, and the girl started singing a different song. She was going to live. The wheel spun faster, and color flickered in her, merging into a bright spot. Nick was ready for anything. The bartender shrugged and turned away. There was no smaller man. The other took the final step that brought Ego face-to-face with Nick. A polite smile
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  the human ego remains. He extended his plump right hand in a friendly gesture.
  
  
  "Mr. Wilson, you're right, " he said. "Allow me to introduce myself. Her Rank is Ossa. Can I talk to you for a moment?"
  
  
  "Ble," Nick said softly, quickly replacing Hugo and taking the proffered hand.
  
  
  Qin Ossa pointed at the beaded curtain. "It's more confidential there."
  
  
  "Then you," Nick said, bowing slightly.
  
  
  Ossa went through the curtain to a table and two chairs. A thin, wiry man was leaning against the far wall.
  
  
  He wasn't the little man who'd followed Nick around. When he saw Killmaster, he moved away from the wall.
  
  
  Ossa said: "Please, Mr. Wilson, let my friend search you."
  
  
  The man walked over to Nick and stopped, as if undecided. He reached for Nick's chest. Nick carefully removed his hand.
  
  
  "Please, Mr. Wilson," Ossa whined. "We have to search you."
  
  
  "Not today," Nick said, smiling slightly.
  
  
  The man tried to reach Nick's chest again.
  
  
  Still smiling, Nick said, " Tell your friend that if he touches me, I'll have to break his wrists."
  
  
  "Oh, no!" exclaimed Ossa. "We don't want violence." He wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. In Cantonese, he told the man to leave.
  
  
  Flashes of colored light filled the room. In the center of the chair, a candle burned in a purple vase filled with wax. The man silently walked out through the rooms as the girl turned her song away.
  
  
  Qin Ossa heavily sel Odin over the creaking wooden chairs. He wiped his face again with his handkerchief and waved Nick over to the other chair.
  
  
  Killmaster didn't like this song. The proffered chair had its back to the beaded curtain. Ego and crevices would be a good target. Instead, he pushed the chair away from the chair to the side moan where he could see both the curtain and Qin Ossu; then he sat down.
  
  
  Ossa gave ego a nervous, polite smile. "You Americans are always full of caution and violence."
  
  
  Nick took off his shoes and started cleaning ih. "You said you wanted to talk to me."
  
  
  Ossa leaned back in his chair. The ego voice is absurd, like a conspiracy. "Mr. Wilson, we don't really need to run around in the bushes, do we?
  
  
  "Actually," Nick said. He put on his glasses and lit one around his cigarettes. He didn't offer us just one. This is unlikely to be a friendly discussion.
  
  
  "We both know," Ossa continued,"that you are in Hong Kong to see your friend Professor Lu."
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  Sweat trickled down Ossa's nose and dripped onto the chair. He wiped his face again. "It can't be about that. We've been following you, we know who you are."
  
  
  Nick raised his eyebrows. "You?"
  
  
  "Of course. Ossa leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. "You're working for the capitalists on the same project as Professor Lu."
  
  
  "Sure," Nick said.
  
  
  Ossa swallowed hard. "It is my saddest duty to inform you that Professor Lu is no longer in Hong Kong."
  
  
  "In the dell itself?" Nick looked mildly shocked. He didn't believe anything the man said.
  
  
  “yeah. Last night, Professor Lu was on his way to China." Ossa waited for the statement to sink in. He then said, " It's a pity that you wasted your trip here, but you don't need to stay in Hong Kong anymore. We will, of course, reimburse you for all expenses incurred upon arrival ."
  
  
  "That would be great," Nick said. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it.
  
  
  Ossa frowned. Ego's eyes narrowed and he looked at Nick suspiciously. "It's not something you can joke about. Can I make her think that you don't believe me?
  
  
  Nick stood up. "Of course I believe you. I see it when I look at you, what a good, honest person you are. But if it's the same for you, I think I'll stay in Hong Kong and do some research on my own.
  
  
  Ossa's face turned red. Ego's lips tightened. He slammed his fist down on the table. "He won't poke around!"
  
  
  Nick turned to go out through the rooms.
  
  
  "Wait!" Ossa exclaimed.
  
  
  At the curtain, Killmaster stopped and turned.
  
  
  The heavy man smiled faintly and rubbed the handkerchief furiously across his face and neck. "Please forgive my outburst, its not well. Please sit down, sit down." Ego's plump hand pointed to a chair against the wall.
  
  
  "I'm leaving," Nick said.
  
  
  "Please," Ossa whined. "I have a suggestion that I want to make to you."
  
  
  "What's the offer?" Nick didn't move toward the chair. Instead, he took a step to the side and pressed his back to moan.
  
  
  Ossa refused to return Nick to his chair. "You helped Professor Lu work on the territory, didn't you?"
  
  
  Nick was suddenly interested in the conversation. "What do you suggest?" he asked.
  
  
  Ossa's eyes narrowed again. "You don't have a family?"
  
  
  Nick knew this from the file at headquarters.
  
  
  "Then the money?" Ossa asked.
  
  
  "For what?" Killmaster wants him to say that.
  
  
  "To work with Professor Lu again."
  
  
  "In other words, join him."
  
  
  "Exactly."
  
  
  "In other words, sell your homeland."
  
  
  Ossa smiled. He wasn't sweating so much. "I frankly say yes.
  
  
  Nick sat down
  
  
  
  
  
  
  to the table, placing both hands on it. "You don't understand the messages, do you? Well done=) to convince John to come home instead of joining him ." It was a mistake to stand at the table with your back to the curtain. Nick knew it as soon as he heard the bus rustle.
  
  
  A wiry man came up behind him. Nick turned and pointed the fingers of his right hand at the man's throat. The man dropped the dagger and staggered back toward moaning, clutching at his throat. He opened his mouth several times, sliding moans to the floor.
  
  
  "Get out!" Ossa screamed. Ego's chubby face was red with rage.
  
  
  "It's us Americans," Nick said softly. "Just full of caution and violence."
  
  
  Ossa's eyes narrowed, and his chubby hands balled into fists. In Cantonese, he said: "I'll show you violence. I'll show you violence you've never known before."
  
  
  Nick felt tired. He turned and walked out from behind the chair, tearing two threads of the fabric as he passed through the curtain. At the bar, the girl was doused in red, just finishing the song. Nick went to the steps, took two ihs at a time, half expecting to hear a gunshot or a knife thrown at him. He reached the top of the stairs just as the girl finished her song. The audience applauded as he walked out the door.
  
  
  When he stepped outside, an icy wind hit ego in the face. The wind had fogged up the fog, and the sidewalks and streets glistened with dampness. Nick waited for the day, letting the tension slowly ease from him. The sign above it flashed brightly. The wet wind freshened Ego's face after the smoky heat of the bar.
  
  
  One isolated rickshaw was parked at the curb, and the boy sat down in front of it. But as Nick studied the crouching figure, he realized it wasn't a boy at all. It was Ossa's partner, the smaller one around the two men following him.
  
  
  Killmaster took a deep breath. Now there will be violence.
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  Killmaster stepped away from the door. For a moment, he considered walking along the sidewalk instead of approaching the rickshaw. But it only puts it off. It was difficult to face sooner or later.
  
  
  The man saw ego approaching and jumped to his feet. He was still wearing his tower suit.
  
  
  "Rickshaws, mister?"he asked.
  
  
  Nick said, " Where's the boy she was told to wait for?"
  
  
  "He's gone. Its a good rickshaw driver. You see.
  
  
  Nick climbed into the seat. "Do you know where the Dragon Club Hall is?"
  
  
  "I know you keep the money. Good location. Her beru. " He started moving down the street.
  
  
  Killmaster didn't care. The followers ' egos were no longer together. Now he had one in front and one in the back, which put egos outright in the middle. Obviously, besides the entrance day, there was another way in and around the bar. So Ossa disguised himself as Nick's son. Ossa should have left this place by now and waited for Nika to bring him back. Now they had no choice. They couldn't make Chris Wilson desert; they couldn't smoke out the ego of Po Hong Kong. And they knew that he was here to convince Professor Lu to come home. There was no other way. They'll have to kill him.
  
  
  The fog was getting thicker and starting to soak Nick's coat. His egos were stained with moisture. Nick took off the ih and put it in the inner pocket of his suit. Ego eyes wanted on both sides of the street. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He quickly estimated the distance between the seat he was sitting on and the street, trying to figure out the best way to land on his feet.
  
  
  How would they try it? He knew that Ossa was waiting somewhere ahead. A gun would be too noisy. After all, Hong Kong had its own police force. Knives will work better. They probably would have killed him, robbed him of everything he had, and left him somewhere. Fast, accurate, and efficient. For the police, it will just be another robbed and killed tourist. This has happened before in Hong Kong. Of course, Nick wasn't going to let them do that. But he decided that they would be just as professional street fighters as they were amateurs.
  
  
  A small man ran into an unlit and destitute area of Kowloon. As far as Nick could tell, the man was still heading in the direction of the Dragon Club. But Nick knew they'd never make it to the club.
  
  
  The rickshaw pulled out into a narrow alley flanked by four-story unlit buildings. Apart from the man's constant slapping of his feet on the wet asphalt, the only other sound was the spasmodic patter of rainwater from the roofs of houses.
  
  
  Even though Killmaster expected it, the movement was unexpected, causing him to lose his balance a little. The man held the front of the rickshaw high. Nick spun around and jumped over the wheel. The ego left one level first hit on the street, which further deprived the ego of counterweights. He fell, rolled. On his back, he saw a smaller man rushing towards him with an ugly dagger high in the air. The man jumped, shouting. Nick hugged his knees to his chest, and the ego pads of his leg hit the man's life. Grabbing his wrist with his dagger, Killmaster pulled the man toward him, then froze.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  he lifted his legs, throwing the man over his head. He landed with a loud growl.
  
  
  As Nick rolled to get to his feet, Ossa kicked his ego, and the force knocked it back. At the same time, Ossa swung his dagger. Killmaster felt the sharp end of the blade sink into his lobe. He rolled and kept rolling until ego split hit the wheel of an overturned rickshaw. It was too dark to see clearly. Blood began to trickle from his forehead and into his eyes. Nick put his knees up and started to get up. Ossa's heavy foot slid across Ego's cheek, tearing the skin. The strength was enough to push the ego aside. The ego was thrown on its back; then the whole weight of the Ossa tribe was thrust into Nick's life. Ossa aimed for the emu's groin, but Nick raised his knees to block the blow. Still, the force was enough to take Nick's breath away.
  
  
  Then he saw the dagger go to ego's throat. Nick caught a thick wrist with his left hand. With his right fist, he punched Ossa in the groin. Ossa chuckled. Nick hit him again, a little lower. This time, Ossa screamed in agony. He fell. Nick's breath caught in his throat and he leaned on the rickshaw to get to his feet. He wiped the blood from his eyes. Then a smaller man appeared to her left. Nick caught a glimpse of ego just before he felt the blade cut into the ego muscle of his left arm. He hit the man in the face, sending the ego rolling into the rickshaw.
  
  
  Hugo was now in the killing master's right hand. He retreated to one around the buildings, watching as two shadows closed in on him. Well, gentlemen, he thought, now come and get me. They were good, better than he'd thought. They fought with malice and left no doubt that ih's intention was to kill the ego. With his back to the building, Nick waited for ih. The cut on his forehead didn't seem serious. The bleeding has decreased. Ego's left arm hurt, but he'd had more serious injuries. The two men expanded their positions so that each attacked him from opposite directions. They crouched low, their faces resolute, their daggers pointed up at Nick's chest. He knew they would try to stick their blades under the ego's ribcage, high enough that the blade would pierce the ego to stack a dollar. The alley wasn't cold. All three of them were sweaty and slightly out of breath. The silence was broken only by the raindrops falling from the roofs. It was the darkest night Nick had ever seen. The two men were just shadows, only ih daggers kept flashing.
  
  
  The smaller man lunged first. He came up to the bottom on Nick's right, and because of his size, he moved quickly. There was a metallic clang as Hugo took a picture of the dagger. Before the smaller man could retreat, Ossa moved to the left, only a little slower. Again Hugo drew back his blade. Both men stepped back. When Nick started to relax a little, the little man lunged again, lower. Nick stepped back, flicking the blade to the side. But Ossa went in high, aiming for the throat. Nick turned his head, feeling the blade slice through his earlobe. Both men retreated again. My breathing became heavier.
  
  
  Killmaster knew that in such a fight, he would come out third. The two of them could have alternated attacks until they tired him out. When he gets tired, he will make a mistake, and then they will catch the ego. He had to change the course of things, and the best way for him to do that would be to become a striker. A smaller person will be easier to handle. This made the ego the first.
  
  
  Nick pretended to lunge at the Ossa, causing Ego to step back slightly. The smaller man took advantage and moved forward. Nick stepped back as the blade grazed the ego of life. With his left hand, he grabbed the man's wrist and threw ego at Ossa with all his strength. He hoped the man would be thrown at Ossa's blade. But Ossa saw him coming and turned sideways. Both men collided, staggered, and fell. Nick circled ih in a semicircle. The smaller man swung his dagger behind him before getting up, probably thinking Nick was there. But Nick was there for him. The hand stopped in front of him.
  
  
  Moving almost faster than the eye can see, Nick sliced Hugo's wrist open. He screamed, dropped the dagger, and clutched at his wrist. Ossa was on his knees. He swung the dagger in a long arc. Nick had to jump back to keep the blade from ripping the emu of life apart. But in an instant, one fleeting second, the entire front of the Ossa was exposed. Ego's left hand was leaning on the street, supporting Ego, and his right hand was almost behind him at the end of the game. There was no time to aim at any part of the body, soon the second one will pass. Like a bright rattlesnake. Nick walked over and stabbed Hugo, driving the blade almost to the hilt into the man's chest, then moved quickly away. Ossa let out a short cry. He tried in vain to throw the dagger back, but he only made it all the way to his side. The left arm supporting his ego collapsed, and he fell to his elbow. Nick looked at it
  
  
  
  
  
  
  up to see the little man running out around the alley, still clutching his wrist.
  
  
  Nick carefully tore the dagger from around Ossa's arms and threw Ego several feet away. Ossa's supporting elbow buckled. The ego target fell into the crook of the arm. Nick felt the man's wrist. The ego's pulse was slow, erratic. He was dying. Ego's breathing became ragged, bubbly. Blood stained Ego's lips and flowed freely all over the wound. Hugo had severed an artery, and the point had punctured a lung.
  
  
  "Ossa," Nick said softly. "Will you tell me who hired you?" He knew that the two men hadn't attacked him on their own. They were working under orders. "Ossa," he said again.
  
  
  But Qin Ossa didn't tell anyone. The rapid breathing stopped. He was dead.
  
  
  Nick wiped Hugo's aloe blade on Ossa's pant leg. He regretted that emu had to kill a heavy man. But there was no time to aim. He stood up and examined his wounds. The cut on his forehead stopped bleeding. Holding out a handkerchief in the rain before it got wet, he wiped the blood from his eyes. Ego's left arm hurt, but the scratch on his cheek and the scratch on his stomach weren't serious. He came out, around this better than Ossa, maybe even better than the other person. Rain Stahl harder. Ego's jacket is already soaked.
  
  
  Leaning against one around the buildings, Nick replaced Hugo. He pulled out Wilhelmina, checked the clip and Luger. Without looking back at the battle scene or the corpse that was once Qin Ossa, the Killmaster walked out through the alley. There was no reason why he couldn't see the professor now.
  
  
  Nick walked four blocks out of the alley before finding a taxi. He gave the driver the address he'd memorized back in Washington. Since the professor's escape wasn't a secret, there wasn't a place where he was staying. Nick leaned back in his seat, pulled out a pair of thick gloves around his coat pocket, wiped his ih, and put them on.
  
  
  The taxi pulled up to a part of Kowloon that was almost as run-down as the alley. Nick paid the driver and stepped out into the cold night air again. It wasn't until the taxi was gone that he realized how dark the street looked. The houses were old and dilapidated; they looked as if they had caved in under the rain. But Nick knew Eastern construction philosophy. These houses had a fragile strength, not like a boulder on the shore of a river that could withstand the constant impact of waves, but more like cobwebs during a hurricane. We didn't have one saint lighting up the windows, people didn't walk down the street. The area seemed deserted.
  
  
  Nick had no doubt that the professors would be well guarded, if only to protect their egos. The Qi Roots expected that someone would probably try to contact him. They didn't know whether to convince you, uh, not to defect or kill the ego. Killmaster didn't think they'd bother to find out.
  
  
  The day window was open over its center. The window was draped with a black curtain, but not so much as to block out all the holy things. Looking at it from the street, the house looked as deserted and dark as any of the others. But when Nick stood at an angle to the ground, he could just make out a yellow beam of light. He knocked on the door, and Stahl waited. There was no movement inside. Nick knocked on the door. He heard a chair creak, then the heavy shaggy sounds grew louder. The door swung open and Nick was confronted by a huge man. Ego's massive shoulders brushed each side of the doorway. The mother he wore bared her huge, hairy arms, thick as tree trunks, hanging like monkeys almost to her knees. Ego's broad, flat face looked ugly, and his nose was deformed from repeated fractures. Ego's eyes turned into razor-sharp pieces in two layers of marshmallows on the flesh. Her short black hair was combed and cut in the middle of her forehead. He had no neck; his chin seemed to be supported by his chest. Neanderthal, Nick thought. This type missed several steps in evolution.
  
  
  The man grunted something that sounded like " What do you want?"
  
  
  "Chris Wilson to see Professor Lou," Nick said dryly.
  
  
  "He's not here. Go on, " the monster growled, and slammed the door in Nick's face.
  
  
  Killmaster suppressed the impulse to open the door, or at least break the glass in it. He stood there for a few seconds, letting the anger drain out of him. He should have expected something like this. Being invited would be too easy. The Neanderthal man's heavy breathing came from behind him. He would probably be happy if Nick tried something cute. Killmaster remembered a phrase from Jack and the Beanstalk: "I'll grind your bones to make my own bread." Not today, another time, Nick thought. He needs to see the professor, and he will. But if there was no other way, he would rather not pass through this mountain.
  
  
  Raindrops hit the sidewalk like water bullets as Nick circled away from the buildings. Between the buildings was a long, narrow space about four feet wide, littered with cans and bottles. Nick easily climbed up the locked wooden gate
  
  
  
  
  
  
  he headed for the back of the building. Halfway there, he found another door. He carefully turned the "Locked" knob. He continued, picking his way as quietly as possible. There was another unlocked gate at the end of the corridor. Nick opened it and found himself on a tiled patio.
  
  
  A bright yellow light bulb glowed on the building, its effect reflected on the wet tiles. There is a small courtyard in the center. the fountain overflowed. Mango trees were scattered around the edges. One was planted next to the building, at the top, open, under the only window on this side.
  
  
  There was another door under the yellow light. It would have been easy, but the door was locked. He stepped back, hands on his hips, looking up at the weak-looking tree. The Swedes ' egos were soaked, there was a wound on their foreheads, and their left arm hurt. And now he was going to climb a tree that probably wouldn't hold him back to get to the window, which was probably locked. And at night it's still raining. At such times, he would have little thoughts about making a living repairing shoes.
  
  
  I just had to do it. The tree was young. Since mangoes are sometimes as high as ninety feet, their branches should be flexible rather than brittle. He didn't look strong enough to hold it. Nick started to get up. The lower branches were strong and easily sustained Alenka's ego. He quickly advanced about halfway. Then the branches grew thin and twisted dangerously as he stepped on them. Keeping his legs close to his torso, he minimized the curve. But when he got to the window, even his brain thinned. And it was a good six feet from the building. When Nick was even at the window, the branches blocked the entire holy from the yellow light bulb. He was trapped in the darkness. The only way he could see the window was through a dark square of groaning buildings. He couldn't get the ego out of the tree.
  
  
  He started swinging his alenka back and forth. Mango groaned in protest, but reluctantly moved. Nick lunged again. If the window was locked, he broke the ego. If the noise brought a Neanderthal. he would have dealt with it, too. The tree actually began to sway. The deal was supposed to be a one-time deal. If there was nothing to hold on to, he would have slid headfirst down the groaning buildings. That would be a bit messy. The tree leaned toward the dark square. Nick kicked hard, groping for air with his hands. The moment the tree flew out of the building, leaving ego hanging on to us, his fingers touched something hard. Passing the fingers of both hands, he got a good grip on what it was when the tree completely left him. Nick's knees hit the side of the building. It was hanging on the edge of a box. He crossed his leg and propped himself up. Ego's knees sank into the mud. Flower box! It was connected to the windowsill.
  
  
  The tree swayed back, its branches brushing against egoism. Killmaster reached out to the window and immediately thanked him for all the good things on earth. Not only was the window not locked, it was ajar! He opened it both ways, then crawled through. Ego's hands touched the carpet. He pulled out his legs and remained crouched under the window. Across from Nick, and to his right, there was the sound of deep breathing. The house was thin, tall, and square in shape. Nick decided that the main room and kitchen would be downstairs. That leaves the bathroom and bedroom upstairs. He took off his thick, rain-stained glasses. Yes, it will be a bedroom. The house was quiet. Other than the sound of breathing on the bed, the only other sound was the splashing of rain outside the open window.
  
  
  Nick's eyes were getting used to the dark room now. He could make out the shape of the bed and the bump on it. Hugo in hand, he moved toward the bed. The ego drops from the wet clothes didn't sound on the carpet, but the ego boots shrank with each step. He walked around the foot of the bed on the right side. The man was lying on his back, facing away from Nick. There was a lamp on the nightstand next to the bed. Nick touched Hugo's sharp blade to the man's throat and flicked the lamp at the same time. The room exploded with light. Killmaster kept his back to the lamp until his eyes adjusted to the glare. The man turned his head, his eyes blinking and brimming with tears. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. As soon as Nick saw the face, he moved Hugo a little further away from the man's throat.
  
  
  The man focused his gaze on the stiletto a few inches from his chin.
  
  
  Nick said: "I suppose so, Professor Lu."
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  Professor John Lu examined the sharp blade at his throat, then looked at Nick.
  
  
  "If you take this thing out, I'll get it out of the trash," he said softly.
  
  
  Nick pulled Hugo away, but kept his ego in his hand. "Are you Professor Lu?" he asked.
  
  
  "John. No one calls me professor except our funny friends downstairs. He swung his legs over the side
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  he reached for his robe. "How about some coffee?"
  
  
  Nick frowned. Ego confused the man a little. He stepped back as the man passed in front of him and crossed the room to the sink and coffee pot.
  
  
  Professor John Lu was a short, well-built man with black hair parted to the side. When he made coffee, his hands felt almost tender. Ego's movements were smooth and precise. Obviously, he was in great physical shape. Ego's eyes were dark, with a very slight oriental slant, and seemed to penetrate everything he looked at. Ego's face was broad, with high cheekbones and a beautiful nose. It was an extremely intelligent face. Nick guessed he must have been in his mid-thirties. He seemed like a man who knew both his strength and his weakness. Even now, as he turned on the stove, his dark eyes rested nervously on the bedroom door.
  
  
  Go on, Nick thought. I stopped the professor, who raised his hand and cocked his head to the side, listening. Nick heard heavy shaggy footsteps coming up the stairs. Both men froze as the stairs crossed to the bedroom door. Nick shifted Hugo to his left hand. Ego's right hand went under his coat and fell behind Wilhelmina.
  
  
  The key clicked in the lock again. The door swung open and a Neanderthal man ran in, followed by a smaller man dressed in thin clothing. The huge monster pointed at Nick and chuckled. He moved forward. The smaller man put his hand on the larger one, stopping him. Then he smiled politely at the professor.
  
  
  "Who else is yours, Professor?"
  
  
  Nick said quickly. "Chris Wilson. His friend John. Nick started to pull Wilhelmina out of her belt. He knew that if the professor gave it away, the emu would have to struggle to get around the room.
  
  
  John Lou looked at Nick suspiciously. Then he returned the little man's smile. "Actually," he said. "I'll talk to that person. Alone!"
  
  
  "Of course, of course," the little man said, bowing slightly. "As you wish." He gestured the monster away, then, just before closing the door behind him, said, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.: "You'll be very careful when you talk, won't you, Professor?"
  
  
  "Get out!" shouted Professor Lu.
  
  
  The man slowly closed the door and locked it.
  
  
  John Lou turned to Nick, ego lobe frowning in alarm. "The bastards know they tricked me.
  
  
  They can afford to be generous." He studied Nick as if seeing ego for the first time. "What the hell happened to you, tailor?"
  
  
  Nick loosened his grip on Wilhelmina. He shifted Hugo back to his right hand. By this point, it had become even more unclear. Professor Lu definitely didn't seem like the type of person who would want to escape. He knew Nick wasn't Chris Wilson, but he was protecting him. And that friendly cordiality suggested that he was almost expecting Nick. But the only way to get answers is to ask questions.
  
  
  "Let's talk," Killmaster said.
  
  
  "Not yet." The professor put down two glasses. "What do you drink in your coffee?"
  
  
  "Nothing. Black ".
  
  
  John Lou poured coffee. "This is one of my many luxury items - a sink and stove. Announcements of nearby attractions. This is what I can expect for working for the Chinese."
  
  
  "Then why do it?" Nick asked.
  
  
  Professor Lu gave him an almost hostile look. "Really, why," he said senselessly. Then he glanced at the locked bedroom door and back at Nick. "By the way, how the hell did you get here, tailor?"
  
  
  Nick nodded toward the open window. "I climbed a tree," he said.
  
  
  The professor laughed out loud. "It's beautiful. Just wonderful. You can bet they'll cut that tree down tomorrow. He pointed at Hugo. "Are you going to hit me with that thing or take it away?"
  
  
  "I haven't decided yet."
  
  
  "Well, drink your coffee while you make up your mind." He handed Nick a cup, then walked over to the nightstand, which held a small transistor radio and a pair of glasses in addition to the lamp. He turns on the radio, dials the number of a British all-night station, and turns up the volume. When he put it on, he looked rather scholarly. With his index finger, he pointed Nick at the stove.
  
  
  Nick followed, deciding that he could probably take the man if emu had to, not Hugo. He put the stiletto away.
  
  
  At the stove the professor said: "You're careful, aren't you?"
  
  
  "The room is bugged, isn't it?" said Nick.
  
  
  The professor raised his eyebrows. "And also smart. I just hope you're as smart as you look." But you're right. Microphone in the lamp. It took me two hours to find the ego."
  
  
  "But why, if you're here alone?"
  
  
  He shrugged. "Maybe I'm talking to her in my sleep."
  
  
  Nick sipped his coffee and reached into his sodden coat on top of one of the cigarettes. They were wet, but he lit one anyway. The professor declined the offer.
  
  
  "Professor," Nick said. "This is all a bit confusing to me."
  
  
  "Please! Call me John."
  
  
  "All right, John. I know you want to leave. However, from what I have seen and heard in this room, I have the impression that you are being forced to do this."
  
  
  John tossed the rest of his coffee into the sink, then leaned against it, tilting his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T. "I have to be careful," he said. "Muted caution. I know you're not Chris. This means that you can be at our request. Her right?"
  
  
  Nick sipped his coffee. "Maybe."
  
  
  "I've been thinking a lot, in this room. I decided that if the agent tried to contact me, I would tell em the real reason I was deserting her and try to get ego to help me. I can't handle this alone. He straightened up and looked directly at Nick. There were tears in ego's eyes. "God knows, I don't want to go." Ego's voice wavered.
  
  
  "Then why you?" Nick asked.
  
  
  John took a deep breath. "Because they have my wife and son in China."
  
  
  Nick put down the coffee. He took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it into the sink. But even though his movements were slow and unhurried, his brain worked, digesting, discarding, saving, and the questions stood out like bright neon signs. This can't be happening. But if it were true, it might explain a lot. Had John Lou also been forced to flee? Or did he give Nick a nice snow job? Incidents began to form in the egos of the heads. They had a shape, and like a giant jigsaw puzzle, they started to merge to form a certain pattern.
  
  
  John Lou studied Nick's face, his dark eyes troubled, asking unspoken questions. He wrung his hands nervously. Then he said: "If you're not the one Hema her believes you are, then Hema just killed her family."
  
  
  "How so?" Nick asked. He looked into the man's eyes. Eyes could always tell an emu more than a spoken word.
  
  
  John started pacing back and forth in front of Nick. "I was told that if I told anyone, my wife and son would be killed. If you're what I think you are, maybe I can convince you to help me. If not, then ih just killed her.
  
  
  Nick took his coffee, sipping ego, ego's face showing only a hint of interest. "I was just talking to your wife and son," he said suddenly.
  
  
  John Lou stopped and turned to Nick. "Where did you talk to them?"
  
  
  "Orlando".
  
  
  The professor reached into his dressing-gown pocket and pulled out a photograph. "Did you talk to Hema?"
  
  
  Nick looked at the photo. It was a picture of the wife and son he'd met in Florida. "Yes," he said. He started to hand the photo back, but stopped. There was something about the picture.
  
  
  "Look carefully," John said.
  
  
  Nick you have studied the photo more carefully. Of course! It was fantastic! There was a difference in Della Street itself. The woman in the photo looked a little slimmer. Nah had very little, if any, eye makeup. Her nose and mouth had a different shape, which made her look more beautiful. And the boy's eyes were licking at each other, with the same discerning streak as John's. He had a woman's mouth. Yes, there was a difference, okay. The woman and boy in the photo weren't like the two he'd talked to in Orlando. The longer he studied the picture, the more differences he could pick up. First, the smile and even the shape of the ears.
  
  
  "All right?" John asked anxiously.
  
  
  "Just a minute." Nick went to the open window. Down in the courtyard, a Neanderthal was pacing. The rain had subsided. It'll probably be over by morning. Nick closed the window and took off his wet coat. The professor had seen Wilhelmina stuck in his belt, but it didn't matter now. Everything about this task has changed. The answers to his questions came to him one by one.
  
  
  He should have notified Hawk first. Since the woman and the boy in Orlando were pretenders, they worked as Qi Korn. Hawk knows how to deal with them. The puzzle came together in the ego heads, making the picture clearer. The fact that John Lou had been forced to flee explained almost everything. As the reason why they were followed in the first place. And the hostile attitude of the fake Mrs. Lou. Qi Korna wanted to make sure that it would never reach the professor. Like Chris Wilson, he might have been able to convince his friend John to even sacrifice his family. Nick doubted it, but it would make sense to the Reds. It wasn't for them.
  
  
  Before Nick, there were incidents that didn't seem to matter much when they happened. For example, when Ossa tried to buy ego. Ego is asked if Nick has a family. Killmaster wasn't tying anything to it at the time. But now-would they have stolen his family if he had it? Of course, they would. They would have stopped at nothing to catch Professor Lu. This connection that John was working on must have meant a lot to them. Another incident happened to him yesterday, when he first met what he thought was Mrs. Lu. He asked me to talk to her. And she doubted that word. Chatter, outdated, overloaded, almost never used, but the word is familiar to all Americans. She didn't know what that meant. For estestvenno, she didn't do this because she was a red Chinese woman, not an American. It was beautiful, professional, and, in the words of John Lou, simply beautiful.
  
  
  The professor was standing in front of the sink, his hands clasped in front of him. Ego's dark eyes were fixed on Nick's head, expectant, almost frightened.
  
  
  Nick said: "All right, John. Its what you think is good for me. I can't find her
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I'm going to tell you everything except that I'm an agent of one of the intelligence branches of our government."
  
  
  The man seemed to bend. Ego's hands dropped to his side, his chin resting on his chest. He took a long, deep, shuddering breath. "Thank God," he said. It was just above a whisper.
  
  
  Nick walked over to him and handed the photo back. "You'll have to trust me completely now. I'll help you, but you have to tell me everything.
  
  
  The professor nodded.
  
  
  "Let's start with how they kidnapped your wife and son."
  
  
  John seemed to perk up a little. "You can't imagine how happy I am to be talking to someone about this. I've been carrying this inside of me for so long ." He rubbed his hands together. "More coffee?"
  
  
  "No, thanks," Nick said.
  
  
  John Lou scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It all started about six months ago. When I got home from work, there was a van parked in front of my house. Two men had all my furniture. Katie and her mother were nowhere to be found. When I asked these two men what the hell they thought they were doing, the one around them gave me instructions. He said my wife and son were going to China. If I ever want to see ih live again, I'd better do as they say.
  
  
  "At first it was hers, I thought it was a gag. Oni gave me an address in Orlando and told her to go there. Her shell with that until I got home in Orlando. It's her voice. And the boy, too. She never told me her real name, he just called her Katie, and the boy Mike. When the furniture was moved and the two guys left, she put the boy to bed and then undressed openly in front of me. She said she was going to be my wife for a while, and we might as well make it convincing. When I refused to go to bed with her, she told me I'd better cooperate, otherwise Katie and Mike would die horribly."
  
  
  Nick said: "You lived together as husband and wife for six months?"
  
  
  John shrugged. "What else could he have done to her?"
  
  
  "Didn't she give you any instructions or tell you what would happen next?"
  
  
  "Yes, the next morning. She told me that we were making new friends there together. He used his job as an excuse to avoid old friends. When it was formulated, it was taken by ego to China, handed over to the Reds, and then seen again by his wife and the boy. Honestly, I was scared to death because of Katie and her mother. I saw that she was reporting to the Reds, so I had to do everything she said. And I couldn't understand how much she looked like Katie.
  
  
  "So now you've completed the formula," Nick said. "Do they have it?"
  
  
  "Voting is all. I didn't finish it. I still don't have the ferret, he couldn't concentrate on his work. And after six months, things got a little harder. My friends insisted, and I ran out of excuses. She must have received a notification from above because she suddenly told me that I would be working on a territory in China. She told me to announce my defection. It will stay for a week or two and then disappear. Everyone will think that she has joined me."
  
  
  "What about Chris Wilson? Didn't he know that the woman was a fake?
  
  
  John smiled. "Ah, Chris. You know, he's a bachelor. Away from work, we never got together because of the safety of NASA, but mostly because Chris and hers didn't travel in the same social circles. Chris is a girl hunter. Oh, her, sure that emu likes ego jobs, but ego's main thought is usually focused on girls.
  
  
  Nick poured himself another cup of coffee. "This compound that you are working on should have a great value for Korn Qi. Can you tell me what it is without going into technical details? "
  
  
  "Of course. But the formula isn't finished yet. When and if I finish it, it will be in the form of a thin ointment, something like a hand cream. You smear ego: on your skin, and if applied correctly, it should make the skin immune to sunlight, heat, and radiation. It will have a kind of cooling effect on the skin, which will protect astronauts from harmful rays. Who knows? If I work on it long enough, I can even upgrade my ego to the point where they don't need space suits. The Reds want ego-by-ego protection from nuclear burns and radiation. If they had it, there would be little to stop them from declaring an open pool of nuclear war."
  
  
  Nick sipped his coffee. "Does this have anything to do with a discovery you made back in 1966?"
  
  
  The professor ran a hand through his hair. "No, it was different. After tinkering with an electron microscope, I was lucky enough to find a way to isolate certain types of skin diseases that were not serious in themselves, but when ih characterized her, offered a little help in diagnosing more serious diseases, such as ulcers, tumors, and possibly cancer ."
  
  
  Nick chuckled. "You're too humble. As far as she was concerned, it was more than just a little help. It was a big breakthrough."
  
  
  John shrugged. "Vote on what they say. Maybe they're exaggerating a little."
  
  
  Nick had no doubt that he was talking to a brilliant man. John Lu was valuable not only to NASA, but also to his country. Killmaster knew he had to stop the Reds from getting egos. He finished his coffee
  
  
  
  
  
  
  and he asked: "Do you have any idea how the Reds found out about the resort complex?"
  
  
  John shook his head. "No way."
  
  
  "How long have you been working on this?"
  
  
  "Actually, I got the idea when I was in college. I played it over in my head for a while, even taking a few notes. But it wasn't until a year ago that I really started bringing my ideas to life."
  
  
  "Have you told anyone about this?"
  
  
  "Ah, in college, I might have mentioned it to a few friends. But when I was at NASA, I didn't tell anyone, not even Katie."
  
  
  Nick went back to the window. A small transistor radio played a British camping song. Outside the window, the huge man was still hiding in the courtyard. Killmaster lit a wet, gold-tipped cigarette. Ego's skin was cold from the wet clothes he was wearing. What it comes down to, he said, more to himself than to John, is to break the power of the Chinese Reds.
  
  
  John was respectfully silent.
  
  
  Nick said: "I have to take your wife and boy around China." It was easy to say, but Nick knew that doing it again would be something different. He turned to the professor. "Do you have any idea where they might be, in China?"
  
  
  John shrugged. "No way."
  
  
  "Did anyone around them say anything that might give you a clue?"
  
  
  The professor thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then he shook his head, smiling faintly. "I'm afraid I won't be much help, right?"
  
  
  "It's all right." Nick reached for the wet coat on the bed, pulling his broad shoulders into it. "Do you have any idea when you'll be taken to China?" he asked.
  
  
  John's face seemed to brighten a little. "I think I can help you." I heard two athletes downstairs talking about how I think they agreed on midnight next Tuesday.
  
  
  Nick checked his watch. It was three-ten in the morning, Wednesday. He had less time on Sundays to find, reach, and take his wife and boy around China. It didn't look very good. But I'll tell you everything in order. Emu needed to do three things. First, Em had to fake a statement with John through the microphone so that the two people below wouldn't get mad. Second, he had to get out of this house in one piece. And third, Em will have to get on the scrambler and tell Hawke about the fake gin and the boy in Orlando. Then this emu will have to play at random.
  
  
  Nick motioned John over to the lamp. "Can you make this radio beep as if it were static?" he whispered.
  
  
  John looked puzzled. "Of course. But why. Understanding dawned in his eyes. I'm not saying our words, he was fiddling with the radio. It squealed, and then subsided.
  
  
  Nick said: "John, are you sure I can't convince you to come back with me?"
  
  
  "No, Chris. I want her so much."
  
  
  Nick thought it was a little corny, but he hoped the two people downstairs were buying it.
  
  
  "All right," Nick said. "They won't like it, but I'll tell them. How do I get around this place? "
  
  
  John pressed a small button built into the nightstand.
  
  
  The two men felt sorry for each other's hands in silence. Nick went to the window. The Neanderthal was no longer in the courtyard. Shaggy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
  
  
  "Before you go," John whispered. "She would like to know the real name of the person who helps me."
  
  
  "Nick Carter. Her agent is AX."
  
  
  A key clicked in the lock. The door was slowly opened by a smaller man. The monsters weren't with him.
  
  
  "My other one is leaving," John said.
  
  
  The elegantly dressed man smiled politely. "Of course, Professor." He brought the smell of cheap cologne into the room.
  
  
  "Good - bye, John," Nick said.
  
  
  "Goodbye, Chris."
  
  
  As Nick left through the rooms, the man closed and locked the door. He pulled the .45-caliber army pistols from his belt. He pointed them to Nick's life.
  
  
  "What is it?" Nick asked.
  
  
  The agile man still had a polite smile on his face. "Insurance that you will leave nastijo."
  
  
  Nick nodded and started down the stairs with the man behind him. If he tried anything, he might put the professor in danger. There was still no other man.
  
  
  At the entrance door a clever man said: "I do not know who you really are. But we're not stupid enough to assume that you and the professor listened to British music while you were there. Whatever you have in mind for us, don't try it. Now we know your face. And you will be closely watched. You have already put these people in great danger." He opened the door. "Good-bye, Mr. Wilson, if that's your real name."
  
  
  Nick knew the man was referring to his wife and boy when he said "interested parties." Did they know he was an agent? He stepped out into the night air. The rain had turned to mist again. The door was closed and locked behind him.
  
  
  Nick took a deep breath of the crisp night air. He went. At this hour, he had little chance of catching a taxi in the area. Ego's main enemy now was time. It will be light in two or three hours. And he didn't even know where to look for his wife and boy. He had to contact Hawk.
  
  
  Killmaster was about to cross the street when a huge ape-man came out, circling around the doorway, blocking the emu's path. The hair on Nick's neck prickled. So the emu will have to deal with
  
  
  
  
  
  still, with this creature. Without saying a word to us, the monster walked over to Nick and reached for his throat. Nick ducked and dodged the monster. The man's size was amazing, but it made him move slowly. Nick slapped his ego across the ear with his open palm. It didn't bother him. The ape-Man grabbed Nick's arm and threw him like a rag doll against the building. The Killmaster's target hit a solid structure. He felt dizzy.
  
  
  By the time he stepped out of it, the monster was already holding its throat in ego's huge hairy hands. He lifted Nick off his feet. Nick felt the blood rush to his head. He cut the man's ears, but ego's movements seemed painfully slow. He kicked him in the groin, I know that ego punches get their way. But the man didn't even seem to feel it. Ego's hands tightened on Nick's throat. Every blow Nick landed would have killed an ordinary person. But this Neanderthal didn't even blink. He just stood there, legs apart, holding Nick by the throat, with all the strength in those huge hands. Nick began to see flashes of color. His ego strength was gone, and he didn't feel any strength in his punches. The panic of impending death squeezed the ego of folding the dollar. He was losing consciousness. He had to do something fast! Hugo would have been too slow. He could probably hit a person twenty times before killing the ego. By then, it would be too late for him.
  
  
  Wilhelmina! He seemed to be moving slowly. Ego hand never got to the Luger. Will he have the strength to pull the trigger? Wilhelmina was beyond the ego belt. He jammed the gun into the man's throat and pulled the trigger with all his might. The recoil nearly knocked out the Luger around his arm. The man's chin and nose were immediately knocked out around his head. The explosion echoed through the deserted streets. The man's eyes blinked uncontrollably. Ego's knees started to shake. Still, the ego still had the strength. Nick stuck his finger into the monsters ' fleshy left eye and pulled the trigger again. The shot tore off the man's earlobe. Ego's legs began to buckle. Nick's fingers touched the street. He felt hands loosen their grip on his throat. But life was slipping away from him. He could have held his breath for four minutes, but that was already over. The man didn't let go of his ego fast enough. Nick fired twice again, completely ripping off the ape-man's head. The hands dropped from ego's throat. The monster staggered back, losing its head. Ego's hands went up to where his face should have been. He fell to his knees, then rolled over like a freshly felled tree.
  
  
  Nick coughed and fell to his knees. He took a deep breath, smelling the acrid smell of gun smoke. Brylevs caught fire in windows all over the district. The neighborhood was coming to life. The police will be here, and Nick won't be interested in the police. He forced himself to move. Still panting, he jogged to both ends of the block and quickly walked away across the area. From afar, he heard the unusual ringing of a British police siren. Then he realized that he was still holding Wilhelmina in his hand. He quickly tucked the luger into his belt. During his career as a killmaster for AX, he came close to death many times. But he's never been this close.
  
  
  Once the Reds discover the mess he just left, they will immediately link it to Ossa's death. If the smaller man who was with Ossa was still alive, he would have contacted them by now. They connected the two deaths together with an ego visit to Professor Lu and knew that he was an agent. He could almost assume that ego's cover was now blown. He had to contact Hawk. The professor, as well as his family, were in great danger. Nick shook his head as he walked. This assignment wasn't going that way at all.
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  Hawke's unmistakable voice came to Nick through the scrambler. "Well, Carter. From what you've told me, it looks like your assignment has changed."
  
  
  "Yes, sir," Nick said. He just notified Hawk. He was in his hotel room on the Victoria side of Hong Kong. Outside the window, the night was beginning to fade a little.
  
  
  Hawk said: "You know the situation there better than her. I'll deal with the woman and the boy about that. You know what you need to do ."
  
  
  "Yes," Nick said. "I need to find a way to find the professor's wife and son and take ih out around China."
  
  
  "Take care of this in any way you can. I'll be in Hong Kong on Tuesday, not when."
  
  
  As always, Nick thought, Hawke was interested in results, not methods. The killmaster could use whatever method the emu needed, as long as it produced results.
  
  
  "Good luck," Hawk said, ending the conversation.
  
  
  Killmaster changed into a dry and spa suit. Since the lining around ego's waist wasn't wet, he left it there. It was a bit funny to carry the ferret's ego around until now, especially since he was pretty sure he'd blown his cover. But he planned to change as soon as he knew where he was going to go to China. And around the ego waist, it was comfortable to wear it. He knew the clothes
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When he was about to put on his suit, he was a bit shabby from the dagger cuts on his stomach. If he didn't have the stuffing, the ego of life would be cut open like a newly caught fish.
  
  
  Nick wondered if Hawke would learn anything from a woman all over Orlando. If she had been as well-educated as he thought, she would have ruined both herself and the boy before she said anything.
  
  
  Killmaster rubbed the bruise on his throat. It was already beginning to discolor. Where would emu start looking for the professor's wife and son? He can go back to the house and make a well-dressed man talk. But he's already put John Lou in enough danger. If not at home, then where? Emu needed a place to start. Nick stood at the window, looking out. There were few people on the sidewalk now.
  
  
  He suddenly felt hungry. He hadn't seen the ferret with them since he checked into the hotel. The melody haunted him, as did some of the songs. It was the one across the country that the girl sang. Nick stopped rubbing his throat. It was a straw that probably meant nothing. But at least that was a good place to start. He'd take care of something and then go back to the Lovely Bar.
  
  
  Ossa changed his clothes there, which may mean that he knew someone. Even so, there was no guarantee that any emu would help. But then again, this was the place to start.
  
  
  In the hotel dining room, Nick drank a glass of orange juice, followed by a plate of scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, toast, and three cups of black coffee. He lingered over the last cup of coffee, giving Eda time to calm down, then leaned back in his chair and lit a fresh pack of cigarettes. It was then that he noticed the man watching him.
  
  
  It was outside, on the side of the one around the hotel windows. From time to time, he peeked out to make sure Nick was still there. Killmaster is known in nen as a wiry man who was with Ossa at the Wonderful Bar. They definitely didn't waste any time.
  
  
  Nick paid the check and went outside. The darkness of the night turned to a dark gray. The buildings were no longer huge, dark shapes. They had a shape ih could be seen through the day, and windows. Most of the cars on the streets are tolls that still needed to turn on their headlights. The wet curbs and streets were now easier to distinguish. Heavy clouds still hung low, but the rain had stopped.
  
  
  Killmaster headed for the port bar ferry. Now that he knew he was being followed again, there was no need for him to go to the "Beautiful Bar". At least not yet. This wiry man could tell the emu a lot if the ego could be made to talk. First of all, it was necessary to change positions. Emu had to lose the man for a moment before he could follow him. It was a gamble. Nick had a hunch that the wiry man wasn't an amateur fan like the other two.
  
  
  Before he reached the ferry, Nick drove down the alley. He ran to the end, and Stahl waited. The wiry man turned the corner at a run. Nick walked quickly, hearing the man close the gap between them. At the other corner of the street, Nick did the same: he turned the corner, ran quickly to both ends of the quarter, and then went for a brisk walk. The man stayed with him.
  
  
  Soon Nick arrived in the Victoria area, which he liked to call Sailor's Playground. It was a section of narrow banners with brightly lit bars on the sides. Usually the neighborhood was noisy, with music playing around jukeboxes, and prostitutes standing on every corner. But the night was drawing to a close. The lights were still bright, but the jukeboxes were quiet, too. Street prostitutes have either already received their grades or given up. Nick wanted a bar, not the one he knew, but the one that would suit his ego's purposes. These sections were the same in all major cities of the world. The buildings were always two-storeyed. On the ground floor there was a bar, a jukebox, and a dance floor. The girls swam here, letting themselves be seen. When a sailor showed interest, he asked her to dance, bought her a few drinks, and haggled over the price. Once the price was set and paid, the girl led the sailor upstairs. On the second floor, it looked like a hotel lobby with rooms evenly spaced on either side. The girl usually had his room, where she lived) and worked. Nen didn't have much - a bed, of course, a wardrobe, and a commodore for ee to hold a few knickknacks and things. The layout of each building was the same. Nick knew ih well.
  
  
  If the ego run was going to work, the emu needed to widen the gap between it and the ego follower. The section occupied approximately four square blocks, which did not save the EMU much space to work with. It was time to start.
  
  
  Nick rounded the corner and ran at full speed. Halfway down the block, he came to a short alley blocked by a wooden fence at the other end. There were trash cans on both sides of the alley. Killmaster knew that he no longer had the cover of darkness. He has to use his speed. He quickly ran to the fence, estimating ego's height to be about ten feet. From the side, he pulled one around the trash cans, looked at it, and climbed over the fence. On the other hand, he flew up both ends of the block, rounded the corner, and
  
  
  
  
  
  I found the building I wanted. He was sitting on a pair of triangular shaped blocks. From the other side of the street, one could easily see someone coming out or entering. Adjacent to the moan was a shed with a shed, the roof of which was candid under one around the second-floor windows. Nick made a mental note of where the room would be as he ran to the bar.
  
  
  A neon sign above the front door read Club Delight. It was bright, but it didn't blink. The door was open. Nick came in. The room was dark. To his left, a bar stretched half the length of the room, with chairs bent at various angles. The sailor took one of the stools, resting his head on the bar. To Nick's right, the jukebox was silent, bathed in bright blue light. The space between the bar and the jukebox was used for dancing. In addition, the kiosks were empty, except for the last one.
  
  
  There was a fat woman bent over some papers. Thin, rimless glasses rested on the tip of her prominent nose. She smoked a long cigarette stuck in the holder. When Nick came in, she looked at him without turning her head, just rolled her eyes up to the top of her eyes and looked at him over the top of her glasses. All of this was visible in the time it took Nick to get from the front door to the stairs, which were now on his left, at the end of the bar. Nick didn't hesitate. The woman opened her mouth to say something, but when the word came out, Nick was already on the fourth step. He continued to climb, taking two steps at a time. When he reached the top, he was in the corridor. It was narrow, with a single streetlamp halfway down, a deep carpet, and smelled of sleep, sex, and cheap perfume. The rooms weren't exactly rooms, but there were partitions on each side. The walls were about eight feet high, and the building's ceiling extended over ten feet. Nick decided that the window he saw would be the third room on his right. When he started to do this, he noticed that the walls separating the rooms from the hall were made of cheap plywood, painted in bright colors, with tinsel stars glued to them. The stars had different names for their girls. He walked past Margo and Leela's mimmo doors. He's Vicki's hotel. Killmaster had planned to be as polite as he had time, but he couldn't wait to explain. When he tried to open Vicki's door and found it locked, he stepped back and cracked the lock with one hard blow. The door swung open, hit the wall with a bang, and fell at an angle with the top hinge broken.
  
  
  Vicki was busy. She was lying on a small bed, her plump, smooth legs spread wide, matching the thrusts of the big red-haired man on top of her. Her arms were tightly wrapped around ego's neck. The muscles of the man's bare buttocks were taut, and the crevices glistened with blood. Ego's big hands completely covered her ample breasts. Vicki's skirt and panties lay in a crumpled ball on the bed. Commodus's sailor uniform was neatly draped over him.
  
  
  Nick was already at the window, trying to open it, before Sailor Ego noticed.
  
  
  He raised his head. "Hello there!" he shouted. "Who the hell are you, tailor?"
  
  
  He was muscular, big, and handsome. He was now standing on his elbows. The hair on his chest was thick and bright red.
  
  
  The window seemed to be jammed. Nick couldn't open it.
  
  
  The sailor's blue eyes flashed with anger. "I gave you a spin, sport," he said. Ego's knees were rising. He was about to leave the Wiki.
  
  
  Vicki shouted, " Mac! Mac! "
  
  
  Mac must be a bouncer, Nick thought. Finally, he released the window. He turned to the couple, giving ih his biggest boyish grin. "Just passing through, guys," he said.
  
  
  The anger left the sailor's eyes. He started to smile, then chuckled, and finally laughed out loud. It was the man from, loud laughter. "It's pretty funny when you think about it," he said.
  
  
  Nick slid his right leg through the open window. He stopped, reached in a minute, and pulled out ten Hong Kong dollars. He crumpled it up and tossed it carefully to the sailor. "Have fun," he said. Then: "Is that good?"
  
  
  The sailor grinned at Vicki, then at Nick. "I've had it worse."
  
  
  Nick waved, then descended four feet to the roof of the seraglio. At the end, he fell to his knees and rolled over the edge. The street was eight feet down. He rounded the corner of the building and disappeared out of sight, then dashed across the street and walked back. He stayed in the shadows, staying close to the bar until he came back to the window. It was now directly across the street from the bar, where Emu could see three sides of the building. Without taking his eyes off the window, he stepped into the shadows, leaned back against the fence opposite it, and stopped.
  
  
  There was enough light to see the window clearly. Nick saw the wiry man's head and shoulders sticking out through it. In his right hand he held an army pistol .45. This group definitely had a passion for army .45's, Nick thought. The man took his time, scanning the street.
  
  
  Then Nick heard Sailor's voice. "It's fine now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is too much. Fun is fun - one guy is fine, but two is a hell of a lot." Nick saw the sailor's arm wrap around the man's chest and drag him back into the room. "Tailor damn it, clown. Look at me when I talk to you.
  
  
  "Mac! Mac! Vicki shouted.
  
  
  Then the sailor said: "Don't point the gun at me, buddy. I'll shove it down your throat and make you eat it.
  
  
  There was a scuffle, the sound of wood cracking, the sound of a clenched fist being punched in the face. The glass shattered and heavy objects fell to the floor. And Vicki screamed, " Mac! Mac! "
  
  
  Nick smiled and leaned against the fence. He shook his head, reached into his coat pocket, and lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes. The noise around the window continued unabated. Nick was calmly smoking a cigarette. A third voice rang out around the window, low and demanding. Army issue .The 45 smashed through the top of the window and landed on the roof of the seraglio. Probably Mac, Nick thought. He blew smoke rings into the air. As soon as the wiry man walked around the building, he followed him. But it looked like it would take quite some time.
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  Dawn came without the sun; it remained hidden behind dark clouds. The air was still chilly. Early in the morning, people began to appear on the streets of Hong Kong.
  
  
  Nick Carter leaned against the fence and listened. Hong Kong opened his eyes and stretched, preparing for the new day. All the cities were noisy, but the noise of the night was somehow different from that of the early morning. Smoke curled from the rooftops, mingling with the low clouds. The smell of cooking filled the air.
  
  
  Nick stepped on the butt of his seventh cigarette. We didn't hear a sound through the windows for more than an hour. Nick hoped the sailor and Mac hadn't left a wiry man behind to follow him. This man was the straw that Nick had grasped. If he didn't pay, a lot of time would have been wasted. And there was time that Nick didn't have.
  
  
  Where will this person go? Nick hoped that once he realized that instead of Hema having to follow, he would report back to his superiors. That would give Nick two straws.
  
  
  Suddenly, a man appeared. He kind of popped out on the front door, didn't look very good at all. Shaggy's egos stopped, staggered. Ego suit's coat was torn over the shoulder. Ego's face was pale with bruises, and both of his eyes were starting to swell. He wandered aimlessly for a while, not sure where to go. Then, he slowly moved towards the harbor.
  
  
  Nick waited until the man was almost out of sight, then followed. The man moved slowly, painfully. Each step seemed to require a huge amount of effort. Killmaster wants this man to be apprehended, not stuck to death. However, he could appreciate the sailor's feelings. No one likes to be interrupted. Especially twice. And he imagined that this wiry man was completely devoid of humor. He must have been aggressive, swinging that .45. Still, Nick sympathized with it in math, but he could understand why the sailor did what he did.
  
  
  After walking around the sailors ' playground, the man seemed to perk up a bit. Shaggy's egos have become more leisurely, faster. He seemed to have just decided where he was going. Nick was two blocks behind. So far, the man hasn't looked back at us once.
  
  
  It wasn't until they reached the harbor line that Nick realized where the man was headed. Ferryboat. He was going back to Kowloon. Or was it from there? The man approached the morning crowd on the landing and stopped at the edge. Nick stayed close to the buildings, keeping out of sight. The man didn't seem to know what he was supposed to do. Twice he retreated from the playground and returned. The beating seemed to have affected his mind. He looked at the people around him, then at the harbor where the ferry was supposed to go. He started back along the dock, stopped, and deliberately left the port of bar. Nick frowned in puzzlement, waited until the man was almost out of sight, then followed.
  
  
  The burly man tricked Nick into being honest with his ego. Outside, under the same streetlamp where Ossa and the man had met, he stopped and looked up at Nick's window.
  
  
  This guy just wouldn't give up. It was then that Nick understood the man's actions on the ferry. It was supposed to work this way. If he had reported what really happened to Della Street to his superiors, they would probably have killed him. Was he really going to move to Kowloon, too? Or was he heading for the dock somewhere? He looked across the harbor and walked along the dock. Maybe he knew Nick Ego had caught up and thought he'd try to confuse things a little.
  
  
  One thing Nick was sure of: the man had stopped moving. And you can't follow someone who isn't leading you anywhere. It's time to talk.
  
  
  The burly man didn't move from the lamppost. He looked at Nick's room as if he was praying that Killmaster was in it.
  
  
  The sidewalks became crowded. People were moving swiftly through them, dodging another one. Nick knew emu had to be careful. He didn't want a crowd around him when he was facing an enemy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the doorway of the building across the street from the hotel, Nick moved Wilhelmina with the belt in his right-hand-width coat. He kept his hand in his pocket, his finger on the trigger, like in old gangster movies. Then he started across the street.
  
  
  The wiry man was so lost in thought and staring out the hotel window that he didn't even notice Nika's approach. Nick came up behind him, put his left hand on the man's shoulder, and drove the emu's Wilhelmina pistol into the small of his back.
  
  
  "Instead of looking at the room, let's go back to it," he said.
  
  
  The man tensed. Ego's gaze shifted to the toes of his shoes. Nick could see the muscles in his neck twitching.
  
  
  "Move," Nick said quietly, pressing the luger harder against his back.
  
  
  The man obeyed without a word. They entered the hotel and went up the stairs like old friends, and Killmaster Friendly smiled at everyone they passed, mimmo. When they reached the door, Nick had the key in his left hand.
  
  
  "Put your hands behind your back and lean against moan," Nick ordered.
  
  
  The man obeyed. Ego's eyes followed the Killmaster's movements carefully.
  
  
  Nick opened the door and stepped back. Good. Inside.
  
  
  The man moved away from the wall and entered the room. Nick followed, closing and locking the door behind him. He pulled Wilhelmina around his pocket, aimed her at the man's life.
  
  
  "Put your hands around your neck and turn around," he ordered.
  
  
  Again the man obeyed in silence.
  
  
  Nick patted the man's chest, the pockets of his trousers, the inside of both legs. He knew the man didn't have a .45 anymore, but maybe he had something else. He didn't find anything. "You understand English," he said when he was done. "You say nen?"
  
  
  The man was silent.
  
  
  "All right," Nick said. "Put your hands down and turn around." The sailor and Mac worked on it pretty well. He looked sad.
  
  
  The man's gaze made Nick relax a little. As the man turned to face him, his right hand whipped Nick between the legs. Pain shot through him like a bush. He doubled over, staggering backward. The man stepped forward and kicked Wilhelmina around Nick's arm with his left foot. There was a click of metal on metal as the nachalah hit the Luger. The pain in his groin filled him, and he stumbled against the wall. He silently cursed himself for not noticing the steel tips of the man's shoes. Man shell for Wilhelmina. Nick took two deep breaths, then backed away from the wall, gritting his teeth in anger. The anger was directed at him to make him relax, even though he shouldn't have. Obviously, the man wasn't in as bad a state as he looked.
  
  
  The man leaned forward, touching the luger with his fingers. Nick kicked his ego and he fell. He rolled onto his side and pounced on those awful steel-tipped boots. The blow hit Nick's life, knocking his ego back to the bed. The man picked out the Luger again. Nick moved quickly away from the bed, pushing Wilhelmina into a corner out of reach. A burly man was on his knees. Nick slapped Ego's neck with both sides of his open palm, and then with his open palm, he quickly slapped the man's nose, ripping out Ego's nostrils. The man screamed in agony, then collapsed in his curls, covering his face with both hands. Nick crossed the room and picked up Wilhelmina.
  
  
  He said through gritted teeth, " Now you're going to tell me why you followed me and who you work for."
  
  
  The movement was too fast for Nick Ego to notice. The man's hand moved to the corner of his shirt, pulled out a small round pill, and popped it into his mouth.
  
  
  Cyanide, Nick thought. He shoved Wilhelmina's coat into his pocket and walked quickly over to the man. With the fingers of both hands, he tried to push the man's jaws apart so that his teeth wouldn't crush the pill. But it was too late. The deadly liquid has already passed through the human body. Six seconds later, he was dead.
  
  
  Nick stood looking down at the body. He staggered back and flopped down on the bed. There was a pain between my leg that was still engaged and wouldn't go away. Ego's hands were covered in blood from the man's face. He did a bench press on the bed again and covered his eyes with his right hand. It was ego that was the straw, ego that was the only gamble, and he lost it. Everywhere he went, there was a blank wall. He didn't have a single decent break with them ferret as he started this assignment. Nick closed his eyes. He felt tired and exhausted.
  
  
  Nick didn't know how long it had been there. It can't take more than a few minutes. Suddenly, he abruptly sel. What's the matter with you, Carter?" he was thinking. No time to wallow in self-pity. So, you've had a few bad breaks. It was part of the job. The doors were still open. You had more difficult tasks. Get along with her.
  
  
  He started with a shower and a shave, while ego thought about the remaining options. If he couldn't think of anything else to do, that left the Wonderful Bar.
  
  
  When he came out, around the bathroom
  
  
  
  
  
  
  he felt a lot better about himself. He tightened the padding around his waist. Instead of placing Pierre, a tiny gas bomb, between the egos of his leg, he taped it to a small depression just behind his left ankle. When he pulled on his sock, a small bump was obvious, but it looked like a swollen ankle. He finished dressing in the same business suit. He removed the Wilhelmina clip and replaced the four missing shell casings. He pinned Wilhelmina by the waist where she had been before. Then Nick Carter went back to work.
  
  
  He started with the dead man. He carefully scanned the man's pockets. The wallet looked like it had just been purchased. Probably a sailor. Nick found two photos of Chinese women, a laundry ticket, ninety Hong Kong dollars in cash, and a business card for each of them. This place appeared everywhere he turned. He looked at the back of the map. The pencil-scrawled words Victoria-Kwangchow.
  
  
  Nick left the body and walked slowly to the window. He was looking down the street, but he couldn't see anything. Guangzhou was a Chinese canton, the capital of Guangdong Province. Canton was just over two miles from Hong Kong, in Red China. Was there a woman and a boy? It was a big city. It was located on the north bank of the Pearl River, which also flowed south into Hong Kong Harbor. Maybe there was a woman and a boy.
  
  
  But Nick wasn't sure if that was what the card meant. It was the bar's business card. He felt that everything mistletoe had in mind for Victoria-Guangzhou was discovered here in Hong Kong. But what? "Place?" A thing? A person? And why did this person have such a card? Nick recalled all the events that had happened to them ferret as he saw a man looking out through the dining room windows. One thing that caught my eye was the man's strange actions at the ferry port of bar. Either he was going to take the ferry but was afraid to tell his superiors about his failure, or he knew Nick was there and didn't want to tell them where he was going. He started down the dock.
  
  
  Killmaster could see the harbor through the windows, but not the ferry dock. He imagined a mental picture of the area. The ferry pier was surrounded on each side by a floating community of sampans and junks. They stood side by side almost all the way to the landing. To get Katie Lu and her Mother to Canton, they had to take ih around the States to Hong Kong and then...
  
  
  But of course! It was so obvious! Around Hong Kong, they brought ih down the Pearl River to Canton by boat! That's where the man was going when he left the port of bar - to the boat, somewhere along this community of boats. Ih But there were so many in the area. It had to be big enough to travel about a hundred miles in Canton. The sampan would probably survive this, but it was unlikely. No, it should have been bigger than a sampan. This in itself narrowed matters down, as ninety percent of the boats in the harbor were sampans. It was just another risk, a straw, an adventure, whatever. But it was something.
  
  
  Nick drew the curtain across the window. He put the extra clothes in his suitcase, and Sergey turned them off and went out through the rooms, locking the door behind him. Emu will have to find another place to stay. If he checked out, there would be someone to clean the room right away. It belongs to them that the body will be discovered by licks by the evening. This may be enough time. In the hallway, Nick dropped his suitcase in the laundry tray. He climbed through the window at the end of the hall and down the fire escape. At the bottom, he fell six feet down the stairs and ended up in an alley. He dusted himself off and quickly walked out into the street, now filled with people and busy traffic. At the first mimmo mailbox, Nick dropped his hotel room key. Hawke will sort things out with the police and the hotel when he arrives in Hong Kong. Nick mingled with the crowd on the sidewalk.
  
  
  The air was still crisp. But the heavy clouds had cleared, and the sun was shining brightly through the cracks in them. The streets and sidewalks began to dry. People scurried around and mimmo Nick while he was shellin'. From time to time sailors with hangovers and crumpled uniforms would come out around the gate. Nick thought of the red-haired sailor, and wondered what he was doing at this hour, probably still fighting Vicki. He smiled as he recalled the scene when he burst into the room.
  
  
  Nick reached the port and headed outright to the port bar ferry, his experienced eyes wanting the multitude of sampans and junks connected, like links to smash, in the harbor. The boat will not be in this compartment, but on the other side of the dock. If there was a boat at all. He didn't even know how he would choose it.
  
  
  The huge ferry chugged away from the port of bar as Nick approached. He crossed the dock to the docks on the other side. Nick knew emu had to be careful. If the Reds catch Ego poking around in the ih boat, they'll kill him first and then find out who he was.
  
  
  Killmaster stayed close to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  his eyes scanned every boat that didn't look much bigger than a sampan. He spent the entire morning and part of the day without success. He walked along the docks almost as far as the boats did. But when he reached the area where large ships from all over the world were either loading or unloading cargo, he turned back. He was almost through Paris. It was a shame that there were too many boats. Even then, there were still a very large number of sampans left. Perhaps he had already gone through it; he had nothing to identify it with. Again, a business card may not mean a boat at all.
  
  
  Nick re-explored every boat larger than a sampan as he made his way back to the ferry port of Bar. The clouds had cleared; they hung high in the sky like spilled popcorn on a dark blue tablecloth. And the afternoon sun warmed the docks, evaporating the moisture all over the asphalt. Some of the boats were tied up with sampans; others were anchored a little further away. Nick noticed that water taxis regularly plied between the huge ships of the US Navy, and vice versa. Because of the day's high tide, the big ships had turned around on their anchor chains, so they were playing this game sideways across the harbor. Sampans gathered around the ships like leeches, and other passengers dived for pennies thrown by the sailors.
  
  
  Nick saw the barge just before he reached the landing. He missed the ego earlier because the ego nose was pointed at the dock. It was anchored close to a row of sampans, and because of the afternoon swell, it was also sitting sideways. From where Nick was standing, he could see the port side and stern. In bold yellow font on the stern was written: Kwangchow!
  
  
  Nick stepped back into the shadows of the warehouse. The man was standing on the deck of the barge, looking out through binoculars at the dock. Ego had a white bandage wrapped around his right wrist.
  
  
  In the shadow of the warehouse, Nick smiled broadly. He allowed himself a deep sigh of satisfaction. The man on the barge was, of course, a bosom friend of Ossa's. Nick leaned against the warehouse and sold. Still smiling, he pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it. Then he chuckled. He cocked his handsome head and laughed. He just got his first break.
  
  
  Killmaster allowed himself this strange luxury of Rivnenskaya for one minute. Ego didn't care about the man with the binoculars; the sun was shining in the man's face. As long as Nick stayed in the shadows, it was almost impossible to see Ego from there. No, Nick had something to worry about. The police undoubtedly found the body in Ego's room and are probably looking for it now. They'll be looking for Chris Wilson, an American tourist. It was time for Nick to be something else.
  
  
  He stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, and walked toward the landing, staying in the shadows. He wouldn't have had a chance to get close to the debris in daylight, at least not with binoculars on deck. But right now, Emu needed a place to change.
  
  
  When Nick got to the ferry, it was crowded. He carefully walked past mimmo people, keeping his eyes on the police.
  
  
  When he crossed the ego, he stepped on the first finger, the one pointing to the harbor. He walked slowly past the rows of sampans, watching them carefully. They stretched out in rows like corn, and Nick continued until he found the one he wanted.
  
  
  He was standing next to the dock in the second row from the harbor. Without thinking, Nick stepped onto the nah and ducked under the roof of a small hut. He immediately noticed signs of abandonment, the lack of any clothing, the roof where the rain had fallen, flooding the bunk and small stove, the tin cans with a trace of rust on their lips. Who knew why and when the invaders left? Maybe they found a place to stay on land until the storm calmed down. Maybe they were dead. The sampan smelled musty. It was abandoned for a while. Nick went through the crooks and nooks and crannies and found a handful of rice and an unopened can of string beans.
  
  
  He didn't see Po sampana's barge. There was about two hours of daylight left. It was a chance, but he had to make sure it was my boat. He undressed and removed the padding from his waist. He told them that in four minutes he could swim under the first row of sampans and be in the harbor before the emu had to take a breath of air. If the binoculars were still on deck, the emu would have to approach the junk from the bow or starboard side.
  
  
  Naked except for Hugo, Nick slid off his sampan and into the icy water. He waited a few seconds until the first bout of cold left his ego; then he sank under the water and began to swim. He passed under the first row of sampans and turned straight for the water side of the ferry. Then he surfaced Rivnenskaya two deep breaths of fresh air sampling. He caught a glimpse of the barge as it sank back under the water. The nose was pointed at him. He swam up to it, keeping about six feet under it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  R. Emu had to take another breath of air before his hand touched the thick bottom of the barge.
  
  
  As he worked his way along the keel, he allowed himself to climb slowly to starboard, almost astern. It was in the shadow of the barges, but there was no support, nothing to hold on to. The anchor chain should lie on the bow. Nick put his feet on the keel, hoping it would help him keep his balance. But the distance from the keel to the surface was too great. He couldn't keep his head in & nb. He moved to the stem on the starboard side of the basket rudder. By holding the rudder, he could stay in one position. He was still in the shadow of the barges.
  
  
  Then he saw a lifeboat descending over the port side.
  
  
  A man with a bandaged wrist climbed in and lumbered toward the dock. He preferred the wrist and could not pull skulls equally.
  
  
  Nick waited, shivering, for twenty minutes. The boat is back. This time, a woman was with the man. Her face was raw and beautiful,like a professional whore's. Her lips were full and bright red. Her chopsticks were flushed where the skin clung tightly to the bone. Nah's hair was raven-black, pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The eyes were an emerald beauty and were just as hard. She was wearing a tight lavender dress with a floral pattern, with a slit on both sides that reached to her hips. She sat down in the boat with her knees together and her hands clasped together. From Nick's side, he saw that she wasn't wearing any panties. In fact, he wasn't sure if she was wearing anything under the bright silk.
  
  
  When they reached the end of the junk, the man jumped on board, then reached out to help hey.
  
  
  In Cantonese, the woman asked:: "You haven't heard from Yong yet?"
  
  
  "No," the man replied in the same dialect. "Perhaps tomorrow he will complete his mission."
  
  
  "Probably nothing," the woman snapped. "Maybe he went the way of the Ossa."
  
  
  "Ossa..." the man began.
  
  
  "Ossa was a fool. You're a fool, Lin. I should have known her better before leading the operation surrounded by fools."
  
  
  "But we're dedicated!"
  
  
  The woman said: "Louder, they can't hear you in Victoria. You're an idiot. A newborn baby devotes itself to feeding itself, but does not know how to do anything. You're a newborn baby, and you're also lame.
  
  
  "If I ever see this..."
  
  
  "You will either run away or die. He's just one person. One person! And you're all like frightened rabbits. Even now, he might be on his way to a woman and a boy. He can't wait long."
  
  
  "He'll be..."
  
  
  "He probably killed Yong. I thought that around all of you, at least Yun will succeed."
  
  
  "Sheila, her ..."
  
  
  "So you want to lay your hands on me? We are waiting for Yonggu until tomorrow. If he's not back by tomorrow night, we'll load up and leave. She would have liked to meet this man who scared you all. Lin! You're pawing me like a puppy. Great. Come into the cabin and I'll make you half human."
  
  
  Nick had already heard what was coming next many times. Emu didn't need to freeze in the icy cold to hear it again. He dived and moved along the bottom of the barge until he reached the bow. Then he filled his lungs with air and started walking back to the sampan.
  
  
  The sun had almost set when he went over to take another breath of sampling air. Four minutes later, he passed under the first row of sampans again and returned to his borrowed one. He boarded and dried himself in his business suit, rubbing his skin vigorously. Even after it dried, it took the emu a while to stop shivering. He pulled the boat almost to its full length and closed his eyes. Emu needs sleep. Since Yoon was the dead person in Nick's room, it was unlikely that he would show up tomorrow. This will continue for Nick at least until tomorrow night. He had to figure out how to get on that barge. But now he was tired. This cold water drained the ego's strength. He pulled away from himself, letting the swaying sampan take his ego away. He'll start tomorrow. He will be well rested and ready for anything. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Thursday. It had up to a person. Time passed quickly.
  
  
  Nick jerked awake. For a moment, he didn't know where he was coming from. He heard the soft splash of water on the side of the sampan. The boat! Is the boat still in the harbor?" Perhaps the woman, Sheila, had changed her mind. Now the police knew about Yoon. Maybe it got out.
  
  
  He sat up stiffly from his hard bed and looked across the bar ferry port. The large ships of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs changed their positions in the harbor again. They played this game with their noses pointed in the direction of Victoria. The sun sat high, twinkling in the sky. Nick saw the barge, its stern turned toward the harbor. There was no sign of life on board.
  
  
  Nick made a handful of rice. He-el-lynx and a can of string beans with his fingers. When he's finished, he advertises the ninety Hong Kong dollars he took off the suit into an empty jar, then puts the jar back where he found it. Most likely, passengers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If sampan didn't come back, but if they did, he would at least pay for his room and board.
  
  
  Nick leaned back in the sampan and lit one around his cigarettes. The day is almost over. All emu had to do was wait until nightfall.
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  Nick waited in the sampan until it was dark. Lights glittered along the harbor, and beyond it he could see the lights of Kowloon. The junk was now out of ego's sight. He didn't see any traffic on nen all day. But, of course, he waited long after midnight.
  
  
  He wrapped Wilhelmina and Hugo in the tower's clothing, which was now tied to Ego's waist. He didn't have a plastic bag, so the emu had to hold his clothes around the water. Pierre, a tiny gas bomb, the bomb was taped with explicit egos under his left armpit.
  
  
  The sampans around him were dark and silent. Nick plunged back into the icy water. He moved in a slow sideways swing, holding the bundle over his head. He walked between two sampans in the front row, then headed for the open door. The traffic was slow, and he made sure there was no splashing. Once outside the ferry, he turned straight ahead. Now he could see the dark shape of the barge. There were no lights. After passing the ferry dock, he headed straight for the bow of the barge. When he reached it, he hung on to the anchor break and rested. Now the emu needs to be very careful.
  
  
  Nick climbed the smash until Ego's feet were out of the water. Then, using the bundle as a towel, he wiped his feet and legs. Do not leave wet footprints on the deck. He clambered over the bow rail and dropped noiselessly to the deck. He bowed his head and listened. Hearing nothing, he dressed quietly, tucked Wilhelmina into the waistband of his trousers, and held Hugo in his hand. Crouching low, he moved down the path on the left side of the cabin. He noticed that the boat was missing. When he reached the aft deck, he saw three sleeping bodies. If Sheila and Ling were on board, Nick thought, they'd probably be in the cabin. These three should be a team. Nick stepped easily between them. There was no wall covering the front of the cab, just a small arched space. Nick stuck his head in, listening and watching. He couldn't hear any breathing except for the three behind him; he couldn't see anything. He went inside.
  
  
  To his left were three bunks, one on top of the other. To his right was a washstand and a stove. Behind it was a long chair with benches on either side. The mast passed through the center of the chair. Two portholes on each side of the cabin. There was a door behind the desk, probably a goal. There was no place to hide in the emu hut. The food cabinets were too small. All the open spaces along the bulkhead were clearly visible throughout the cabin. Nick looked down. There will be a place under the main deck. They would probably use it for their meals. Nick decided that Luke would be somewhere near the headboard. He moved cautiously across the table and opened the door to the head.
  
  
  The toilet was installed flush with the deck on the eastern model and too small for the hatch below. Nick stepped back into the main cabin, scanning the deck with his eyes.
  
  
  There was enough moonlight to make out the silhouettes. He leaned in as he backed away, his fingers sliding lightly across the deck. He found a crack between the bunks and the washstand. He ran his hands through the squares, found a finger lift, and slowly climbed up. The hatch was hinged and well used. When he opened it, it only let out a small squeak. The opening was about three feet square. It was pitch black below. Nick knew that the bottom of the junk couldn't be more than four feet down. He swung his legs over the edge and lowered himself. It only came down to chest level before ego's feet hit bottom. Nick crouched down, closing the hatch behind him. All he could hear now was the light splashing of water against the sides of the junk. He knew that when they were ready to move, they would load supplies on board. And they probably feed on ih in this place.
  
  
  Using his hands to guide his ego, Nick moved aft. The darkness was absolute; he had to act strictly by touch. All he found was a furled spare sail. He went back. If there was nothing in front of the hatch, he could climb into the sail. But they will probably want to move the ego to the store. He should have found something better.
  
  
  In front of the hatch, he found five tethered crates. Working as quietly as possible, Nick untied the crates and positioned ih so that there was a clear space behind them, and enough top-to-ceiling space for ih to crawl through. Then he tied up strong ih again. The crates weren't too heavy, and because of the darkness, he couldn't read what was in them. Probably query products. Nick crawled over them and into his own small space. Em had to sit with his knees on his chest. He tucked Hugo into one of the crates within easy reach and put Wilhelmina between her legs. He leaned back, his ears trying to catch a glimpse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  catch every noise. All he could hear was water hitting the side of the junk. Then he heard something else. It was a light scratching sound. A chill ran through his body.
  
  
  The rats!
  
  
  Sickly, dirty, larger ones have been known to attack men. Nick had no idea how much ih there was. The scratching seemed to surround him. And it was blocked into the darkness. If only he could see! Then he realized what they were doing. They clawed at the boxes around it, trying to get to the top. They were probably starving themselves in pursuit of ego. Nick had Hugo in his hand. He knew he was taking a risk, but he felt trapped. He pulled out a lighter and lit the flame. For a moment, he was blinded by the light, then he saw the two around them at the top of the box.
  
  
  They were as big as street cats. The whiskers on ih's long pointed noses quivered around side to side. They looked down at him with slanted black eyes that glittered in the flame of the lighter. The lighter was too hot. It fell to the deck and went out. Nick felt something furry fall into the emu's lap. He slapped Hugo on it, hearing the click of teeth on the blade. Then the thing was between his legs. He kept poking at it while Hugo's free hand wanted a lighter. Something tugged at his pant leg. Nick found a lighter and quickly lit it. The rat's jagged teeth snagged on ego's pant leg. He shook his head back and forth, snapping his jaws. Nick hit him in the side with the ego stiletto. He hit his ego again. And again. The rat's teeth came loose and the blade snapped. Nick stuck the stilettos in hey, life, then shoved them into the face of another rat that was about to jump. The two rats crossed the crate and came down the other side. The scratches stopped. Nick could hear the others scurrying over to the dead rat, then quarreling over-nah. Nick started. One or two more may be killed during the paint job, but it's not enough to last long. They'll be back.
  
  
  He closed the lighter and wiped the blood from Hugo's blade on his pants. Through the hatch crack, he could see the morning Brylev.
  
  
  Two hours passed before Nick heard movement on the deck. Ego's legs fell asleep; he couldn't feel ih anymore. There were footsteps above him, and the smell of cooking faded. He tried to change his position, but he didn't seem to be able to move.
  
  
  He spent most of the morning dozing. The pain in my spine was lessened by my ego's incredible ability to concentrate. He couldn't sleep, because even though they were silent, the rats were still with him. From time to time, he could hear one around them bustling before one around the crates. He hated the thought of spending another night alone with them.
  
  
  Nick thought it must have been around noon when he heard the dinghy hit the side of the junk. Two more pairs of feet crossed the deck above him. There were muffled voices, but he couldn't understand what was being said. Then, he heard the diesel engine slowly turning as it walked next to the trash. The props were turned over, and he heard a thud on the deck. Another boat came alongside. Feet fumbled on the deck above him. There was a loud clang, like a board falling. Then there were repeated thuds. Nick knew what it was. They put down supplies. The junk was getting ready to move. He and the rats will soon have company.
  
  
  It took about an hour to get everything on board. Then the diesel starts up again, revs up, and the sound slowly fades away. Suddenly, the hatch swung open, and Nick's hideout was flooded with bright light. He could hear the rats running for cover. The air was cool and refreshing as it flowed in. He heard the woman speak in Chinese.
  
  
  "Hurry up," she said. "I want us to be on our way before dark."
  
  
  "The police probably have it." It was just like Lin.
  
  
  "Calm down, silly. The police don't have egos. He goes to the woman and the boy. We have to get there before he does."
  
  
  The Odin around the crew members was a few feet away from Nick. The other was outside the hatch, collecting crates on the third and passing ih. And what boxes! Smaller ones were placed around the hatch where they would be easily accessible. They had products, queries, and the like. But there weren't many of them. Most of the boxes were labeled in Chinese, and Nick could read Chinese well enough to understand what they contained. Some were equipped with grenades, but most had ammunition. They must have an army guarding Katie Lou and the boy, Nick thought. Sheila and Ling must have come out of the hut; ih voices were muffled again.
  
  
  By the time the crew had dropped all the crates, the saint was almost extinguished. Everything was cleaned up behind the hatch. They didn't even approach Nick's hideout. Finally, it was done. The last crewman got out and slammed the hatch shut. Nick was back in total darkness.
  
  
  The dark air smelled strongly of new crates. Nick heard the sound of feet on the deck. The pulley creaked.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sail must have been hoisted, he thought. Then he heard the clank of an anchor breaking. The wooden bulkheads creaked. The speedboat seemed to be floating on & nb. They were moving.
  
  
  Most likely, they will head to Kwangzhou. Either there, or somewhere on the banks of the Canton River, they had a professor's wife and son. Nick tried to imagine the countryside along the Canton River. It was a flat area with a tropical forest. That didn't tell emu anything. Guangzhou, he recalled, lay in the northeastern delta of the Chiang Mai River. In this area, a maze of streams and canals flowed between small rice fields. Each one was dotted with villages.
  
  
  The boat rolled very quietly across the harbor. Nick sensed it as they walked up the Canton River. The forward movement seemed to slow down, but the water sounded like it was rushing along the sides of the barges. The pitching has become a bit sharper.
  
  
  Nick knew he couldn't stay where he was any longer. He was sitting in a puddle of his own bank. He began to drink, and his ego growled with hunger. The rats were hungry too, and they didn't forget the ego.
  
  
  He heard ih scratching for over an hour. The new crates had to be examined and chewed first. But getting to the food inside was too difficult. It was always there, warm from the smell of blood on his pants. So they came for him.
  
  
  Nick listened as the ih scratches on the crates grew taller. He could tell exactly how high they were climbing. And he didn't want to waste lighter fluid. He knew the emu would need it. Then he felt the ihs in the boxes, first one, then the other. Holding Hugo in his hand, he made a flame into a lighter. He lifted the lighter and saw ih's sharp, mustachioed noses in front of ih's black, glittering eyes. He counted five, then seven, and more boxes reached to the top. The ego of adding up the dollar beat faster. One will be bolder than the others, make the first move. He'll keep an eye on it. Ego the wait was short-lived.
  
  
  One of them moved forward, putting his feet on the end of the crate. Nick held the flame of the lighter to his mustachioed nose and poked Hugh with the point. The stiletto tore out the rat's right eye, and it fell. The others jumped on him, almost before he could get down from the other side of the box. He could hear them fighting over it. The flame in Nick's lighter went out. No more liquid.
  
  
  Killmaster had to leave this position. Now that he had run out of lighter fluid, he was trapped without protection. There was no sensation in his legs; he couldn't get up. When the rats finish off their friend, he'll be next. There was only one chance. He shoved Wilhelmina back in for the belt and clamped Hugo between his teeth. He wanted the stiletto handy. He hooked his fingers around the top box and pulled as hard as he could. He lifted his elbows from above, then his chest. He tried to kick his legs to improve circulation, but they wouldn't move. Using his hands and elbows, he crawled over the top of the crates and down the other side. He could hear the rats next to him chewing and scratching. Now Nick crawled along the bottom of the hull to one of the food crates.
  
  
  Using Hugo as a crowbar, he broke one around the crates and climbed inside. This is a gift. Peaches and bananas. Nick pulled out a bunch of bananas and three peaches. He began tossing and dropping the remaining square blocks for Luke between and around the crates for grenades and ammunition. He could hear the rats running after him. He-ale-hungered, but slowly; there was no point in getting sick. When he was done, he began to rub his feet. At first they tingled, then they felt pain. The feeling returned slowly. He strained and flexed his ihs, and soon they were strong enough to withstand Alenka's ego.
  
  
  Then he heard the powerful engine of another boat; it looked like an old PT boat. The sound grew closer until Stahl was at his side. Nick walked over to the hatch. He pressed it to his ear, trying to hear. But the voices were muffled, and the idling engine drowned out the ih. He thought about lifting the hatch a little, but one of the crew members might be in the cockpit. It must be a patrol boat, he thought.
  
  
  He had to remember this because he planned to return this way. The patrol boat stayed for more than an hour. Nick wondered if they were going to search the barge. Of course. Heavy shaggy footsteps sounded on the deck above him. Nick now had full use of his legs. He dreaded the thought of returning to the enclosed space, but it seemed that the emu would have to do it. Heavy shaggy were on the aft deck. Nick relieved himself on one of the ammunition crates, then climbed over the crates to his small hiding place. He shoved Hugo into the box in front of him. Wilhelmina was once again caught between Nog's egos. Emu needed a shave, and his body stank, but he felt much better.
  
  
  There was a lot of conversation during the search, but Nick couldn't hear the words. He heard what sounded like laughter. Maybe the Sheila woman was trying to cheat
  
  
  
  
  
  
  customs officers, so that they do not see, grenades and ammunition. The barge was anchored, and the patrol boat's engines were turned off.
  
  
  Suddenly, morning light flooded Nick's hideout as the hatch opened. A flashlight beam shone around him.
  
  
  "What's down here?" A man's voice asked in Chinese.
  
  
  "Just supplies," Sheila replied.
  
  
  A pair of legs fell through the hatch. They were wearing the uniform of the Chinese Regular Army. Then the rifle entered, followed by the rest of the soldiers. He shone the flashlight on Nick and turned his back. The beam fell on an open crate of groceries. Three rats flew around the cage when Sergey hit them.
  
  
  "You have rats," the soldier said. Then the beam hit grenades and ammunition casings. "Aha! What do we have here? he asked.
  
  
  From the top of the open hatch, Sheila said:: "It's for the soldiers in the village. I told you about them ... "
  
  
  The soldier moved on his haunches. "But why so many?"he asked. "There aren't many soldiers."
  
  
  "We expect trouble," Sheila said.
  
  
  "I'll have to report it." He crawled back through the open hatch. "The rats opened Odin and will meet your food crates," he said shortly before the hatch slammed shut again.
  
  
  Nick could no longer hear what the voices were saying. Ego's legs started to fall asleep again. There were a few more minutes of muffled conversation, then the pulley creaked and the anchor chain began to clank again. The junk seemed to strain against the mast. Powerful engines fired, and the patrol boat pulled away. Water gushed out over the sides and bottom of the trash. They were on their way again.
  
  
  So they were waiting for him in some village. He felt as if he was being tossed tiny bits of information. He had already learned a lot with them ferret as he boarded the barge. But the most important "where" still eluded him. Nick snuggled up against his chest on the crates so that his legs were straight. He worked with them until the feeling returned. Then he sat down again. If he could do this from time to time, it might keep the ego legs awake. So far, the rats seemed content with an open crate of food.
  
  
  He heard shaggy approaching the hatch. The door opened and daylight flooded in. Nick had Hugo in his hand. Odin around the crew members sunset. He held a machete in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Crouching low, he crawled toward the open food crate. Ego holy Lord struck down two rats. When they tried to run away, the man cut ih in half with two quick punches. He looked around and demanded the rats. When he didn't see anything, he started stuffing his gift back into the drawer. When he had cleared the area around him, he reached for the splintered board that Nick had torn from the crate. I started replacing it, then stopped.
  
  
  He ran a beam of light along the edge of the board. Ego's face had a deep frown. He ran his thumb along the edge, then looked down at the two dead rats. He knew the rats hadn't opened the box. A ray of light flashed everywhere. It settled on the ammunition crates, and Nick calmed down around them. The man started checking the boxes. First, he looked around in the crates of grenades and ammunition. Finding nothing, he untied the crates of food, pushed the ih licks together, and tied them again. Then he turned to Nick's drawers. Working quickly, his fingers untied the knots that held the boxes together. Nick had prepared Hugo. The man pulled the ropes around the crates, then pulled the top box down. When he saw Nick, his eyebrows rose in surprise.
  
  
  "Yes!" he shouted, and turned the machete again.
  
  
  Nick lunged forward, driving the stiletto blade into the man's throat. The man gurgled, dropped his flashlight and machete, and backed away, blood spurting around the open wound.
  
  
  Nick started with the crates. The junk rolled out of the way, and the crates toppled over, and Ego was thrown against the bulkhead. He looked up and saw a woman's hand with a small-caliber submachine gun pointed at him through the hatch opening.
  
  
  In perfect American, Sheila said, " Welcome aboard, honey. We've been waiting for you.
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  It took Nick a moment to fully feel his legs. He paced the aft deck, taking deep breaths of fresh air, while Sheila watched his every move with her tiny automatic. Lin moved to stand next to the woman. Even he had an old army one .45. Nick estimated the time to be around noon. He watched as two other crewmen pulled their comrade through the hatch and threw the body overboard. He smiled. The rats did well.
  
  
  Then Nick turned to the woman. "I'd like a hotel, get cleaned up and shave," he said.
  
  
  She looked up at him with a glint in her cold emerald eyes. "Of course," she replied to his smile. "Would you like something to eat?"
  
  
  Nick nodded.
  
  
  Lin said, "We kill," in less than perfect English. There was hatred in his eyes.
  
  
  Nick thought that Lyn didn't like ego very much. He went into the cabin and poured water into the washstand. The couple sat in the back
  
  
  
  
  
  
  both guns are aimed at the emu's back. Hugo and Wilhelmina were on the table. The barges bounced up and down the river.
  
  
  When Nick started shaving, Sheila said: "I guess we should finish the formalities. Her name is Sheila Kwan. My stupid friend's name is Lin. You are, of course, the infamous Mr. Wilson. What's your name?" "
  
  
  "Chris," Nick said. He kept his back to them as he shaved.
  
  
  "Ah, yes. Another of Professor Loo's. But we both know that's not your real name, don't we?
  
  
  "And you?"
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. Either way, we'll have to kill you. You see, Chris, you were a naughty boy. First the Ossa, then the big one, and then the Young one. And poor Lin will never be able to fully use his arm again. You know, you're a dangerous person? "
  
  
  "We kill," Lin said with feeling.
  
  
  "Later, a pet. Later."
  
  
  Nick asked: "Where did you learn to speak American like that?"
  
  
  "You noticed," Sheila said. "How nice. Yes, I was educated in the States. But I was gone for so long that I thought I'd forgotten some phrases. Do they still ferret words like fabulous, cool and dig? "
  
  
  Nick finished with the washstand. He turned to face the couple and nodded. "West Coast, isn't it?" he asked. "California?"
  
  
  She smiled cheerfully in her green eyes. "Very good!" she said.
  
  
  Nick clicked on nah. "Isn't this Berkeley?" he asked.
  
  
  Her smile turned into a smirk. "Excellent!" she said. "I certainly understand why they sent you. You're smart. Her eyes doused ego with approval. "And very nice to watch. It's been a long time since I've had a big American ferret.
  
  
  Lin said, " We kill, we kill!"
  
  
  Nick nodded at the man. "Doesn't he know anything?"
  
  
  In Chinese, Sheila told Lin to leave the hut. He argued with her for a bit, but when she told em that it was an order, he reluctantly left. Odin placed a bowl of hot rice on a chair around the sailors. Sheila gathered Hugo and Wilhelmina and handed ih to Ling outside the hut. Then she motioned for Nick to sit down and eat.
  
  
  As long as Nick was ale, he knew that he would soon be given rheumatism by another corkscrew. Sheila sat down on the bench across from him.
  
  
  "What happened between you and John?" Nick asked.
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. The machine gun was still pointed at him. "I think you can say that I'm not in the ego type. I loved going to college, she absolutely loved American men. Her sleeping with them was too much for him. He's a hotel, someone more permanent. I think he got what he wanted."
  
  
  "You mean Katie?"
  
  
  She nodded. "She's more of an ego type - quiet, reserved. I keep the money, when they got married, she was a virgin. I'll have to ask her.
  
  
  Nick asked: "How long were you with him?"
  
  
  "I don't know, probably a month or two."
  
  
  "Long enough to know that he's thinking about the idea of a complex."
  
  
  She smiled again. "Well, I was sent there to study."
  
  
  Nick finished his lynx and pushed the bowl away. He lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes. Sheila took the proffered ey, and just as he was about to light her a cigarette, he knocked out a small automatic rifle around Nah's arm. He slid off the chair and bounced off the floor. Nick reached out to pick it up, but stopped before Ego's hand could touch it. Lin stood in the doorway of the cabin, a .45 in his hand.
  
  
  "I kill," he said, cocking the gun.
  
  
  "No!" exclaimed Sheila. "Not yet. She quickly stepped between Nick and Ling. To Nick she said: "That wasn't very smart, baby. You're not going to make us tie you up, are you?" She tossed Ling her small submachine gun and in Chinese told emu to wait outside the hut for frank. She promised em that very soon em would be allowed to kill Nick.
  
  
  Lin grunted and disappeared out of sight.
  
  
  Sheila was sitting in front of Nick, adjusting her tight lavender dress. Her legs were slightly apart, and the silk stuck to her body as if it was wet. Nick knew now that there was nothing underneath. Hoarsely she said: "I don't want him to take you until I'm done with you." It ended with her palms exposed under her breasts. "I should be pretty good."
  
  
  "I'll bet you do," Nick said. "What about your boyfriend? He wants to see me dead enough.
  
  
  Nick was standing by one of the bunks. Sheila went over to lick him, pressing her body against his. He felt a fire burning inside him.
  
  
  "I can handle him," she said in a hoarse whisper. She moved her hands under ego's shirt to ego's chest. "I haven't been kissed by an American in a very long time."
  
  
  Nick pressed his lips to hers. He pressed his lips to hers. Ego's hand rested on her back and then slowly slid down. She came up to him and licked him.
  
  
  "How many other agents are working with you?" she whispered in Emu's ear.
  
  
  Nick kissed her neck, her throat. Ego's hands moved to her chest. "I didn't hear the question," he replied in an equally low whisper.
  
  
  She tensed and feebly tried to push away. Her breathing was heavy. "I need to know," she said.
  
  
  Nick held her close. Ego's hand slid under her chemise, touching her bare flesh. Slowly, he began to pick up his shift.
  
  
  "Later," she said hoarsely. "You're her
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I'll tell you about it later when you know how good it is."
  
  
  Nick gently laid her down on the bed and finished removing her shirt.
  
  
  She was good, good. Her body was spotless and thin-boned. She snuggled up to him and moaned into his ear. She writhed with him and pressed her hard, beautiful breasts against his chest. And when she reached the top of the mountain, she scratched ego's back with her long fingernails, almost sitting up from her bunk, biting the lobe of ego's ear with her teeth. Then she fell limply beneath him, eyes closed, hands at her sides. As Nick was about to climb around the bunk, Lin came in, his face red with rage.
  
  
  He didn't say a word to us, but went straight to work. .45 was Nick's goal in life. He scolded Nick in Chinese.
  
  
  Kids in Chinese Sheila ordered emu around in the gym. She was alive again, pulling her shirt over her head.
  
  
  "Who do you think he is?" Lin retorted in his Cantonese.
  
  
  "You are what I say you are. You don't own me, and you don't control me. Get out."
  
  
  "But with this... a spy, this foreign agent."
  
  
  "Po!" she ordered it. "Get out! I'll tell you when you can kill the ego.
  
  
  Lin gritted his teeth and stomped all over the cabin.
  
  
  Sheila looked up at Nick, smiling slightly. Ee sticks turned red. Her emerald eyes were still full of satisfaction. She smoothed her silk shirt and straightened her hair.
  
  
  Nick sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. Sheila came over and sat down across from him.
  
  
  "I loved it," she said. "It's a pity that we have to kill you. I can easily get used to you. However, I can't play games with you anymore. Again, how many agents work with you? "
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "I'm alone."
  
  
  Sheila smiled, shaking her head. "It's hard to believe that one person did everything you have. But it is permissible, you are telling the truth. What did you hope to achieve by sneaking aboard?
  
  
  The barge stopped rocking. It ran on a smooth surface. Nick couldn't see the outside of the hut, but he figured they'd be entering a small harbor at Whampoa or Huangpu, votum votum. Big ships would pass through here. It was as far upriver as a large ship could go. Ego estimated that they were about twelve miles away from Guangzhou.
  
  
  "I've been waiting," Sheila said.
  
  
  Nick said: "You know why she sneaked aboard. I told you I work alone. If you don't believe me, then don't believe me.
  
  
  "Of course, you can't expect me to believe that your government will send one person to save John's wife and boy."
  
  
  "You can believe what you want." Nick wants to go on deck. He could see where they were going on Whampoa. "Do you think your boyfriend will shoot me if I try to stretch her legs?"
  
  
  Sheila tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She studied him. "I guess," she said. "But I'll go with you." As he started to get up, she said, " You know, honey, it would be much nicer if you were here to answer my questions. When we get to where we're going, it's not going to be pleasant."
  
  
  The late afternoon sun dipped around dark rain clouds as Nick stepped out onto the deck. Two crew members were walking forward, checking the depth of the river. Ling's ugly .45-caliber eye followed Nick closely. He was on the steering wheel.
  
  
  Nick walked to the port side, tossed his cigarette into the river, and looked out at the passing bank.
  
  
  They were moving away from Whampoa and the big ships. They passed small sampans with entire families, men sweating as they worked against the current. At this rate, Nick figured it would take them another full day to get to Kwangzhou, if that was where they were going. It will be tomorrow. What happened tomorrow? Sunday! He had just over forty-eight hours to find Kathy Lu and her mother and bring ih back to Hong Kong. This meant that the emu would have to halve its travel time.
  
  
  He felt Sheila standing next to him, running her fingers lightly over his arm. Nah had other plans for him. He glanced at Ling. Ling had other plans for him. It didn't look very good.
  
  
  Sheila wrapped her arms around Ego's arm, pressing her chest against it. "I'm bored," she said softly. "Entertain me."
  
  
  Ling's .45-caliber nose followed Nick's back as he walked with Sheila into the cabin. Once inside, Nick said: "Do you enjoy torturing this guy?"
  
  
  Linga? "She started unbuttoning ego's shirt. "He knows his place." She ran her hands through the hair on his chest.
  
  
  Nick said: "It doesn't take long for an emu to start shooting at its own rifle."
  
  
  She looked at him, smiled, and ran her wet tongue over her lips. "Then you'd better do as I say."
  
  
  Nick thought he could take Ling if he needed to. Two crew members won't be a problem. But he still didn't know where they were going. It would be easier if he went along with this woman until they reached their destination.
  
  
  "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
  
  
  Sheila sat away from him until she took off her nightgown. She untied the bun behind her head, and her hair fell over her shoulders. It came almost before
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ee waistline. Then she unbuttoned ego's pants and let them fall to his ankles.
  
  
  "Lin!" she called.
  
  
  Lin immediately appeared at the entrance of the hut.
  
  
  First, Sheila said: "Look at him. Maybe you'll learn something. But if he doesn't do as I say, shoot him."
  
  
  Nick thought he saw the smile at the corners of rta Ling's mouth.
  
  
  Sheila walked over to the cot and sat on the edge, legs spread. "On your knees, American," she ordered.
  
  
  The hair on the back of Nick's neck stood up. Gritting his teeth, he fell to his knees.
  
  
  "Now come to me, baby," Sheila said.
  
  
  If he turned to the left, he could knock the gun out around Ling's arm. But what then? He doubted anyone would use them to tell emu where they were going, even if he tried to force it out on them. He had to agree with this woman.
  
  
  "Lin!" said Sheila threateningly.
  
  
  Lin took a step forward, pointing the gun at Nick's head.
  
  
  Nick began to crawl toward the woman. He walked over to her and as he did as she ordered, he heard Lin chuckle softly.
  
  
  Sheila's breathing became ragged. In Chinese, she said, " See, Lin, dear? Will you see what it does? He's preparing me for you." Then she sat down on the cot. "Quick, Lin," she breathed. "Tie the ego to the mast."
  
  
  With the gun, Lin motioned Nick to a chair. He obeyed gratefully. He sat down on the chair itself, putting his feet up on the bench. He wrapped his arms around the mast. Ling put down the .45 and quickly and firmly bound Nick's hands.
  
  
  "Hurry up, dear," Sheila called. "Its close."
  
  
  Ling put the gun under the bunk and hurriedly undressed. Then he joined Sheila on the bunk.
  
  
  Nick stared at them with a bitter taste in his mouth. Lin did it with the grim determination of a woodcutter chopping down a tree. If em liked it, he didn't show it. Sheila hugged ego to her chest, whispering in emu's ear. The cabin darkened as the sun set. Nick could smell the wetness in the air. It was cold. He wants nen to wear pants.
  
  
  When they were done, they fell asleep. Nick didn't sleep until he heard one of the crew snoring in the stern. The other was at the tiller, working with the rudder. Nick could barely see Ego through the cabin entrance. Even he nodded in his sleep.
  
  
  Nick dozed for about an hour. Then he heard Sheila wake Ling up for another attempt. Lin groaned in protest, but did as the woman wished. It took him longer than the first time, and when he finished, he literally passed out. The hut was now in darkness. Nick could only hear ih. The barges bobbed upriver.
  
  
  When Nick woke up again, dawn was hazy. He felt something fuzzy touch the sticks ' egos. There were no feelings in the ego's hands. The rope wrapped tightly around the ego's wrists cut off the circulation, but there was a sensation in other parts of the ego's body. And he felt Sheila's hand on him. Her long raven hair slid back and forth across Ego's face.
  
  
  "I was afraid I'd have to wake up someone around the team," she whispered when he opened his eyes.
  
  
  Nick said nothing. She looked like a little girl with long hair flowing down her fragile face. Her naked body was strong and well-built. But the hard green eyes always gave her away. She was a tough woman.
  
  
  She stood on a chair, a bench, and gently ran her breasts over Ego's face. "You need to shave," she said. "I'd like her to untie you, but I don't think Ling has the strength to hold a gun on you."
  
  
  With her hand on nen and her chest lightly touching the ego sticks. Nick couldn't control the fire inside him.
  
  
  "That's better," she said, smiling. "It might be a little awkward with your hands tied, but we'll manage, won't we, honey?"
  
  
  And despite himself and his dislike of her, Em liked it. The woman was insatiable, but she knew men. She knew what they liked and provided for it.
  
  
  When she was done with it, she stepped back and allowed her eyes to fully sink into it. Her tiny tummy was moving back and forth because of her heavy breathing. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and said, " I think I'll pay her when we have to kill you." Then she picked up a .45 and woke Lin up. He rolled out of his bunk and stumbled after her across the cabin to the aft deck.
  
  
  They stayed there all morning, leaving Nick tied to the mast. From what Nick could see through the cabin entrance, they had entered the delta south of Guangzhou. The area was dotted with rice fields and canals running off the river. Sheila and Ling had a diagram. They alternately studied the ego and the right bank. They passed many junks and even more sampans. The sun was hazy and did little to warm the chill in the air.
  
  
  Funk crossed the delta and launched one around the canals. Sheila seemed pleased with the course and rolled up the chart.
  
  
  Nick was untied, and Emu was allowed to button up his shirt and put on his pants. Emu Li has a bowl of rice and two bananas. Lin kept a .45-caliber pistol with him at all times. When he was done, he went out to
  
  
  
  
  
  
  aft deck. Lin stayed two feet behind him. Nick spent the day on the starboard side, smoking cigarettes and watching the action. From time to time, he caught the eye of a Chinese regular soldier. He knew they were coming. After lunch, Sheila slept in the cabin. Obviously, in one day, Nah had all the sex she needed.
  
  
  The barge passed mimmo two villages filled with flimsy bamboo huts. Passing mimmo, the residents did not pay attention. It was dusk when Nick Stahl noticed more and more soldiers on the beach. They were looking at the barge with interest, as if they had expected this.
  
  
  When it got dark, Nick noticed Sergei lighting up ahead. Sheila joined them on deck. As they approached Lick, Nick noticed lights illuminating the dock. Soldiers were everywhere. It was another village that was different from the others they had seen, because this one had an electric blessing. As far as Nick could see, the bamboo huts were lit by lanterns as they approached the dock. There were two electric lights on either side of the panel, and the path between the huts was lit by lines of lights.
  
  
  Greedy hands grabbed the abandoned cable as the boat approached the dock. The sail is down, the anchor is down. Sheila held Nick at gunpoint with her small submachine gun as she ordered Ling to tie Emu's hands behind his back. They installed a bar connecting the barge to the pier. Soldiers crowded into the huts, some standing around Port bar and watching. They were all heavily armed. As Nick stepped off the barge, two soldiers followed him. Sheila was talking to one of the soldiers. When Lin was in the lead, the soldiers behind Nick gave Ego a little push, forcing him to move. He followed Ling.
  
  
  As he passed through the row of lights, he noticed five huts: three on the left and two on the right. The string of lights running down the center seemed to be connected to some kind of generator at the end of the huts. He could hear it humming. The three huts to his left were filled with soldiers. The two to his right were dark and empty. Three soldiers stood guard at the door of the second one. Could this be where Katie Lou and the boy are? Nick remembered that. Of course, this can also be a bait. Oni egos were waiting. Ego held a mimmo of all the huts. Nick didn't notice until they actually got to the structure. It was located behind the huts and was a low rectangular concrete building. It will be hard to see in the dark. Ling led ego up seven cement steps to what looked like a steel door. Nick heard the generator almost directly behind him. Lin pulled out a bunch of keys around his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open, and the group entered the building. Nick could smell the musty, wet smell of rotting flesh. Ego was led down a narrow, unlit corridor. There were steel walls on both sides. Lin stopped in front of one of the small doors. With the other key in his ring, he unlocked the door. Nick's hands were untied and Ego was shoved into a cell. The door slammed shut behind him, and he found himself in total darkness.
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  Nick walked around his booth, touching the walls.
  
  
  Us cracks, our cracks, only solid concrete. And the floor was the same as the walls. The roosters on steel day were outside and covered in concrete. You can't escape around the camera. The silence was so complete that he could hear his own breathing. He sat down in the corner and lit one around his cigarettes. Since his lighter had run out of fuel, he took a box of matches from the barge. Only two cigarettes left.
  
  
  He smoked, watching the smouldering ember of the cigarette's ego glow with each drag. "Sunday night," he thought, " and there was only one man left until midnight." He still hasn't found Kathy Lou and the boy's mother.
  
  
  Then he heard Sheila Kwan's soft voice, sounding like it was coming from around the walls.
  
  
  "Nick Carter," she said. "You don't work alone. How many others work with you? When will they be here? "
  
  
  Silence. Nick stubbed out the last of his cigarette. Suddenly, the camera lit up. Nick blinked, his eyes watering. In the center of the ceiling was a lighted light bulb, protected by a small wire grating. As Nick's eyes adjusted to the bright light, the saint went out. He estimated that it must have been about twenty seconds. Now he was in the dark again. He rubbed his eyes. The sound rang out again around the walls. It sounded like a train whistle. Gradually, it grew louder, as if the train was approaching the digital cameras. The sound grew louder and louder until it became a squeal. Just when Nick thought it would pass, the sound cut off. He calculated that in about thirty seconds. Then Sheila spoke to him again.
  
  
  "Professor Lu wants to join us," she said. "There's nothing you can do to prevent it." There was a click. Then " Nick Carter. You don't work alone. How many others work with you? When will they be here? "
  
  
  It was a recording. Nick waited for Brylev to light up. But instead, he got a train whistle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  and gain. This time it was even louder. And the screeching started to hurt my ears. When he put his hands on them and the sound stopped. He was sweating profusely. He knew what they were trying to do. It was an I try Chinese trick of torture. They used their egos against the soldiers in Korea. It was a process of mental breakdown. Make the brain look like a cashew, and then sculpt it as you want. He could tell them that he was alone before the rice harvest, but they don't trust emu. The irony was that there was little protection from this kind of torture. The ability to endure pain was useless. They passed the body and shot him right in the brain.
  
  
  Sergey lit up again. Nick's eyes were watering from the glare. This time, Sergei only burned for ten seconds. It went out. Nick's shirt was soaked with sweat. He had to come up with some sort of defense. He was already waiting, waiting, waiting. Will it be Sergey?
  
  
  A whistle? Or Sheila's voice? It was impossible to judge what was coming, or how long it would last. But he knew he had to do something.
  
  
  The whistle is no longer far away. It immediately became high and loud. Nick went to work. Ego, the brain hasn't turned into cashews yet. He tore a large strip from his shirt. It lit up like a saint, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. When it worked again, he took the torn part of his shirt and tore it again into five smaller strips. He tore the two strips of cordon in half again and crumpled them into tight little balls. He stuck four balls in his ears, two apiece.
  
  
  When the whistle blew, he could barely hear it. Of the three remaining strips, he placed two through them on the loose pads and inserted it into his eyes. He tied a third strip around his head to keep the pads in place. He was blind and deaf. He leaned back in his concrete corner, smiling. By touch, he lit another cigarette. He knew they could take all his clothes off, but even now, he was stalling for time.
  
  
  They turned up the volume of the whistle, but the sound was so muffled that it didn't bother him. If it was Sheila's voice, he didn't hear it. He was almost finished with his cigarette when they came for him.
  
  
  He didn't hear the door open, but he could smell fresh air sampling. And he felt the presence of others on digital cameras along with him. The blindfold was torn from ego's head. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. Sergei was on fire. Two soldiers were standing over him, the next day. Both rifles were aimed at Nick. The soldier standing over Nick pointed to his ear, then to Nick's ear. Killmaster knew what he wanted. He took off his earplugs. A soldier raised ego with a rifle. Nick got up and pushed through the cells with the barrel of his rifle.
  
  
  He could hear the generator running as soon as he went out around the buildings. Two soldiers stood behind him, ih rifles pressed against Ego's back. They walked under the bare light bulbs, between the huts, and straight to both ends of the hut closest to the concrete building. As they entered, Nick noticed that it was divided into three parts. The first one was a sort of foyer. To his right, a door led to another room. Although Nick couldn't see it, he could hear a high-pitched squeal, not the squeal of a shortwave radio. A closed door opened in front of him and led to another room. He had no way of knowing what was in there. Above it, two smoky lanterns hung from bamboo beams. The radio room glowed with new lanterns. Then Nick realized that most of the generator's current was used to run the radio, light between the huts, and all the equipment in the concrete building. The huts themselves were lit by lanterns. While the two soldiers waited with him in the foyer, he leaned against the moaning hut. It creaked under his weight. He ran his fingers over the rough surface. Shards of bamboo broke off where he'd rubbed them. Nick smiled a little. The huts were tinder boxes waiting to catch fire.
  
  
  Two soldiers stood on either side of Nick. Next to the door leading to the third room, two more soldiers were sitting on a bench, ih rifles between their legs, ih heads nodding, trying to fight off sleep. At the end of the bench, four crates were stacked on top of each other. Nick remembered ih's occupied junk. The Chinese symbols painted on them said they were grenades. The top drawer was open. Half of the grenades were missing.
  
  
  A voice came over the radio. He spoke Chinese in a dialect Nick didn't understand. The radio operator answered in the same dialect. One word was said that he understood. That was Lou's name. The voice on the radio must be coming from the house where Professor Lou was kept, Nick thought. The ego, the mind, is absorbed, digested, discarded. And like a computer spitting out a card, a plan came to him. It was rough, but like all ego plans, it was flexible.
  
  
  Then the door to the third room opened and Lin appeared with his trusty .45. He nodded to the two soldiers, then motioned for Nick to enter the room. Sheila was waiting for him. How's Lin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She followed Nick out, closing the door behind her, and Sheila ran to Nick, wrapping her arms around Ego's neck. She kissed ego passionately on the lips.
  
  
  "Oh, dear," she whispered hoarsely. "I just needed to have you one last time." She was still wearing the same silk shift she'd worn on the barge.
  
  
  The room was smaller than the other two. There was a window in this one. Nen had a baby cot, a chair, and a basket-shaped chair. There were three lanterns, two hanging from the rafters, and one on the table. Hugo and Wilhelmina were lying on the floor next to the chair. They had Tommy's two guns with them. There was a chair next to the cot, a chair against the wall to the right of the bed. Nick was ready at any time.
  
  
  "I kill," Lin said. He sat up in his chair, the ugly muzzle of the .45 pointed at Nick.
  
  
  "Yes, a pet," Sheila cooed. "After a while." She was unbuttoning Nick's shirt. "Are you surprised that we found out your real identity?" she asked.
  
  
  "Not really," Nick said. "You got this from John, didn't you?"
  
  
  She smiled. "It took a bit of coaxing, but we have ways."
  
  
  "Did you kill ego?"
  
  
  "Of course not. We need him."
  
  
  "I kill," Lin confirmed.
  
  
  Sheila pulled her shirt over her head. She took Nick's hand and applied it to her bare chest. "We need to hurry," she said. "Lin is worried." She took off Nick's pants. Then she backed toward the bunk, pulling ego with her.
  
  
  The familiar fire was already burning inside Nick. It started when his hand brushed the warm flesh of her breast. He released the bun at the nape of her neck, letting her long black hair fall over her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her onto the cot.
  
  
  "Oh, baby," she exclaimed when his face was close to hers. "I really won't like your death."
  
  
  Nick's body pressed against hers. Her legs wrapped around him. He could feel her passion growing as he worked with her. It wasn't much fun for him. Ego was a little sad to use this act that she loved so much, anti-nah. Ego's right arm was wrapped around her neck. He reached under his arm and pulled on the tape holding Pierre down. He knew that once the deadly gas was released, the emu would have to hold its breath until it could exit through the rooms. This gave it was just over four minutes old. He was holding Pierre in his hand. Sheila's eyes were closed. But the jerks he made, releasing the deadly gas, opened hey's eyes. She frowned and saw a tiny ball. With his left hand, Nick rolled the gas bomb under the bunk toward Ling.
  
  
  "What did you do?" Sheila exclaimed. Then her eyes widened. "Lin!" she shouted. "Kill your ego, Lin!"
  
  
  Lin jumped to his feet.
  
  
  Nick rolled onto his side, dragging Sheila with him, using her body as a shield. If Lin had shot Sheila in the back, he would have gotten Nick. But he was moving .45 through the sides to the side, trying to aim. And that delay was his undoing. Nick held his breath. He knew that the odorless gas would only take a few seconds to fill the room. Ling's hand touched ego's throat. .The phone clattered to the floor. Ling's knees buckled and he fell. Then he fell face first.
  
  
  Sheila struggled with Nick, but he held her close. Her eyes widened in fear. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head as if she couldn't believe this was happening. Nick pressed his lips to hers. Her breath went into her pants, then suddenly stopped. She went limp in his arms.
  
  
  Nick needed to move fast. The room was already glowing from lack of oxygen. He rolled off the bunk, quickly gathered Hugo, Wilhelmina, and Odin around Tommy and Ego pants ' submachine guns, and then tore through the open window. He staggered ten paces away from the hut, his lungs aching, his target a black blur. Then he dropped to his knees and breathed in the welcome air. He stayed on his knees for a while, breathing deeply. When his aim was clear, he shoved his feet into his trousers, tucked Wilhelmina and Hugo into his belt, took Tommy's pistol, and ducked back to the cabin.
  
  
  He filled his lungs with air just before he reached the open window. No soldiers had entered the room yet. Standing openly outside the window, Nick pulled Wilhelmina from his belt, carefully aimed at one around the lanterns hanging from the rafters, and fired. The lantern splashed, spilling burning kerosene over the moans. Nick shot the other man, then the one on the table. Flames licked across the floor and climbed over two walls. The door opened. Nick crouched down and walked around the cabin. There was too much light in front of the huts. He put Tommy's gun down and took off his shirt. He fastened three buttons, then tied the sleeves around his waist. While shaping the emu and working with it, he got a nice little bag for his calculations.
  
  
  He took Tommy's gun and headed for the front door. The back of the hut was ablaze. Nick knew that he only had a few seconds left before the other soldiers ran towards the fire. He came to the door and stopped. In a row of bare light bulbs, he saw groups of soldiers walking toward the burning hut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  first slowly, then faster, ih rifles at the ready. Seconds passed. Nick kicked the door open with his right foot; he sent a burst around his Tommy gun, first to the right, then to the left. Two soldiers were standing by the bench, their eyes as heavy as arches. As ih unleashed a spray of bullets, they bared their teeth, and ih's heads hit the wall behind them twice. Ih bodies seemed to move, then ih heads smashed once more, the rifles clattered to the floor, and like two lumps joined in their hands, they fell on top of their rifles.
  
  
  The door to the third room was open. Flames were already all over the walls, and the rafters were already black. The room crackled as it burned. Two other soldiers were with Sheila and Lin, who were killed by poison gas. Nick watched as Sheila's skin warped in the heat. Her hair was already scorched. And the seconds turned into one minute and continued. Nick went over to the crates of grenades. He began stuffing a makeshift bag with grenades. Then he remembered something, almost too late. He turned around when gawking eyes crumpled his ego collar. The radio operator was about to fire again when Nick sliced Ego from crotch to head with a burst from Tommy's submachine gun. The man's hands extended outright, hitting both sides of the doorway. They were standing open when he staggered and fell.
  
  
  Nick swore under his breath. Emu should have taken care of the radio first. Since the man was still on the radio, it was likely that he had already contacted the patrol boat, as well as the house where the professor was staying. Two minutes passed. Nick had ten grenades. This should be enough. At any second, the first active-duty soldier will burst through the door. There was little chance of the poison gas working now, but he wasn't going to take a deep breath. The front door was behind the door. Maybe a radio room. He ran through the door.
  
  
  Luck was with him. The radio room had a window. Heavy feet pounded in front of the hut, growing louder as the soldiers approached the entrance door. Nick climbed out through the window. Revealing beneath it, he crouched down and pulled out one of the grenades around his pouch. Soldiers loitered in the foyer, no one giving orders. Nick pulled out a pin and began counting slowly. When he reached eight o'clock, he threw the grenade through the open window and ran away from the hut on his haunches. He hadn't taken more than ten steps when the force of the explosion knocked Ego to his knees. He turned and saw that the roof of the hut was slightly raised, and then the seemingly unburned side swelled up.
  
  
  When the sound of the explosion reached him, the walls of the hut split in half. Orange saint and flames seep through the open windows and gather. The donkey's roof tilted slightly. Nick got up and continued running. He could hear the gunshots now. Bullets tore through the still-wet mud around him. He ran at full speed to the concrete building and circled ego back. Then he stopped. He was right. The generator chugged into life in a small bamboo hut that looked like a box. The soldier who had been stationed for the day was already reaching for his rifle. Nick shot ego around Tommy's submachine gun. Then he pulled out a second grenade around the bag. Without hesitation, he pulled out the pin and started counting. He threw the grenade through the open doorway leading to the generator. The explosion immediately darkened everything. Just in case, he pulled out another grenade and threw it inside.
  
  
  Without waiting for the explosion, it flew into the undergrowth just behind the huts. He passed the first burning hut and walked to where the second one began. He was crouched on the edge of a bush, breathing heavily. Towards the open window at the back of the beginning of the second hut was a small open space. He could still hear the gunshots. Did they kill each other? There were shouts; someone was trying to give orders. Nick knew that once someone took over, the mess would no longer be an ego advantage. He wasn't moving fast enough! The fourth grenade was in his hand, the pin pulled out. He ran, crouching, and, passing mimmo open window, threw a grenade. He kept running toward the third hut, which was next to the canal. The only holy light now came from flickering lanterns through the windows and doorways of the other three huts.
  
  
  He already had the fifth grenade in his hand. A soldier loomed before him. Nick didn't stop spraying bullets in a circle around Tommy's gun. The soldier jerked back and forth all the way to the ground. Nick walked between the exploding second hut and the third. There seemed to be fire everywhere. Men's voices shouted, cursing each other, some trying to give orders. Gunshots echoed in the night, mixed with the crackle of burning bamboo. The pin was pulled out. Passing mimmo through the side window of the third hut, Nick threw a grenade inside. He hit one of the soldiers on goals. The soldier bent down to raise his own ego. This was the last movement in the ego of life. Nick was already under the festoon of a darkened light bulb
  
  
  
  
  
  
  moving on to the remaining two huts, when the hut lit up with an explosion. The roof slid down the front.
  
  
  Now Nick was running into soldiers. They seemed to be everywhere, running aimlessly, I didn't know what to do, shooting into the shadows. The two huts on the other side couldn't be treated like the last three. Maybe they had Kathy Lou and Mike in one of them. No lanterns were lit in these huts. Nick reached the first one and glanced at the second one before entering. The three soldiers were still standing at the door. They are not confused. Wild gawk raised the ground at ego's foot. Nick entered the cabin. The flames of the other three huts lingered in Rivnen so much light that he could make out their contents. This one was used for eating weapons and ammunition. Several dels were already open. Nick looked through the ih until he found a new clip for his Tommy gun.
  
  
  He had five grenades left in his makeshift bag. This emu hut will only need one. One thing was for sure: it should have been far away when this one took off. He decided to save his ego for later. He returned to the street. The soldiers began to gather. Someone took control. A pump was installed near the canal, and hoses sprayed water on the last two huts it hit. The first one burned almost to the ground. Nick knew that emu needed to get through these three soldiers. And there was no time like the present to start.
  
  
  He kept close to the ground, moving quickly. He shifted Tommy's automatic to his left hand and pulled Wilhelmina out of his belt. At the corner of the third hut, he stopped. The three soldiers stood with their rifles ready, their legs slightly apart. The Luger bounced in Nick's hand as he fired. The first soldier spun around, dropped his rifle, grabbed his arm, and fell. Shots were still being fired from both ends of the huts. But the confusion was leaving the soldiers. They began to listen. And Nick seemed to be the only one who used Tommy's gun. This is exactly what they were waiting for. The other two soldiers turned to look at him. Nick fired twice quickly. The soldiers jerked, bumped into another, and fell. Nick heard the hiss of water as it extinguished the flames. There wasn't much time. He rounded the corner to the front of the cabin and pushed open the door, Tommy's gun at the ready. Once inside, he gritted his teeth and swore. It was a decoy - the hut was empty.
  
  
  He could no longer hear the gunfire around the rifle. The soldiers began to gather together. Nick's mind raced. Where could they be? Oni ih was taken away somewhere? Was it all for nothing? Then he knew. It was a chance, but a good one. He walked out of the hut and walked openly toward the first person he hit. The flames went out, and here and there began to flicker. The hut was a charred skeleton. Because the fire was so advanced, the soldiers didn't even try to put it out. Nick went candid to where he thought Lin had fallen. There were five charred bodies that looked like mummies in a tomb. Smoke still billowed from the floor, which helped hide Nick from the soldiers.
  
  
  The ego search was short-lived. All of the Swedes, of course, were burned with Ling's body. The .45-caliber rifle lay next to Ling's body. Nick nudged the body with his toe. It crumbled at egoist's feet. But while moving his ego, he found what he wanted - an ash-colored key chain. When he picked it up, it was still hot to the touch. Some keys have melted. More soldiers had gathered from the port of bar. Around them, Odin was shouting orders, calling others to join the group. Nick walked slowly away from the cabin. He ran along the line of burned-out streetlights until they went out. Then he took a straight turn and slowed down when he reached a low concrete building.
  
  
  He descended the cement steps. The fourth key unlocked the steel door. It creaked open. Just before Nick stepped inside, he glanced at Doc. The soldiers fanned out. They started an ego quest. Nick stepped into the dark hallway. The next day, he fumbled with the keys until he found the one that unlocked the door. He pushed at her, Tommy's gun ready. He could smell the stench of dead flesh. There was a body lying in the corner, skin tight against the skeleton. It must have been a long time ago. The next three cells were empty. He passed the mimmo he was in, then noticed that one of the doors in the hallway was open. He walked over to it and stopped. He checked Tommy's gun to make sure it was ready, then went inside. The soldier lay open for the day with his throat cut. Nick's eyes scanned the rest of the cell. At first, he almost missed them; then the two forms of the emu became clear.
  
  
  They huddled in a corner. Nick took two steps toward them and stopped. The woman held the dagger to the boy's throat, the blade slicing through his skin. The boy's eyes reflected fear, the woman's terror. She was wearing a chemise that didn't look much different from the one Sheila was wearing. But it was torn in the front and chest. Nick looked down at the dead soldier. He must have tried
  
  
  
  
  
  to rape her, and now she thought Nick was there to do the same. Then Nick realized that in the darkness of the cell, he looked Chinese, like a soldier. Nen wasn't wearing a shirt, his shoulder was bleeding slightly, he had Tommy's pistol in his hand, a luger and stiletto hung in the waistband of his pants, and a bag of hand grenades hung from the side. No, it didn't look like the United States Army had come to rescue her. Emu had to be very careful. If he made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, he knew that she would cut the dagger across the guy's throat, then stab the ego into her own dollar stack. He was about four feet away from them. He carefully knelt down and placed Tommy's gun on the floor. The woman shook her head and pressed the blade of the dagger harder against the boy's throat.
  
  
  "Katie," Nick said softly. "Katie, let me help you."
  
  
  She didn't move. Her eyes stared back at him, still filled with fear.
  
  
  Nick chose his words carefully. "Katie," he said again, even more softly. "John is waiting. Are you going to leave? "
  
  
  "Who ... who are you?" she asked. After that, the fear left her eyes. She didn't push so hard with the tip of the dagger.
  
  
  "I'm here to help you," Nick said. "John sent me to take you and your mother to him. He's waiting for you."
  
  
  "Where?"
  
  
  "In Hong Kong. Now listen carefully. Here come the soldiers. If they find us, they'll kill all three of us. We must act quickly. Will you let me help you? "
  
  
  More fear left her eyes. She took out the dagger around the boy's throat... I do not know, " she said.
  
  
  Nick said, " I hate to push you like this, but if you stick around a little longer, it's not going to be your decision."
  
  
  "How do I know I can trust you?"
  
  
  "You only have my word. Now, please. " He held out his hand.
  
  
  Katie hesitated for a few more precious seconds. Then she seemed to have made up her mind. She handed em the dagger.
  
  
  "All right," Nick said. He turned to the boy. "Mike, can you swim?"
  
  
  "Yes, sir," the boy replied.
  
  
  "Great, that's what I want you to do. Follow me around the building. As soon as we get outside, both of you head straight for the rear. When you get to the back, enter the brush. Do you know where the canal is from here?" "
  
  
  Katie nodded.
  
  
  "Then stay in the bushes. Don't show yourself. Drive at an angle to the canal to get to it downstream from here. Hide and wait until you see the trash coming down the canal. Then swim for the junk. There will be a line on the side that you can grab onto. Do you remember that, Mike?
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  "Now you take good care of your mother. Make sure she does.
  
  
  "Yes, sir, I will," Mike said. A slight smile appeared at the corners of rta's ego.
  
  
  "Good boy," Nick said. "Okay, let's go."
  
  
  He led ih around the cell and down a dark corridor. When he reached the door leading to the exit, he held out his hand for them to stop. He went outside alone. The soldiers were arranged in a stepped line between the huts. They were walking towards a concrete building, and now they were less than twenty yards away. Nick motioned to Katie and Mike.
  
  
  "You need to hurry," he whispered to them. "Remember, stay deep in the forest until you reach the canal. You'll hear a few explosions, but don't stop at anything."
  
  
  Katie nodded, then followed Mike along the wall and to the back.
  
  
  Nick gave them thirty seconds. He heard soldiers approaching. In the last two huts, the fires were burning low, and the moon was not visible because of the clouds. The darkness was on his side. He pulled another grenade from around the bag and took off at a slow run across the clearing. Halfway through, he pulled out a pin and threw the grenade over his head at the soldiers.
  
  
  He had already pulled out another grenade when the first one exploded. In a flash, Nick noticed that the soldiers were leaner than he'd thought. The explosion destroyed the three around them, leaving a gap in the center of the line. Nick reached the skeleton of the first hut. He pulled out the trigger pin of the second grenade and threw it where he had thrown the first one. The soldiers shouted and fired again into the shadows. A second grenade exploded licks, towards the end of the line, destroying two more. The other soldiers ran for cover.
  
  
  Nick walked around the burned-out cabin on the opposite side, then crossed the clearing to the ammunition shack. He had another grenade in his hand. This is going to be a big one. On hut day, Nick pulled out a pin and threw a grenade at the hut. Then he felt a movement to his left. The soldier rounded the corner of the hut and fired without aiming. Gawking eyes disintegrated the lobe of Nick's right ear. The soldier swore and turned the butt toward Nick's head. Nick swung to the side and kicked the soldier in the chest with his left foot. He completed the blow by pressing a half-closed fist against the soldier's collarbone. It cracked under the impact.
  
  
  Seconds passed. Nick couldn't move very well. He ran back across the clearing. A soldier blocked the emu's path,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  the rifle was pointed almost directly at him. Nick hit the ground, rolled. When he felt his body hit the soldier's ankles, he swung at his groin. Three things happened almost simultaneously. The soldier grunted and fell on top of Nick, the rifle going off in the air and a grenade exploding in the bunker. The first explosion caused a series of larger explosions. Both huts exploded. The flames rolled up like a huge orange bouncing beach ball, lighting up the entire area. Bits of metal and wood flew around like hundreds of guns. And the explosions continued one after another. The soldiers screamed in pain as ih hit the wreckage. The sky was bright orange, and sparks were falling everywhere, igniting bonfires.
  
  
  Soldier hard bench press on Nick. It absorbed most of the explosion, and pieces of bamboo and metal were embedded in the emu's neck and back. The explosions were less frequent now, and Nick could hear the groans of wounded soldiers. He pushed the soldier off of him and picked up Tommy's automatic. There seemed to be no one to stop him as he moved toward the dock. When he reached the barges, he noticed a crate of grenades next to the board. He picked up the ego and carried it on board. Then he dropped the board and threw off all the ropes.
  
  
  Once aboard, he hoisted the sail. The junk creaked and moved slowly away from the dock. Behind him, the tiny village was surrounded by small bonfires. Burning ammunition kept firing. The islands of huts almost fluttered in the orange light of the flames, and the village looked ghostly. Nick felt sorry for the soldiers; they had their own jobs, but he had his own.
  
  
  Now at the tiller, Nick held the junk in the center of the channel. It belongs to them, in a hall just over a hundred miles from Hong Kong. Going down the river would be faster than it had been before, but he knew that the problems weren't over yet. He whipped the tiller and threw the rope over the side. The barge disappeared into view of the village, and he could only hear the occasional crack as more ammunition exploded. The entire area of the hotel, and on the starboard side of the junk was low and flat, mostly rice fields.
  
  
  Nick scanned the darkness along the left bank, looking for Katie and her Mother. Then he noticed ih, a little ahead of him, floating for junk. Mike was the first to reach the line, and when he was high enough, Nick helped em aboard. Katie walked openly toward them. Climbing over the railing, she stumbled and grabbed Nick's support. Ego's hand grabbed her waist and she fell on top of him. She snuggled up to him, burying her face in his chest. Her body was slick with moisture. The feminine smell emanated from them, which was not hindered by us, cosmetics, our perfume. She clung to him as if in despair. Nick stroked her back. Compared to him, her body was thin and fragile. He realized that she must have been through hell.
  
  
  She didn't cry or cry, she just held on to him. Mike stood awkwardly beside them. After about two minutes, she slowly removed her arms from around him. She looked up into the emu's face, and Nick saw that she was indeed a beautiful woman.
  
  
  "Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft and almost too low for a woman.
  
  
  "You haven't thanked me yet," Nick said. "We still have a long way to go. There may be Swedes and lynx in the cabin.
  
  
  Katie nodded and put her arm around her Mother's shoulders as she entered the cabin.
  
  
  Returning to the steering wheel, Nick thought about what lay ahead. First there was the delta. Sheila Kwan needed a map to cross it in daylight. He didn't have a schedule, so he had to do it at night. Then there was the patrol boat, and finally the border itself. He was armed with Tommy's pistol, a luger, a stiletto, and a box of grenades. The ego army consisted of a beautiful woman and a twelve-year-old boy. And now he had less than a day left.
  
  
  The Stahl Canal will expand. Nick knew they would soon be in the delta. He could see tiny dots of light ahead and to the right. That day, he'd followed Sheila's directions carefully; egoistically, he'd recorded every signpost, every change in course. But at night, the ego's movements will be general, not precise. He had only one thing - the flow of rivers. If it can find that the ego is somewhere in the delta where all channels converge, it will lead the ego in the right direction. Then the left and right banks fell away, and he was surrounded by water. He entered the delta. Nick whipped on the tiller and moved forward in the cockpit. He studied the dark water below him. Sampans and junks were anchored all along the delta. Some had lights, but most were dark. Barges creaked across the delta.
  
  
  Nick jumped down to the main deck and unhooked the tiller. Katie came out of the cabin with a bowl of steaming rice. She was wearing a bright red dress that clung tightly to her figure. Her hair was freshly combed.
  
  
  "Feeling better?" Nick asked. He started eating rice.
  
  
  "A lot of things. Mike fell asleep immediately. He couldn't even finish his lynx.
  
  
  Nick couldn't forget her beauty. The photo that John Lou showed emu didn't live up to expectations.
  
  
  Katie looked at the
  
  
  
  
  
  
  bare masts. "Is something wrong?"
  
  
  "I'm waiting for the currents." He handed her an empty bowl. "What do you know about all this?"
  
  
  She froze, and for a moment the fear that nah had had in the digital cameras showed in her eyes. "Nothing," she said softly. "They came to my house. Then they grabbed the Mother. They held me down while one around them gave me a shot. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in this digital camera room. And then the real horror began. Soldiers... She hung her head, unable to speak.
  
  
  "Don't talk about it," Nick said.
  
  
  She raised her head. "I was told that John would be with me soon. Is he all right?"
  
  
  "As far as I know her." Then Nick told Hey everything, leaving out just his meetings with them. He explained, hey, about the resort complex, about his conversation with John, and at the end he said, " So, we only have until midnight to take you and your Mother back to Hong Kong. And in a couple of hours it will be light... "
  
  
  Katie was silent for a long time. Then she said: "I'm afraid she's caused you a lot of trouble. And I don't even know your name.
  
  
  "The trouble was worth it to find you safe. My name is Nick Carter. Her government agent."
  
  
  The barges moved faster. The current picked up the ego and moved forward, helped by a light breeze. Nick leaned back on the tiller. Katie leaned against the starboard rail, lost in her own thoughts. So far, Nick thought, she'd held up well as a ferret. But the most difficult part was yet to come.
  
  
  The Delta was far behind them. Ahead, Nick could see the lights of Whampoa. Large ships were anchored on both sides of the river, leaving a narrow channel between them. Most of the city was darkened, waiting for dawn, which was not far away. Katie went back to her cabin to get some sleep. Nick stayed at the tiller, looking at everything with his eyes.
  
  
  The barges moved on, letting the current and wind carry ego towards Hong Kong. Nick was dozing at the tiller, and deep down Ego was worried. Everything was going too smoothly, too easily. Of course, not all the soldiers in the village were killed. According to some of them, they must have managed to escape from the fires to give the alarm. And the radio operator must have contacted Hema-to before he shot Nick. Where was that patrol boat?
  
  
  Nick jerked awake to find Katie standing in front of him. Nah had a cup of hot coffee in her hand. The dark night had disappeared to the point where he could see the dense rainforest on both sides of the river. The sun will rise soon.
  
  
  "Take this," Katie said. "You look like you need it."
  
  
  Nick took the coffee. The ego body shrank. Dull aching pains in the neck and ears. He was unshaven and dirty, and the emu had about sixty miles to go.
  
  
  "Where's Mike?" He sipped his coffee, feeling warm all the way to the end.
  
  
  "He's on the nose, watching."
  
  
  Suddenly he heard his Mother's cry.
  
  
  "Nick! Nick! A boat is coming! "
  
  
  "Take the tiller," Nick said to Cathy. Mike was on one knee, pointing to the starboard bow.
  
  
  "Here," he said. "See, just going upriver."
  
  
  Patrol boat shell fast, high sinking in & nb. Nick could just make out two soldiers standing by the gun on the forward deck. There wasn't much time. From the way the boat was approaching, they knew he had Katie and Mike. A radio operator got through to them.
  
  
  "Good boy," Nick said. "Now, let's make some plans." Together, they jumped around the cockpit to the main deck. Nick opened the crate of grenades.
  
  
  "What is it?" Katie asked.
  
  
  Nick opened the lid of his briefcase. "Patrol boat. Hers, I'm sure they know about you and Mike. Our boat trip is over; we'll have to move to land now." Ego's shirt bag was filled with grenades again. "I want you and Mike to swim openly to shore right now."
  
  
  "But..."
  
  
  "Currently! There's no time to argue.
  
  
  Mike touched Nick's shoulder and ducked over the side. Katie waited, looking into Nick's eyes.
  
  
  "They'll kill you," she said.
  
  
  "Not if everything works out the way I want it to. Now move! I'll meet you somewhere down the river.
  
  
  Katie kissed Ego on the cheek and ducked out of the way.
  
  
  Now Nick could hear the patrol boat's powerful engines. He climbed into the cabin and dropped the sail. Then he jumped down on the tiller and threw ego sharply to the left. The junk tilted, and Stahl turned sideways across the river. The patrol boat was now licking. Nick saw orange flames shoot out around the muzzle. The projectile whizzed through the air and exploded blatantly in front of Junk's nose. The boat seemed to shudder with shock. The port side was facing the patrol boat. Nick was positioned on the starboard side of the cockpit, Tommy's automatic rifle on top. The patrol boat was still too far away to open fire.
  
  
  The cannon fired again around them. Again the shell whizzed through the air, only this time the explosion tore through the waterline just behind the bow. The boat jerked sharply, nearly knocking Nick off his feet. and immediately began to sink. Nick was still waiting. The patrol boat was already close enough. Three more soldiers opened fire with automatic weapons. The cabin around Nick was riddled with bullets. He was still waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hole on the starboard side. It wouldn't have been able to stay afloat for long. The patrol boat was close enough that he could see the expressions on the soldiers ' faces. He was waiting for a certain sound. The soldiers stopped firing. The boat began to slow down. Then Nick heard a sound. The patrol boat was approaching. The engines were turned off, and Nick raised his head high enough to see. Then he opened fire. Ego first shot killed two soldiers who were firing at the forward cannon. He fired crosswise without stopping. The other three soldiers jerked back and forth, bumping into each other. Deck workers and soldiers run around the deck looking for cover.
  
  
  Nick put Tommy's gun down and pulled out the first grenade. He pulled out a pin and threw ee, then took out another one, pulled out a pin and threw, and then took out a third one, pulled out a pin and threw ee. He picked up Tommy's gun and dove back into the river. The first grenade exploded when he hit the water, which was already icy cold. He hit it with his powerful legs under the weight of Tommy's gun and the remaining grenades. He rose candid and floated up next to the speedboat. Ego A second grenade tore the cabin of a patrol boat into the square. Nick hung on to the barge calculations, pulling another grenade around the bag. He yanked the pin out with his teeth and hurled Ego over the barge's rail in the direction of the open crate of grenades. Then he let go and let the weight of his weapon carry the ego openly to the bottom of the river.
  
  
  Ego's feet hit the slushy mud almost immediately; the bottom was only eight or nine feet down. As he started to move toward the shore, he heard a vague series of small explosions, followed by a huge one that knocked Ego's leg off, and tumbled over and over again. It seemed that the ego's ears were flying apart. But the concussion threw him ashore. Just a little more, and he will be able to raise his head above the water. Ego, brain was destroyed, his lungs ached, there was pain in the back of his neck; still ego tired legs kept walking.
  
  
  First he felt the coolness on top of his head, then he lifted his nose and chin, cutting through the water and inhaling the sweet air. Three more steps lifted ego's head. He turned to look at the stage that he had just left. The boat has already sunk, and the patrol boat has already sunk to the bottom. The fire had engulfed most of what was visible, and now the water line ran along the main deck. As he watched, the stern began to sink. When the water reached the fire, there was a loud hiss. The boat was moving slowly, the water rushing through it, filling all the compartments and cavities, hissing from the fire, which decreased as the boat sank. Nick turned his back on him and blinked in the morning sun. He nodded with grim understanding. It was the dawn of the seventh day.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  Katie and Mike waited in the tree circles for Nick to come out on the bank. Once on dry land, Nick took several deep breaths, trying to get the ringing out of his head.
  
  
  "Can I help you carry something?" Mike asked.
  
  
  Katie took Ego's hand. "I'm glad you're okay."
  
  
  For a moment, ih's eyes met, and Nick almost said something he knew he'd regret. Her beauty was almost unbearable to Emu. To avoid thinking about her, he checked his tiny arsenal. He had lost all but four grenades in the river; Tommy's pistol had about a quarter of its magazine left, and Wilhelmina had five rounds left. Not good, but it should work.
  
  
  "What's going on?" Katie asked.
  
  
  Nick rubbed the stubble on his chin. "There are railway tracks somewhere nearby. It will take us too long to buy another boat. Also, the river will be too slow. I think we'll try to find these railway tracks. Let's go in this direction."
  
  
  He led the way through the woods and bushes. Traffic was slow because of the dense undergrowth, and they had to stop many times to let Katie and Mike rest. The sun was hot and insects were pestering them. They walked all morning, moving farther and farther away from the river, down small valleys and over low peaks, until at last, shortly after noon, they came to the railroad tracks. The tracks themselves seemed to cut a wide path through the undergrowth. The entire area of the hotel, and was clear for at least ten feet on each side of them. They glistened in the midday sun, so Nick knew they were well used.
  
  
  Katie and Mike plopped down on the ground at the edge of the thicket. They stretched, panting. Nick walked a little way along the tracks, studying the terrain. It was wet from the jar. There was no telling when the next train would arrive. It can be any minute, or it can be several hours. And he didn't have many hours left. He came back to join Katie and Mike.
  
  
  Katie sat with her legs tucked under her. She looked up at Nick, shielding her eyes from the sun. "All right?" she said.
  
  
  Nick knelt down and picked up a few pebbles scattered on both sides of the path. "It looks good," he said. "If we can stop the train."
  
  
  "Why does it have to be
  
  
  
  
  
  Top?"
  
  
  Nick looked around the tracks. "There is quite a Rivnenskaya street here. When and if mimmo passes a train, it will move quite fast ."
  
  
  Katie stands up, shrugging out of her tight shirt, and puts her hands on her hips. "Okay, how do we stop this?"
  
  
  Nick had to smile. "Are you sure you're ready?"
  
  
  Katie stretched out one leg slightly in front of the other, striking a very attractive pose. "I'm not a puny little flower worth keeping in a teapot. And Mike, too. We're both from good families. You have shown me that you are a resourceful and cruel person. Well, I'm not a bad person myself. In my opinion, we have the same goal - to get to Hong Kong before midnight. I think you've carried us long enough. I don't understand how you're still standing, how you look. It's time for us to start carrying our share of the load. Don't you agree, Mike?"
  
  
  Mike jumped to his feet. "Tell Emu, Mom."
  
  
  Katie winked at Mike, then looked at Nick, covering her eyes with her hand again. "So, I have just one corkscrew for you, Mr. Nick Carter. How do we stop this train? "
  
  
  Nick chuckled softly to himself. "Tough as nails, isn't it? It feels like a mutiny to me."
  
  
  Catby walked over to him, her hands at her sides. There was a serious pleading expression on her beautiful face. She said softly: "Not a mutiny, sir. Offer a guide to respect, admiration, and loyalty to our leader. You destroy villages and blow up boats. Now show us how to stop trains."
  
  
  Nick felt a pain in his chest that he couldn't quite understand. And a feeling grew inside him, a deep feeling for her.
  
  
  But that was impossible, he knew. She was a married woman with a family. No, he just wanted to sleep, eat, and drink. Her beauty struck the ego at a time when it was not in the ego's power.
  
  
  "Okay," he said, looking at her gaze. He pulled Hugo out of his belt. "While I cut down branches and bushes, I want you to put ih on the railway tracks. We'll need a big pile so they can see from a long distance. He walked back to the thick undergrowth, followed by Katie and Mike. "They can't stop," he said, starting to cut. "But maybe they'll be slow enough for us to jump."
  
  
  It was almost two hours before Nick was satisfied with the altitude. It looked like a green, lush mound, about four feet in diameter and almost six feet high. From afar, it looked like it would completely block any train.
  
  
  Katie stood up, putting the last branch in a pile, and wiped her earlobe with the back of her hand. "What's going on now?" she asked.
  
  
  Nick shrugged. "Now we wait."
  
  
  Mike started collecting pebbles and throwing ih into the trees.
  
  
  Nick came up behind the boy. "You've got a good hand here, Mike. Do you play in the Minor Leagues? "
  
  
  Mike stopped pumping and started shaking the pebbles in his hand. "I had four lockdowns last year."
  
  
  "Four? It's good. How did you get into the league? "
  
  
  Mike tossed the pebbles in disgust. "I lost in the play-offs. We were in second place ."
  
  
  Nick smiled. He could see the father in the boy, he could see the straight black hair lying on one side of his forehead, the piercing black eyes. "All right," he said. "There's always next year." He started to walk away. Mike took Ego's hand and looked em in the eye.
  
  
  "Nick, I'm worried about my mom."
  
  
  Nick glanced at Katie. She sat with her legs propped up under her, pulling up weeds between the pebbles as if she were in the yard of her house. "Why are you worried?" he asked.
  
  
  "Tell me sincerely," Mike said. "We're not going to do that, are we?"
  
  
  "Of course, we will do it. We have a few hours of daylight, plus half the night. If we're not in Hong Kong, the time to worry is ten minutes to midnight. We have only sixty miles to go. If we don't get there, I'll worry about you. But before they do, ferret, keep saying we can handle it."
  
  
  "What about Mother? She's not like you and me - I mean, being a woman and all that.
  
  
  "We're with you, Mike," Nick said emphatically. "We'll take care of her."
  
  
  The boy smiled. Nick walked over to Katie.
  
  
  She looked at him and shook her head. "I want you to try to get some sleep."
  
  
  "I don't want to miss my train," Nick said.
  
  
  Then Mike shouted. "Listen, Nick!"
  
  
  Nick turned around. Of course, the tracks were humming. He grabbed Katie's arm and yanked her to her feet. "Let's go."
  
  
  Katie was already running beside him. Mike joined them, and the three of them ran down the tracks. They ran until the weasel pile they had built disappeared behind ih. Nick then dragged Katie and her Mother about five feet into the woods. Then they stopped.
  
  
  They gasped for a while, until they couldn't breathe properly. "It should be far enough away," Nick said. "Don't do this until I tell you to."
  
  
  They heard a faint clicking sound that grew louder. Then they heard the thunder of a fast-moving train. Nick's right arm was wrapped around Katie, his left around his Mother. Katie's cue was pressed against Ego's chest. My mother had Tommy's gun in her left hand. The noise grew louder; then they saw a huge black engine passing in front of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  M. A second later, he passed mimmo by them, and the freight cars blurred. Slow down, Nick thought. Easy.
  
  
  There was a loud screeching sound that grew louder as the cars became more visible. Nick noticed that one in four of them had their door open. The screeching continued, slowing down the huge snake of linked vehicles. There was a loud thud that Nick guessed was caused by the engine hitting a pile of bushes. Then the screeching stopped. The cars were moving slowly now. Then they began to pick up speed.
  
  
  "They're not going to stop," Nick said. "Let's go. It's now or never."
  
  
  He was ahead of Katie and her Mother. Cars speed up quickly. He put all his strength into his tired legs and ran to the open doorway of the freight car. Placing his hand on the floor of the car, he jumped and spun around, landing in a sitting position on the doorway. Katie walked openly toward them. He reached for her, but she started to back away. Nah's breath caught in her throat, and she slowed down. Nick got to his knees. Holding on to the door frame for support, he leaned out, wrapped his left arm around her slender waist, and swung her off her feet onto the car behind him. Then he reached for Mike. But Mike quickly got to his feet. He grabbed Nick's arm and jumped into the car. Tommy's gun clattered beside him. They leaned back, breathing hard, feeling the car sway from side to side, listening to the click of the wheels on the tracks. The car smelled of stale straw and old cow dung, but Nick couldn't help but smile. They were going about sixty miles an hour.
  
  
  The train ride lasted just over half an hour. Katie and Mike were asleep. Even Nick was napping. He had dried all the shells in the Wilhelmina and the Tommy gun, and was rocking back and forth with the car, nodding his head. The first thing he noticed was a longer gap between the sound of the wheels. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the scenery was moving much slower. He quickly got up and moved towards the open door. The train was entering the village. In front of the engine, the tracks blocked more than fifteen soldiers. It was dusk; the sun had almost set. Nick counted ten cars between ego and the engine. The engine hissed and beeped as it stopped.
  
  
  "Mike," Nick called.
  
  
  Mike woke up immediately. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is it?"
  
  
  "Soldiers. They stopped the train. Lift your mother up. We'll have to leave."
  
  
  Mike shook Katie's shoulder. Her chemise was cut almost to the waist, from running to the train. She sat down without saying a word, then she and Mike got to their feet.
  
  
  Nick said: "I think there is a highway nearby that leads to the border town of Shencheng. We'll have to steal a car somewhere."
  
  
  "How far is it to this city?" Katie asked.
  
  
  "Probably twenty or thirty miles. We can still survive if we get the car."
  
  
  "Look," Mike said. "Soldiers around the locomotive".
  
  
  Nick said, " Now they're going to start searching the boxcars. There are shadows on this side. I think we can get to on's cabin." I'll go first. I'll keep an eye on the soldiers and then show you to follow them one by one."
  
  
  Nick took Tommy's gun. He jumped out through the carriage, then waited, crouching down, looking at the front of the train. Soldiers talking to an engineer. Crouching low, he ran about fifteen feet to the old hut at the midway station. He rounded the corner and stopped. Watching the soldiers closely, he gestured at his Mother and Katie. Katie fell first, and as she ran across the clearing, Mike got out, circling the car. Katie walked over to Nick, and Mike followed her.
  
  
  They followed the buildings to the front of the train. When they were far enough ahead of the soldiers, they crossed the tracks.
  
  
  It was dark when Nick found the highway. He was standing on the edge, with Katie and Mike behind him.
  
  
  To his left was the village they had just come from, and to his right was the road to Shench'wan.
  
  
  "Are we hitchhiking?" Katie asked.
  
  
  Nick rubbed his bearded chin hard. "There are too many soldiers moving along this road. We sure as hell don't want to stop ih a whole bunch. The border guards probably spend some evenings in this village and then leave. Of course, no soldier will stop Kostya me."
  
  
  "They'll be for me," Katie said. "Soldiers are the same everywhere. They like girls. And let's face it, this is who she is."
  
  
  Nick said: "You don't need to sell me out." He turned to look down the ravine that ran along the highway, then back at nah. "Are you sure you can handle it?"
  
  
  She smiled and resumed that attractive pose. "What do you think?"
  
  
  Nick smiled at rheumatism. "Excellent. Vote on how we will work with this. Mike, stretch out here on the highway. He pointed at Katie. "Your story is your car crashing into a ravine. Your boy is hurt. You need help. It's a silly story, but it's the best thing I can do in such a short time ."
  
  
  Katie was still smiling. "If they're soldiers, I don't think they'll be too interested in the story I'm telling them."
  
  
  Nick pointed a warning finger at Nah. "Just be careful."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  "Let's go into the ravine until we see a likely prospect."
  
  
  As they jumped down into the ravine, a pair of headlights appeared around the village.
  
  
  Nick said, " It's too high for a car. It looks like a truck. Stay put."
  
  
  It was a military truck. As he passed, the soldiers sang. He was driving and still driving on the highway. Then a second pair of headlights appeared.
  
  
  "It's a car," Nick said. "Get out, Mike."
  
  
  Mike ran around the ravine and stretched. Katie walked openly toward them. She straightened her shirt and stroked her hair. Then, she took that pose again. As the car approached, she began waving her arms, trying to maintain this pose. Tires screeched on the sidewalk, and the car came to an abrupt stop. However, it passed about seven feet above Katie before coming to a complete stop.
  
  
  There were three soldiers in nen. They were drunk. The two men immediately got out and started walking back to Katie. The driver got out around the car, walked to the back of the car, and stopped to watch the other two. They were laughing. Katie started to tell her story, but she was right. All they want is her. One took ee's hand and mentioned something about what she looked like. The other started stroking her chest, giving her a big, cheering look. Nick moved quickly down the ravine to the front of the car. Ahead of him, he climbed out around the ravine and headed for the driver. Hugo was in ego's right hand. He moved along the side of the car and approached the soldier from behind. Ego's left hand clamped over his mouth, and in one swift motion, he slashed Hugo the man's throat. As the soldier fell to the ground, he felt warm blood on his arm.
  
  
  Katie pleaded with the other two. They had a tent above their waists, and while one was pawing and rubbing it, the other was dragging it to the car. Nick followed whoever was pulling it. He came up behind him, grabbed him by the hair, yanked the soldier's head, and slashed Hugo across the throat. Last soldier seen, ego. He pushed Katie away and pulled out a sinister dagger. Nick didn't have time for a prolonged knife fight. The soldier's beady eyes were dimmed from the drink. Nick took four steps back, shifted Hugo to his left hand, pulled Wilhelmina out of his belt, and shot the man in the face. Katie screamed. She doubled over, holding on to her life, and trudged to the car. Mike jumped to his feet. He stood motionless, looking at the stage. Nick didn't want anyone around them to see something like this, but he knew it was going to happen. They were in the ego world, not the ih world, and although Nick didn't care about that part of his job, he accepted ee. He hoped they would. Without thinking, Nick rolled three bodies into the ravine.
  
  
  "Get in the car, Mike," he ordered.
  
  
  Mike didn't move. He stared at the ground with wide eyes.
  
  
  Nick walked up to him, slapped his ego twice in the face, and pushed him toward the car. At first Mike went reluctantly, then seemed to break out around it and climb into the backseat. Katie was still bent over, holding on to the car for support. Nick put an arm around her shoulder and helped her into the front seat. He ran around in front of the car and got behind the wheel. He started the engine and drove down the highway.
  
  
  It was a battered, tired 1950 Austin. The pressure gauge showed half a tank of gasoline. The silence in the car was almost deafening. He could feel Katie's eyes boring into his face. The car smelled of stale wine. Nick wished he'd smoked one around his cigarettes. Finally, Katie spoke. "It's just a job for you, isn't it? You don't care about me or your mother. Just get us to Hong Kong before midnight, no matter what we do. And kill anyone who gets in your way."
  
  
  "Mom," Mike said. "He does it for Dad, too." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder. "I understand her now."
  
  
  Katie looked down at her fingers, folded together in her lap. "I'm sorry, Nick," she said.
  
  
  Nick didn't keep an eye on the road. "It was rough for all of us. You're both fine so far. Don't leave me now. We still need to cross that border."
  
  
  She put her hand on Ego's steering wheel. "Your team will not mutiny," she said.
  
  
  Suddenly Nick heard the roar of an airplane engine. It seemed soft at first, then gradually grew louder. It came from behind ih's back. Suddenly, the highway around Austin burst into flames. Nick turned the steering wheel first to the right, then to the left, zigzagging the car. As the plane passed overhead, there was a whoosh, then it turned left, gaining altitude for the next pass. Nick was moving at fifty miles an hour. Ahead, he could faintly make out the taillights of a truck's trailer.
  
  
  "How did they find out so quickly?" Katie asked.
  
  
  Nick said: "The other truck must have found the coveralls and radioed them. Since it sounds like an old propeller plane, they probably grabbed everything that could be flown. I'm going to try something. I have a hunch that the pilot is flying strictly by the headlights.
  
  
  The plane hasn't flown yet. Nick turned off the Austin's holy light, then turned off the engine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  then he stopped. He could hear his Mother's heavy breathing from the backseat. There were no trees or anything he could park under. If he was wrong, they would be sitting ducks. Then he faintly heard the plane's engine. Stahl's engine noise is louder. Nick felt himself start to sweat. The plane was low. He approached them and kept falling. Then Nick saw flames shooting out of the wings ' egos. He couldn't see the truck from this distance. But he saw an orange fireball rolling in the air, and he heard the deep thunder of the explosion. The plane took off to make another pass.
  
  
  "We'd better sit down for a while," Nick said.
  
  
  Katie buried her face in her hands. They could all see the burning truck just over the horizon.
  
  
  The plane was higher up, making the last jump. He flew past the mimmo Austin, then the burning truck, and continued driving. Nick moved the Austin slowly forward. He stayed on the side of the highway for less than thirty minutes. He didn't turn off brylev. They moved painfully slowly until they were close to the burning truck. Bodies were strewn across the highway and roadsides. Some were already burning black, others were still burning. Katie covered her face with her hands so she couldn't see anything. Mike leaned against the front seat, looking out the windshield with Nick. Nick crossed the Austin back and forth on the highway, trying to get through the terrain without running over dead bodies. It passes, then picks up speed without turning off its headlights. Ahead, he could see the flashing lights of Shench'uan.
  
  
  As they neared Lick city, Nick tried to imagine what the border would be like. It would be pointless to try to trick ih. Well, probably every soldier in China wanted to. They'll have to break through. If he remembered correctly, this border was just a large gate in the fence. There would be a barrier, of course, but there would be nothing on the other side of the gate, at least not until they reached Fan Ling on the Hong Kong side. It will be six or seven miles from the gate.
  
  
  They were now approaching Shench'uan. There was only one main street in nen, and at the end of it Nick could see the handrails. It slid to the side and stopped. About ten soldiers were scurrying around the gate, rifles slung over their shoulders. A machine gun was mounted in front of the guardhouse. Due to the late hour, the streets through the city were dark and deserted, but the area around the gate was well lit.
  
  
  Nick rubbed his tired eyes. "The voice is all," he said. "We don't have so many weapons, supposedly."
  
  
  It was Mike. "There are three rifles in the backseat."
  
  
  Nick turned in his seat. "Good boy, Mike. They will help." He looked at Katie. She was still looking at the railing. "Are you all right?" he asked.
  
  
  She turned to him. Her lower lip was pinched between her teeth, and her eyes filled with tears. Shaking her head from side to side, she said, "Nick, me... I don't think I can handle it."
  
  
  Killmaster took ee's hand. "Look, Katie, it's a thread. Once we pass through this gate, it will all be over. You'll be with John again. You can go home now."
  
  
  She closed her eyes and nodded.
  
  
  "Can you drive?" he asked.
  
  
  She nodded again.
  
  
  Nick climbed into the backseat. He checked the three guns. They were Russian-made, but they looked in good condition. He turned to Mike. "Lower the windows on the left side there." Mike did it. Meanwhile, Katie got behind the wheel. Nick said: "I want you to sit on the floor, Mike, with your back to the wall." Mike did as the emu was told. "Keep your head under that window." Killmaster untied his shirt around his waist. He put four grenades next to each other between his legs, Mother. "Vote what you're doing, Mike," he said. "When I give you my word, you pull the pin on the first grenade, count to five, then throw it over your shoulder, and out the window, count to ten, take the second grenade and repeat it again until they're gone. Do you understand?" "
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  Killmaster turned to Katie. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You see," he said, " it's a straight line from here to the gate. I want you to start at low and then go to the beginning of the second. When the car goes open to the gate, I'll tell you. Then I want you to hold the steering wheel firmly down, press the gas pedal to the floor, and rest your head on the seat. Remember, both of you, take your time! "
  
  
  Katie nodded.
  
  
  Nick paused at the window across from his mother with Tommy's submachine gun. He made sure that the three guns were within range. "Is everyone ready?" he asked.
  
  
  He got nods from both of them.
  
  
  "Okay, then let's go!"
  
  
  Katie twitched slightly as she started. She pulled out into the middle of the street and headed for the gate. Then she moved on to the second one.
  
  
  "You look good," Nick said. "And now hit me!"
  
  
  The Austin seemed to sway as Katie stepped on the gas pedal, then it quickly began to pick up speed. Katie's target was out of sight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The guards at the gate watched curiously as the car approached them. Nick didn't want to open fire yet. When the guards saw the Austin pick up speed, they knew what was going on. The rifles dropped from ih's shoulders. The two around them quickly rushed towards the machine gun. One fired at his rifle, gawking eyes carved a star on the windshield. Nick leaned out of the window and in a short stream around Tommy's gun sliced one around the guards at the machine gun. More shots rang out, shattering the windshield. Nick fired two more short bursts, and the bullets found their targets. Then Tommy's gun ran out of bullets. "Now, Mike!" he shouted.
  
  
  Mike fiddled with the grenades for a few seconds, then got down to business. They were only a few yards from the crossbar. The first grenade exploded, killing one guard. The machine gun rang, and ego bullets hit the car like a city. The front side window was cut in half and fell out. Nick took out Wilhelmina. He fired, missed, and fired again, dropping one guard. The second grenade exploded next to the machine gun, but not enough to injure those who were operating it. He chatted as he chewed on the car. The windshield shattered, then opened as the last of the glass shattered. Nick kept shooting, sometimes hitting, sometimes missing, until finally all he got was a click as he pulled the trigger. A third grenade exploded near a security guard's kiosk, flattening it to the ground. Odin's po for the machine gunners was something brief and fell over. The tire exploded as the pounding machine gun tore through it. The Austin began to turn left. "Pull the wheel to the right!" She pulled, the car straightened up, smashed through the handrails, shuddered, and kept moving. The fourth grenade destroyed most of the fence. Nick fired one at a time around the Russian rifles. Ego accuracy left much to be desired. The guards approached the car. Rifles were held to their shoulders; they were firing into the back of the car. The rear window was covered with stars from ih bullets. They continued to shoot even after the ih bullets stopped hitting the car.
  
  
  "Are we done here?" Katie asked.
  
  
  Killmaster threw the Russian rifle out the window. "You can sit down, but keep the gas pedal to the floor."
  
  
  Katie sat down. The Austin misfired, then coughed. Finally, the engine just stalled and the car stopped.
  
  
  My mother had a green complexion. "Let me out," he shouted. "I think I'm going to get sick!" He got out around the car and disappeared into the bushes along the road.
  
  
  Glass was everywhere. Nick crawled into the front seat. Katie was looking out the window, which wasn't there. Her shoulders shook; then she began to cry. She didn't try to hide her tears, she let them come from somewhere deep inside her. They rolled down her cheeks and fell from her chin. Her whole body was shaking. Nick put his arm around her and pulled her close.
  
  
  Her face was pressed against Ego's chest. In a muffled voice, she sobbed, " Ble... Can I leave now?"
  
  
  Nick stroked her hair. "Let them come, Katie," he said softly. He knew it wasn't ego, hunger, thirst, or lack of vaults. The ego feeling for her ran deep, deeper than he knew. Her crying turned into sobs. Her target moved slightly away from his chest and bed to the crook of his ego arm. She whimpered as she stared at him, her lashes wet and her lips slightly parted. Nick gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. He touched her lips softly. She returned the kiss, then turned her head away from ego.
  
  
  "You shouldn't have done this," she whispered.
  
  
  "I know," Nick said. "I'm sorry."
  
  
  She smiled faintly at em. "He's gone."
  
  
  Nick helped her out around the car. Mike joined them.
  
  
  "Feel better," Nick asked ego.
  
  
  He nodded, then waved a hand in the direction of the car. "What do we do now?"
  
  
  Nick drove off. "We'll go to Fang Lin's."
  
  
  They hadn't gone far when Nick heard the flapping of helicopter blades. He looked up and saw a helicopter approaching them. "Into the bushes!" he shouted.
  
  
  They crouched in circles of bushes. A helicopter circled above them. It dropped slightly, just in case, then flew off in the direction it came from.
  
  
  "Did they see us?" Katie asked.
  
  
  "Probably."Nick's teeth were clenched tight.
  
  
  Katie sighed. "I thought we'd be safe now."
  
  
  "You're safe," Nick said through gritted teeth. "I pulled you out and you belong to me." He wished he hadn't said it right after that. The ego's meaning was like oatmeal. He was tired of planning, of thinking; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept. He noticed that Katie was looking at him strangely. It was a secret female gaze that he had only seen twice in his life. In nen, many unspoken words were told, which were always shortened to a single word "if". If he wasn't what hema was, if she wasn't what she was, if they didn't come from such completely different worlds, if he wasn't dedicated to his job and she to her family - if, if. Such things were always impossible
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe they both knew that.
  
  
  Two pairs of headlights appeared on the track. Wilhelmina was empty; Nick had only Hugo. He took the hairpin from his belt. The cars approached them, and he stood up. They were Jaguar sedans, and the driver of the front car was Hawk. The cars stopped. The back door of the second one opened and John Lou came out with his right arm bandaged.
  
  
  Mike shouted and ran towards him.
  
  
  "John," Katie whispered. "John!" She ran to him, too.
  
  
  They hugged each other, all three of them crying. Nick removed Hugo. Hawk stepped out of the car's driveway, the black stub of a cigar clenched between his teeth. Nick walked over to him. He could see the loose-fitting suit, the wrinkled, leathery face.
  
  
  "You look awful, Carter," Hawke said.
  
  
  Nick nodded. "You didn't happen to bring a pack of cigarettes, did you?"
  
  
  Hawk reached into his coat pocket and tossed the pack to Nick. "You got permission from the police," he said.
  
  
  Nick lit a cigarette. John Lou joined them, flanked by Kathy and Mike. He held out his left hand. "Thank you, Nick," he said. Ego's eyes filled with tears.
  
  
  Nick took her hand. "Take care of them."
  
  
  Mike pulled away from his father and put his arm around Nick's waist. He was crying too.
  
  
  Killmaster ran a hand through the boy's hair. "It's almost spring training time, isn't it?"
  
  
  Mike nodded and joined his father. Katie was hugging the professor; she ignored Nick. They went back to their second car. The door was open for them. Get Mike, then on to John. Katie started to start, but stopped when she was almost inside. She said something to John, then went back to Nick. Nah was wearing a white knit sweater over her shoulders. For some reason, she looked more like a housewife now. She was sitting in front of Nick, looking at him. "I don't think we'll ever see each other again."
  
  
  "It's an awfully long time," he said.
  
  
  She stood on tiptoe and kissed Ego on the cheek. "The hotel would have..."
  
  
  "Your family is waiting."
  
  
  She bit her lower lip with her teeth and ran to the car. The door was closed, the car started, and the Loo family was out of sight.
  
  
  Nick was alone with Hawk. "What happened to the professor's hand?" he asked.
  
  
  Hawk said: "Vote like they got your name out of it. Pulled out a few fingernails, broke a couple of bones. It wasn't so bad."
  
  
  Nick was still looking at the taillights of Loo's car.
  
  
  Hawk opened the door. "You have a couple of weeks. I think you're going back to Acapulco.
  
  
  Killmaster turned to Hawk. "Right now, all I need is a continuous cola watch." He thought of Laura Best and what it had been like in Acapulco, then he thought of Sharon Russell, the pretty airline stewardess. "I think Barcelona will try it this time," he said.
  
  
  "Later," emu Hawk said. "You go to bed. Then I'll buy you a nice drink for dinner, and while we're drunk, you can tell me what happened." Barcelona will come later."
  
  
  Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he wasn't sure, but he thought he felt the Hawk slapping ego on the back as he got into the car.
  
  
  Thread
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  Carnival of Murders
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  
  Carnival of Murders
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One night in February 1976, three completely different people who were in three completely different places said the same thing without even knowing it. The first spoke of death, the second of help, and the third of passion. No one around them could have known that ih words, like a fantastic invisible trap, would bring all three of them together. In the mountains of Brazil, about 250 kilometers from Rio de Janeiro, at the very edge of Cerro do Mar, the man who mentioned death was slowly twirling a chewed cigar between his fingers. He looked at the swirling smoke, and after a moment's thought, he almost squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned back in his straight-backed chair and looked across the chair at the man who was waiting. He pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
  
  
  
  "Now," he said in a cold tone,"it should be done now."
  
  
  
  The other man turned and disappeared into the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the toll road, the young blond man drove into town as fast as he could. He thought about all those letters, worrying doubts, and sleepless nights, as well as the letter he had received today. Perhaps he had waited too long. He hadn't meant to panic, and now he regretted it. Actually, he thought, he never knew exactly what to do, but after the last letter, he was sure that something had to be done; whatever others thought. "Now," he said aloud. "It should be done now." Without slowing down, he drove through the tunnel into the city.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the darkness of the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man was standing in front of a girl who was staring at him intently from her chair. Nick Carter had known her for a while. They drank martinis together when they were at parties, just like tonight. She was a pretty brunette with a perky nose and full lips on her pretty face. However, they never went beyond superficial conversations, because she always found excuses not to go any further. But earlier in the evening, at Holden's party, Em managed to talk her into going with her. He deliberately kissed her slowly, arousing her lust with his tongue. Once again, he noticed a conflict of emotions in her. Trembling with desire, she was still struggling with her passion. Keeping one hand on her neck, he untied her blouse with the other and let her slide off her soft shoulders. He took off her bra and looked gratefully at her plump young breasts. Then he pulled off Nah's skirt and panties, green with purple edges.
  
  
  
  John Rawlins looked at him with half-open eyes and let Nick's experienced hands do the trick. Nick noticed that she wasn't trying to help emu. Only her trembling hands on his shoulders betrayed her inner confusion. He pressed her gently against the couch, then took off his shirt to feel her naked body against his chest.
  
  
  
  "Now," he said,"it must be done now."
  
  
  
  "Yes," the girl gasped, barely audible. 'Not really. Well, by voting.'Nick was kissing her everywhere, while Paula was pushing her pelvis forward and suddenly started licking her ego everywhere. All she wanted to do now was make love to Nick. When he pressed Nah, she begged ego to go faster, but Nick took his time. Paula pressed her lips to ego's mouth, her hands sliding down ego's body to ego's buttocks, holding ego to her as hard as they could. A girl who didn't even know what she wanted turned into a yearning female animal.
  
  
  
  "Nick, Nick," Paula breathed, quickly coming to a climax. It was like she was going to explode, like she was floating between two worlds for a moment. She tilted her head back, pressing her chest and stomach against his. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
  
  
  
  Shaking and sobbing, she collapsed on the couch, holding Nick tightly so he couldn't escape. Finally, she let go of him, and he did a bench press next to her, so that her pink nipples brushed his chest.
  
  
  
  "Was it worth it?" Nick asked softly. "Oh my God, yes," Paula Rawlins replied. 'More than it was worth.'
  
  
  
  "Then why did it take so long?"
  
  
  
  'What do you mean?'What is it?' she asked innocently. "You know damn well what I mean, honey," Nick said. "We had a lot of opportunities, but you always found some transparent excuse. Now I know what you're doing. Then why the fuss?
  
  
  
  She asked. "To me personally, that you won't laugh?" "I was afraid of disappointing you. I know you, Nick Carter. You're not ordinary after performing a precision geometry detail for a girl. You're an expert on women ."
  
  
  
  "You're exaggerating," Nick protested. "You're acting like you should have taken the entrance exam." Nick laughed
  
  
  
  from your own comparison.
  
  
  
  "That's not a bad description at all," Paula said. "No one likes to lose."
  
  
  
  "Well, you haven't lost, dear. Are you the best in your class, or should I say in bed?
  
  
  
  "Are you really going on such a boring vacation tomorrow?" She asked, resting her head on Emu's chest. "Definitely," Nick said, stretching out his long legs. Ee corkscrew lowered the ego to the prospect of a long quiet period. Em had to relax, recharge his batteries, and finally Hawk agreed.
  
  
  
  "Let me go," Paula Rawlins said. "I can get a day off at the office."
  
  
  
  Nick looked down at her soft, plump, white body. A woman was one of the best ways to get your body back in shape, he knew that very well, but there were times when even that wasn't enough. There are times when a man needs to leave and be alone. Don't do anything. It was such a period. Or, he corrected himself, it would be from tomorrow. But tonight was tonight, and this amazing girl was still in ego's hands; this modest pleasure, full of inner contradiction.
  
  
  
  Nick took a full, soft breast in his hand and used his thumb to play with the pink nipple. Paula immediately began to breathe heavily and pulled Nick on top of her. As she wrapped her leg around ego's, Nick heard the phone ring. It wasn't a small blue phone in the ego chair drawer, but a regular phone on the desk. He was happy about it. Fortunately, it wasn't Hawk who came to tell Em about the new disaster. Whoever it is, the emu can get away with it. There are no calls right now.
  
  
  
  In fact, he wouldn't have picked up the phone if he hadn't received a signal from his sixth sense: that inexplicable subconscious alarm system that has saved the emu's life so many times.
  
  
  
  Paula had a strong grip on ego. "Don't answer that," she whispered. 'Forget it.'He knew, but he couldn't. He didn't answer the phone very often. But he knew he would do it now. It's the fucking subconscious. It was even worse than the Hawk, required more, and lasted longer.
  
  
  
  "I'm sorry, dear," he said, jumping to his feet. "If I'm wrong, I'll be back before you can turn around."
  
  
  
  Nick walked across the room, aware that Paula's eyes were following her muscular, lithe body: the image of a resurrected Roman gladiator statue. The voice on the phone was an emu unknown.
  
  
  
  "Mr. Carter?" "What is it?" the voice asked. "You're talking to Bill Dennison. I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I need to talk to you."
  
  
  
  Nick frowned and suddenly smiled. "Bill Dennison," he said. Son of Todd Dennison:
  
  
  
  
  
  'Yes sir.'
  
  
  
  "God, the last time I saw you, you were wearing a diaper. Where are you?'
  
  
  
  "I'm at a pay phone in front of your house. The doorman told me not to bother you at all, but I had to try. I drove up from Rochester to see you. This case is about my father.
  
  
  
  "Todd?" Nick asked. 'What is it? Are there any difficulties?
  
  
  
  "I don't know," the young man said. "Why did her voice come to you?"
  
  
  
  "Then come in." I'll tell the doorman to let you through.
  
  
  
  Nick hung up, alerted the doorman, and walked over to Paula, who was busy getting dressed.
  
  
  
  "I've already heard," she said, pulling on her skirt. 'I understand her. At least hers, I guess you wouldn't have let me leave if it wasn't so important."
  
  
  
  "You're right. Thanks, " Nick chuckled.
  
  
  'You're a cool girl for several reasons. Count on me to call you when I get back."
  
  
  
  "I'm definitely counting on it," Paula said. As Nick let Paulo out of the back door, the bell rang. Bill Dennison was as tall as his father's ego, but slimmer, without Todd's heavy build. Otherwise, his blond hair, bright blue eyes, and shy smile were the same as Todd's. He wasted no time in getting straight to the point.
  
  
  
  "I'm glad you want to see me, Mr. Carter," he said. "My father used to tell me stories about you. I'm worried about my father. You probably know that he is creating a new plantation in Brazil, for example, 250 kilometers from Rio de Janeiro. My father is always in the habit of writing me complex, detailed letters. He wrote to me about a couple of interesting things that happened at work. I don't think it could have been an accident. I suspected it was more than that. Then he received vague threats that he didn't take seriously. Emu wrote her that I was going to visit ego. But this is my last year of school. I'm studying at THU, and he didn't want that. He called me on the phone, scolded me a lot and said that if I came now, he would put me back in the boat in a straitjacket."
  
  
  
  "Something really unusual for your father," Nick said. He was thinking about the past. He first met Todd Dennison many years ago, when he was still new to the spy mail business. At the time, Todd was working as an engineer in Tehran and saved Nick's life several times. So they became good friends. Todd went his own way, and now Stahl is a rich man, one of the greatest industrialists in the country, always personally supervising the construction of each of his plantations.
  
  
  
  So you're worried about your father, Nick mused aloud. "You think he might be in danger. What is he building for the plantation there?
  
  
  
  "I don't know much about it, it's just that he's in the hall, in a mountainous area, and Father's plan is to help the people in that area. Vader believes that such a scheme will best protect the country from agitators and dictators. All ego new plantations are based on this philosophy, and therefore are built in regions where there is unemployment and there is a need for products ."
  
  
  
  "I totally agree with that," Nick said. "Is he alone in there, or is there someone with him besides the staff?"
  
  
  
  "Well, as you know, my mother died last year, and soon my father remarried. Vivian is with him. I still don't know her on the dell itself. I was at school when they met, and I only came for the wedding."
  
  
  
  "I was in Europe when they got married," Nick recalled. "I found the invitation when I got back. So, Bill, you want me to go over there and see what's going on?
  
  
  
  Bill Dennison blushed, and Stahl was shy.
  
  
  
  "I can't ask you to do that, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  
  "Please call me Nick."
  
  
  
  I really don't know what I expect from you, " the young man said. "I just needed to talk to someone about it, and I thought you might have an idea." Nick thought about what the boy had said. Bill Dennison was probably really worried about whether this was the right thing to do or not. A flash of memories of past debts and old friendships flashed through the heads ' egos. He planned to go fishing in the Canadian forests for a vacation. Well, they won't swim away, and it's time to relax. Rio was a beautiful city and was on the eve of the famous carnival. The trip to Todd's was already a vacation, by the way.
  
  
  
  "Bill, you picked the right moment," Nick said. "I'm going on vacation tomorrow. I'm flying her to Rio. You go back to school, and as soon as I see what the situation is, I'll call you. It's the only way to find out what's going on."
  
  
  
  "I can't tell you how grateful I am to her," Bill Dennison began, but Nick told Ego to stop.
  
  
  
  'Forget it. You don't have to worry about anything. But you did the right thing to warn me. Your father is too stubborn to do what he needed to do.
  
  
  
  Nick led the boy to the elevator and returned to his apartment. He turned off the saint and bench press to sleep. He was able to sleep for a few more hours before em had to contact Hawk. The boss was here in town to visit the AX office. He will be able to contact Nick at any time of the day for several hours.
  
  
  
  "That's what the mother hen in me says," he once said. "You mean the dragon mother," Nick had corrected Ego..
  
  
  
  When Nick arrived at the nondescript AX office in New York, Hawk was already there: the skinny body always seemed to belong to someone else, not to those sitting at that desk; you can imagine it, for example, in the countryside or during archaeological research. Normally the icy blue piercing eyes were friendly today, but now Nick knew they were just a mask for anything but friendly interest.
  
  
  
  "Todd Dennison Industries," Nick said. "I heard they have an office in Rio."
  
  
  
  "I'm glad you changed your plans," Hawk said gently. "Actually, her hotel offered to take you to Rio, but didn't want you to think I was interfering with your plans." Hawke's smile was so friendly and pleasant that Nick began to doubt his suspicions.
  
  
  
  "Why did you suggest I go to Rio?" Nick asked.
  
  
  
  "Well, because you like Rio better, N3," Hawk replied cheerfully. "You will enjoy it much more than in such a God-forsaken fishing spot. Rio has a great climate, beautiful beaches, beautiful women and it's almost a carnival. Actually, you feel much better there."
  
  
  
  "You don't have to sell me anything," Nick said. "What's behind this?"
  
  
  
  "Nothing but a good vacation," Hawke said.
  
  
  
  He paused, frowned, then handed Nick a piece of paper. "This is a report that we just received from one of our people. If you go there, maybe you can take a look, just around for pure interest, it just goes without saying, doesn't it?
  
  
  
  Nick quickly read the decoded message, written in the style of a telegram.
  
  
  
  Big troubles ahead. A lot of incomprehensible sides. Probably foreign influences. Not exactly verifiable. Any help is welcome.
  
  
  
  Nick handed the paper back to Hawke, who continued to act.
  
  
  
  "Look," Killmaster said, " this is my vacation. I'm going to see an old friend who might need some help. But it's a vacation, you know? vacation. I'm in desperate need of a vacation, and you know it.
  
  
  
  Of course, my boy. You're right.'
  
  
  
  "And you wouldn't have given me a job on vacation, would you?"
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't have Stahl think about it."
  
  
  
  "No, of course not," Nick said grimly. "And there's certainly not much I can do about it?" Either this is the case?'
  
  
  
  Hawk smiled pleasantly. "I always say this: there is nothing better than combining a small business with pleasure, but in this I am different from many others. Lots of fun.'
  
  
  
  "Something tells me I don't even need to thank you," Nick said, standing up.
  
  
  
  "Always be polite, N3," Hawke joked.
  
  
  
  Nick shook his head and stepped out into the fresh air.
  
  
  
  He felt trapped. He sent a telegram to Todd: "Surprise, you old fart. Earnings for Flight 47, 10 am, February 10. The telegraph operator ordered emu to use the word fart, but the rest remained unchanged. Todd knew what the word meant.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When they were under the cloud cover, they could see Rio de Janeiro from under the right wing of the plane. Soon, Nick saw a giant granite rock called Sugar Goal, facing an even taller Corcovado, a hump, with Christ the Redeemer on top. As the plane circled the city, Nick occasionally caught glimpses of the winding beaches surrounding the city. Places known for sun, sand and beautiful women: Copacabana, Ipanema, Botafogo and Flamengo. It could be a very nice place to stay. Maybe Todd's problems were caused only by innocent annoyance. But if it isn't?
  
  
  
  Back then, you still had a Hawk that was awfully cunning. No, he wasn't giving Em a new job, but Nick knew he was expected to be in a hurry. And if it was necessary to act, he had to act. Many years of working with Hawk had taught Ego that accidentally mentioning an unimportant problem was tantamount to a task. For some reason, he had the feeling that the word "vacation" was becoming increasingly vague. However, he will try to make it a holiday.
  
  
  
  Out of habit, Nick checked Hugo, ego's thin stiletto in a leather scabbard on his right sleeve, aware of the comforting presence of Wilhelmina, his 9mm luger. They almost became part of the body's ego.
  
  
  
  He leaned back, buckled his seat belt, and looked out at the approaching Santos Dumont Airport. . It was built in the middle of a residential area and was almost in the center. Nick went out on the warm sunny saint plane and collected his luggage. He only brought one suitcase. With one suitcase, you can move much faster.
  
  
  
  He was just picking up his suitcase when the public address system interrupted the music for the report. Passers-by saw the broad-shouldered man suddenly freeze with a suitcase in his hand. Ego's eyes went cold.
  
  
  
  "Attention," the speaker announced. "It has just been announced that renowned American industrialist Senor Dennison was found dead this morning in his car on the Serra do Mar mountain road. Jorge Pilatto, the sheriff of the small town of Los Reyes, commented that the industrialist Stahl was the victim of a robbery. It is believed that Senor Dennison stopped to give the killer a ride or help emu.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A few minutes later, Nick gritted his teeth as he drove through town in a rented cream Chevy. He remembered the direction well and chose the fastest route through the Avenida Rio Branco and Rua Almirante Alexandrino. From there, he walked through the streets to the highway that led through the dark green mountains and overlooked the city. Estrada do Redentor gradually joins ego to the bushy mountains around Morro Queimado and the Cerro do Mar mountain range. He was driving at a very high speed and didn't slow down.
  
  
  
  Brylev was still there, bright and sunny, but all Nick could feel was darkness and a lump in his throat. The message for the current one may be correct. Todd could have been killed by one of their bandits in the mountains. It could be like this. But Nick's cold fury told em that wasn't the case. He forced himself not to think. All he knew was the news, and the fact that Todd's son was worried about his father. The two facts were not necessarily related.
  
  
  
  But if that was the case, he thought grimly, he would turn the city upside down to find out the truth. He was so deep in thought that all he noticed were the dangerous turns of the Bandstand, the highway that was getting steeper and steeper.
  
  
  
  Suddenly, however, ego's attention was drawn to a cloud of dust that he saw in the rearview mirror, which was too far away from his own tires. Another car was speeding down the Bandstand at the same dangerous speed as Nick. Even faster! The car came up licking. Nick drove as fast as he could. Just a little faster, and it will fly out of the way. The Emu always managed to keep the car balanced. The bandstand reached its highest point, and suddenly turned into a steep winding path. As Nick braked to avoid flying around the corner, he saw a car approaching in the rearview mirror. He immediately understood why this ego car was overtaking. It was a big ' 57 Cadillac, and it was twice as heavy as he was. With his weight, he could turn corners without slowing down, and now, in a long, fairly straight and steep descent, Nick quickly lost his footing. He saw that there was only one person in the car. He drove as far to the right of the road as possible. He almost scratched the jagged rock. It would be difficult, but an experienced driver would have enough space to pass on the side of the canyon.
  
  
  
  Since the driver of the Cadillac was obviously experienced, Nick waited for the man to move sideways. Instead, he saw the Cadillac hurtling toward him at an incredible speed, like a battering ram. The car crashed into the rear bumper of Nick's car with a loud noise, threatening the emu to lose control of the steering wheel. Only ego and cat reflexes prevented the car from crashing into the ravine. Just before a sharp turn, the car hit him again. Nick felt the car slide forward, and once again the emu had to work hard to keep from falling into the ravine. In the corner, he didn't dare stop, because then the heavier Cadillac would probably ram Ego again. A maniac was chasing him.
  
  
  
  Nick was the first to enter the new signpost and swung Ego wide as the other car swooped down on him again. After a quick prayer, he timed it, and Nick turned the steering wheel to the right. This made Chevrolet such a U-turn that it gave a boost to Cadillac. Nick watched as the man tried desperately to slow down. But the car skidded and flew into a ravine. This was followed by a huge thunderclap, and a thunder of broken glass, but the gas tank didn't explode. The driver was alert and fast enough to turn off the ignition. I. Nick ran to the curb and saw the wrecked Cadillac lying on the ground. He was just in time to see the man climb out around the car and stumble over a thick bush.
  
  
  
  Nick slid down the angular mountainside. When he reached the undergrowth, he jumped in. I couldn't go any further. Now that everything had changed, he was the stalker. He listened for the sound of the attacker, but there was dead silence. Nick realized that for a maniac, he was a very smart and cunning guy. He walked on and saw a wet red color on the leaves. Blood after ran to the right, and he quickly followed it. Suddenly, he heard a soft groan. He moved cautiously, but almost tripped over a body lying face-to-face. As Nick dropped to his knees and the man turned around, his face suddenly came alive. An elbow touched ego's throat. He fell, gasping for air. He saw the man stand up, his face scratched and covered in blood.
  
  
  
  The man tried to pounce on Nick, but the emu managed to kick ego to life. Nick stood up again and gave Em another punch to the jaw.
  
  
  
  The man fell forward and didn't move. To make sure his assailant was dead, Nick turned ego over with his foot. The final blow was fatal.
  
  
  
  Nick looked at the man. He was dark-haired and fair-skinned. It resembled a Slavic ghost. Ego's body was square and thick. He's not Brazilian, Nick thought, though he wasn't sure. As in America, Brazil was also a mixture of nationalities. Nick knelt down and began searching the man's pockets. There was nothing in nen, no wallet, no cards, no personal documents, nothing that could identify the ego. All Nick found was a small scrap of paper labeled "Race 47," 10 a.m., February 10. The man in front of him wasn't a maniac.
  
  
  
  He wanted to kill Nick deliberately and purposefully. Apparently, the EMU knew whether the tour number and arrival time were correct, and it followed it around the airport. Nick was pretty sure the man wasn't a local hitman. He was too good for that, too professional. The ego movements gave Nick the impression that the person was well-trained. This is evidenced by the absence of identity documents. The man knew that Nick was a dangerous opponent and took precautions. There were no signs of identification, and everything looked very professional. Out in the undergrowth, Nick pondered the decoded message in the AX office. Someone has come out to silence the ego; and, as quickly as possible, before they have a chance to clean up the mess.
  
  
  
  Could this be related to Todd's death? It didn't seem likely, and yet Todd was the only one who knew about Ego's flight and arrival time. But he sent a normal telegram, everyone could read it. Maybe there was a traitor at the travel agency. Or maybe they've carefully checked all flights to the Americas, assuming that AX will send someone. However, he wondered if there was any connection between the two events. The only way to find out is to investigate Todd's death.
  
  
  
  Nick went back to his car and drove to Los Reyes. The bandstand has become flatter, because now it has reached meseta, a plateau. He saw small farms and gray people along the road. A collection of purple and white stucco houses loomed up in front of him, and he saw a weathered wooden sign that read " Los Reyes." He drove up to a woman and a child who were carrying a large amount of laundry.
  
  
  
  "Flat," he said. - Onde fica a delegacia de policia?
  
  
  
  The woman pointed to a square at the end of the street where a freshly painted stone house stood with a Policia sign over the entrance. After thanking her, he was glad that Ego Portuguese still worked, and drove to the police station. It was quiet inside, and only a few that he could see across the waiting room were empty. A man came out of a small side room. Nen was wearing blue trousers and a blue shirt with Policia printed on the breast pocket. The man, who wasn't as tall as Nick, had thick black hair, black eyes, and an olive chin. A determined and proud face stared back at Nick, unperturbed.
  
  
  
  "I'm here for Senor Dennison," Nick said. "Are you the sheriff here?"
  
  
  
  "His chief of police," Nick corrected. "Are you alone again today? I've already told her my story."
  
  
  
  "No, her friend Senor Dennison," Nick said. "I came to visit him today. My name is Carter, Nick Carter. He handed the man his documents. The man examined the papers and looked at Nick questioningly.
  
  
  
  He asked. "Are you the Nick Carter I heard about?"
  
  
  
  "Depends on what you've heard," Nick said with a smile.
  
  
  
  "I think so," the police chief said, examining the powerful body again. "Her name is Jorge Pilatto. Is this an official visit?
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "At least I didn't come to Brazil in my official position. I came to visit an old friend, but it turned out differently. She'd love to see Todd's body."
  
  
  
  "Why, Senor Carter?" Jorge Pilatto asked. "This is my official report. You can read this."
  
  
  
  "I want to see the body," Nick said.
  
  
  
  He said. "Do you think I don't understand my business very well?" Nick could see that the man was flustered. Jorge Pilatto was quickly agitated, too quickly. "I'm not saying that. I told her I wanted to see the body. If you insist, I will first ask the permission of Senor Dennison's widow."
  
  
  
  Jorge Pilatto's eyes flashed. Then his face relaxed and he shook his head resignedly. "This way," he said.
  
  
  
  "When you are done, I will be happy to receive an apology from the famous American who honored us with his visit."
  
  
  
  Ignoring the blatant sarcasm, Nick followed Jorge Pilatto into a small room at the back of the prison. Nick braced himself. This kind of confrontation was always terrible. It doesn't matter how many times you've experienced it, and especially if it involves a good friend. Jorge lifted the gray sheet and Nick walked over to the dead figure. He forced himself to consider the corpse only as a body, an organism to be studied. He examined the report pinned to the edge of the chair. "Stare behind the left ear, back at the right high." It was a simple language. He turned his head from side to side, felt the body with his hands.
  
  
  
  Nick looked back at the report, his lips tight, and turned to Jorge Pilatto, who he knew was watching him closely.
  
  
  
  "You're saying that he was killed about four hours ago?" Nick asked. "How did you get there so fast?"
  
  
  
  "My assistant and I caught ego in the car on the way, ego at the entrance to the city. I patrolled there half an hour ago, went back to town, and picked up my assistant for a final check. It should have happened within half an hour."
  
  
  
  "If it hadn't happened then."
  
  
  
  Nick saw Jorge Pilatto's eyes widen. "Are you calling me a liar?" "Stop it!" he hissed.
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "I'm just saying it happened at a different time."
  
  
  
  Nick turned and left. He opened something else. Jorge Pilatto had something up his sleeve. He was shaky in his mind and felt like he didn't know what emu should know. That's why he was so easily annoyed and angry. Nick knew that the emu needed to overcome this distance. Emu needed to make a person see their flaws if they were able to work with them. And he's in a hotel to work with him. The Chief of Police may have had influence on these matters. He knew people, conditions, personal enemies, and a lot of other useful information. Nick went out through the buildings to sunny Bryliv. He knew that Jorge Pilatto was behind the ego.
  
  
  
  He stopped at the car stop and turned around. "Thank you for your efforts," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "Wait," the man said. Why are you so sure of what you're saying, senor?"
  
  
  
  Nick had been waiting for this question. This meant that the man had stopped being annoyed, at least partially. Either way, it was a start. Nick didn't answer, but went back into the room.
  
  
  
  "Please move your head," he said.
  
  
  
  When Jorge did, Nick said, " Tough, huh? This is rigor mortis. It went into every limb, and the ego wouldn't have been there if Todd had been killed just four hours ago. It was killed earlier, somewhere else, and then got to where you found the ego. You thought it was a robbery because his wallet was missing. The killer only did it to make that impression."
  
  
  
  Nick hoped that Jorge Pilatto might think a little and be smart. He didn't want to humiliate the person. He just wants him to see that he made a mistake. He wanted to let him know that they had to work together to find the right facts.
  
  
  
  "I think I owe you an apology," Jorge said, and Nick let out a sigh of relief.
  
  
  
  "Not necessarily," he said. "There is only one way to learn this, through experience. But I think we should be honest with each other."
  
  
  
  Jorge Pilatto pursed his lips for a moment, then smiled. "You're right, Senor Carter," he admitted. "I was chief of police here for only six months. It was chosen here by the people around the mountains, after our first public election. For the first time, they had the right to choose, instead of being unwitting slaves ."
  
  
  
  "What did you do for that?"
  
  
  
  "I studied for a while and then worked on cocoa plantations. I've always been interested in the road, and he was one of the people who encouraged voters to form groups. The people here are poor. This is nothing more than a human scott working on coffee and cocoa plantations. Cheap slaves. A group of our people, with the support of an influential person, organized people so that they themselves could influence the government. We can show them how they can improve their living conditions by voting for themselves. The few officials in the area are controlled by wealthy plantation owners and wealthy peasants.
  
  
  
  They ignore people's needs and thus become rich. When the sheriff died, it was suggested that an election should be held, and for the first time people could choose their own chief of police. Her, I want to be a good civil servant. I want to do the right thing for the people who chose me."
  
  
  
  "In that case," Nick said, " we need to find out who killed Dennison. Her guess is that the ego machine is outside. Let's go take a look."
  
  
  
  Dennison's car was parked in a small courtyard next to the building. Nick found blood on the front seat, now dry and hard. Nick used Jorge's penknife to scrape some of it into his handkerchief.
  
  
  
  "I'll send it to our lab," he said. "She might be able to help, Senor Carter," Jorge said. "I'll do what I can."
  
  
  
  "The first thing you can do is call me Nick," N3 said. " The second thing you can do is tell me who is the cause of Todd Dennison's death."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jorge Pilatto made hot, strong Brazilian coffee on a small stove. Nick sipped his coffee and listened to the chief of Police talk about people, land, and life in the mountains. He had intended to tell Jorge about the attacker on the bandstand, but as he sat listening, he gave up. The Brazilian had such preconceived notions that Nick doubted that ego, emotion, would allow emu to assess the situation objectively. When Nick told him about the accidents during the plantation construction, Jorge reacted rather naively.
  
  
  
  "Disgruntled workers?" "What is it?" he asked. 'Definitely not. Only one group of people will benefit from the death of Senor Todd. Rich planters and rich landowners. Ih is in power for about ten years. They've had what you call a Covenant for several years now. The Covenant controls everything it can.
  
  
  
  Their wages are low, and most of the Highlanders have borrowed money from the Covenant to survive. As a result, they are constantly in debt. It doesn't matter whether a person works or not and how much they earn by working. Senor Dennison would have changed everything. As a result, members of the Pact will have to make more efforts to obtain labor and, thus, increase wages and improve the treatment of people. This plantation was the first threat to ih's power over people and land. Therefore, they will benefit if the plantation is not completed. They must have decided it was time to act. After the first attempt to prevent Senor Dennison from getting the land, they hired a hitman."
  
  
  
  Nick leaned back and recited everything Jorge had said. He knew that the Brazilian was waiting for ego approvals. No matter how fast and impatient Nas Jorge was, Emu felt like he would have to wait for hours.
  
  
  
  "Now can you imagine, Senor Nick?" he asked.
  
  
  
  "It's as clear as a log, isn't it?"
  
  
  
  "Obviously, yes," Nick said. "Too clear. I've always learned to be suspicious of things that are too obvious. You may be right, but I'd better think about it. Who was the person who supported you before the election as chief of police? "
  
  
  
  Jorge's face took on a reverent expression, as if he were talking about a saint.
  
  
  
  "This is Rohadas," he said.
  
  
  
  Rohadas, Nick told himself, checking the archive of names and people stored in a special section of his brain. The name told em nothing.
  
  
  
  "Yes, Rojadas," Jorge continued. "He was in Portugal, where he worked as a publisher of several small newspapers. There, he learned how to handle money and be a good leader among people. He founded a new political party that the Covenant hates and fears. This is the party of the workers, the poor, and he has gathered a group of organizers around him. They explain to farmers why they should vote, and make sure that it actually happens. Rohadas took care of all this together: leadership, knowledge, and money. There are people who say that Rohadas is an extremist, a troublemaker, but they are the ones who were brainwashed by the Alliance."
  
  
  
  "And that Rohadas and the ego group are responsible for the people who choose you."
  
  
  
  "Yes," the police chief admitted. "But she doesn't like Rojadas, amigo. He's his own boss. Its us, who do not obey, I count on it ."
  
  
  
  Nick smiled. The man quickly stood on tiptoe. He certainly insisted on his independence, but you can easily use ego and personal pride to influence him. Nick had already done it himself. Still, Nick still believed he could trust Emu.
  
  
  
  "What's the name of this new band, Jorge?" Nick asked. "Or don't they have a name?"
  
  
  
  'Yes. Rohadas calls it the New Generation, the New Day Group. Rojadas, Senor Nick, a dedicated man.
  
  
  
  Nick thought that Hitler, Stalin, and Genghis Khan were all dedicated people. It just depends on what you're committed to.
  
  
  
  "She would like to meet Rohadas someday," he said.
  
  
  
  "I will be happy to arrange it," the police chief replied. "He lives not far from here, in an abandoned mission near Barra do Pirai. He and the ego people have placed their headquarters there ."
  
  
  
  "Muito obrigado," Nick said, standing up. "I'm going back to Rio to see Mrs. Dennison. But there is one more important thing you can do for me. You and I know that Todd Dennison's death was no ordinary robbery. I want you to send a message about this as before. I also want you to tell me that as Todd's personal friend, I'm conducting my own investigation ."
  
  
  
  Jorge looked up strangely. "I'm sorry, Senor Nick," he said. "But isn't that how you warn nu that you're stalking ih?"
  
  
  
  "I think so," Nick chuckled. "But this is the fastest way to contact them. I can be reached at Todd's office or at Mrs. Dennison's."
  
  
  
  The trip back to Rio was quick and easy. He paused briefly at the spot where the Cadillac had plunged into the ravine. The car could not be seen, because it was in a dense part of the thicket at the foot of the rocks. It may take days, Sundays, even months before the ego is found. Then it will be registered as one of many crashes. Whoever sent us the ego already knew what had happened.
  
  
  
  He thought about the Covenant landowners and what Jorge had said.
  
  
  
  Arriving in Rio, he found Dennison's apartment in the Copacabana area, on Rua Constant Ramos Street, overlooking Praia de Copacabana, that beautiful stretch of beach bordering almost the entire city. Before the visit, he went to the post office and sent two telegrams. I sent one to Bill Dennison and told em to stay in school until further notice. Another telegram was sent to Hawke, and Nick used a simple code for it. Emu didn't care if someone else decoded it. He then went to 445 Rua Constanta, Ramos, to Dennison's apartment.
  
  
  
  After he rang the bell, the door opened and Nick looked up into a pair of pale gray eyes smoldering under a lock of short flaxen hair. He watched as his eyes moved quickly over Ego's powerful torso. He asked. "Mrs. Dennison?" "His Nickname is Carter."
  
  
  
  The girl's face cleared. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here," she said. "I've been waiting for you since this morning. You must have heard ...?
  
  
  
  There was impotent anger in her eyes. Nick saw her clench her fists.
  
  
  
  "Yes, I heard it," he said. "I've already been to Los Reyes and seen the chief of police. The voice of why she came later."
  
  
  
  Vivian was wearing an orange striped pajama top with a plunging neckline at the front that accentuated her small, pointed chest. Not bad, he thought, trying to get it out of his head right away. She looked different from what he'd expected. Now he had no idea what it would look like, but at least he didn't know Todd had such a sultry taste.
  
  
  
  'You can't imagine how glad I am that you're here,' she said, taking Ego's hand and leading him into the apartment. "I can't take it anymore."
  
  
  
  Ego ruki's body was soft and warm, her face was calm, and her tone was reasonable. She led Ego into a huge living room, decorated in a modern Swedish style, with a full-length window that looked out over the ocean. As they entered, another girl stood up from the L-shaped sofa. She was taller than Vivian Dennison and very different. She was wearing a simple white dress that fit her like a glove. Big black eyes stared at Nick. Her mouth was large and sensitive, and her long, glossy black hair fell to her shoulders. Nah had round, full breasts and the tall, narrow appearance of Brazilian girls, which was completely different from the pale English schoolgirls. It was a strange combination, the two of them, and Nick found himself staring at nah for too long.
  
  
  
  "This is Maria Hawes," Vivian Dennison said. "Mary ... or, I would say, it was ... Todd's secretary."
  
  
  
  Nick saw Maria Hawes Vivian Dennison glaring at him. He also noticed that Maria Hawes had red lines around those beautiful black eyes. When she started talking, he was sure she was crying. Her voice, soft and velvety, sounded uncertain and out of control.
  
  
  
  "This ... with pleasure, senor, " she said softly. "I was just about to leave."
  
  
  
  She turned to Vivian Dennison. "I'll be in the office if you need it." The two women looked at each other and didn't say anything, but ih's eyes said a lot. Nick looked at them for a moment. They were so opposed to each other. Although he couldn't base it on us, on what, he knew they hated each other. He looked at Maria Hawes walking out the door, her slender thighs and firm ass.
  
  
  
  "Nah has a lot of appeal, doesn't it?" said Vivian. "Nah had a Brazilian mother and an English father."
  
  
  
  Nick looked at Vivian, who had already packed Ego's suitcase and put it in a side room. "Stay here, Nick," she said. "Todd wants it to be like this. This is a large apartment with a sound-proofed guest bedroom. You get all the freedom you need ."
  
  
  
  She opened the knuckles on the window, and sunlight streamed in. She walked in complete control of the situation. Oddly, Maria Hawes seemed much more upset. But he realized that some people can suppress their feelings better than others. Vivian left for a moment and came back dressed in a dark blue dress, stockings, and high-heeled ballet slippers. She sat down on a long bench and for the first time looked like a sad widow. Nick decided to tell Hey what he thought of the accident. When he finished, she shook her head.
  
  
  
  "I can't believe it," she said. "It's too awful to even think about. It must have been a robbery. This is absolutely necessary. I can't imagine it. oh my god. You don't know so many things that I want to talk to you about. Oh my God, I need to talk to Hema.
  
  
  
  The phone interrupted ih's conversation. It was the first reaction to Todd's death. Business colleagues, colleagues and friends around Rio called. Nick had seen her treat everyone with her cool efficiency. It was again, the feeling that she was completely different from the woman he expected to find here. Somehow, he thought, he had expected Nah to be more gentle and domestic. This girl controlled everything and was perfectly balanced, too balanced. She said the right things in the right way to everyone, but something didn't quite turn out the way it should have. Perhaps it was the look in Hsieh's pale gray eyes that he met while she was on the phone. Nick wondered if he was being too critical or suspicious. Maybe she was the one around them who kept putting all their feelings in a bottle and only let herself go when she was alone.
  
  
  
  Finally, she picks up the phone and puts it next to her phone.
  
  
  
  "I don't talk on the phone anymore," Vivian said, looking at her watch. "I have to go to the bank. They've already called three times. I need to sign some papers. But I still want to talk to you, Nick. Let's do it tonight, when everything calms down and we can be alone."
  
  
  
  "All right," he said. "I still have things to do. I'll be back for lunch later.
  
  
  
  She grabbed Ego's arm and stood openly in front of him, her chest pressed against ego's jacket.
  
  
  
  "I'm glad you're here, Nick," she said. "You don't know how nice it is to have a good friend, Todd, with me right now. He told me a lot about you."
  
  
  
  "I'm glad I can help you," Nick said, wondering why her eyes always said anything other than her lips.
  
  
  
  They went downstairs together, and when she was gone, Nick saw another familiar figure appear from behind a green plant.
  
  
  
  "Jorge!" exclaimed Nick. 'What are you doing here?'
  
  
  
  "This message that was sent to her," the police chief said, " did not hit the target. It was sent at one o'clock in the morning, when the people around the Covenant called me. They want to meet you. They are waiting for you in the cocktail bar of the Delmonido Hotel, on the contrary ." The Chief of Police put his cap on his head. "I didn't think your plan would work so quickly, Senor Nick," he said.
  
  
  
  "Just go in and ask for Senor Digrano. He's the president of the Covenant."
  
  
  
  "Okay," Nick said. "We'll see what they say."
  
  
  
  "I'll wait here," Jorge said. "You won't come back with proof, but you'll see that I'm right."
  
  
  
  The hotel's bar was well lit for a cocktail lounge. Nick was led to a low round table in the corner of the room. There were five people sitting at this table. Senor Digrano stood up. He was a tall, stern man who spoke good English and was obviously speaking on behalf of the others. They were all well-groomed, reserved, and formal men. They looked at Nick with a haughty, unflappable gaze.
  
  
  
  "Un coquetel, Senor Carter?" Digrano asked.
  
  
  
  "Aguardente, porfavor," Nick replied, sitting in an empty chair that was clearly meant for him. The cognac he received was Portuguese cognac of very good quality.
  
  
  
  "First, Senor Carter," Digrano began, " our condolences on the death of your friend Senor Dennison. You may be wondering why we want to see you so soon ."
  
  
  
  "Let me guess," Nick said. "You want my autograph."
  
  
  
  Digrano smiled politely. "We will not insult our intelligence with games,
  
  
  
  Senor Carter, " he continued. "We are not children or diplomats. We are men who know what they want. The tragic death of your friend, Senor Dennison, will undoubtedly leave the ego plantation unfinished. In time, all this, plantations, and ego killing will be forgotten unless a problem is created around it. When this. it will really become a problem, there will be an investigation, and others will come to finish the plantation. We believe that the less attention paid to emus, the better for everyone. Do you understand that?
  
  
  
  "Anyway," Nick said with a soft smile,"you don't think I should mind my own business."
  
  
  
  Digrano nodded and smiled at Nick.
  
  
  
  "This is exactly what it is," he said.
  
  
  
  "Well, amigos," Nick said. "Then I can tell you this; that I'm not leaving until I find out who killed Todd Dennison and why."
  
  
  
  Senor Digrano exchanged a few words with the others, forced a smile, and looked back at Nick.
  
  
  
  "We suggest you enjoy Rio and carnival, and then just go home, Senor Carter," he said. "It would be wise to do so. To be honest, most of the time we're used to getting things done ."
  
  
  
  "Me too, gentlemen," Nick said, standing up. "I suggest you end this meaningless conversation. Thanks again for the brandy.
  
  
  
  He could feel ih's eyes piercing ego's back as he walked out around the hotel. They didn't waste their time on nonsense. They were openly threatening the emu, and no doubt they meant it. Oni requires that the plantation remains incomplete. There was no doubt about it. How far will they go to convince the ego to stop? Probably quite far away. But were they really responsible for Todd Dennison's murder, or did they just take their chance to leave the plantation unfinished? They were obviously cold and ruthless steamboats who didn't shy away from violence. They thought they could achieve their goal with open threats. Yet the simplicity of the whole ego still irritated me. Perhaps the rheumatism Hawke ego telegram will shed some saint on this corkscrew. For some reason, he had the feeling that this was about much more than this small group of people. He hoped he was wrong, because if it was that simple, at least he would have a vacation. For a moment, the image of Maria Hawes flashed through the heads ' egos.
  
  
  
  Jorge was waiting for ego at the bend in the road. Anyone would have been outraged by Jorge's "I told you so." But Nick understood this proud, hot-tempered, insecure man, and even sympathized with Em.
  
  
  
  Nick initially tried to tell Em about the incident with the Cadillac and send a telegram to Hawke, but then refused to do so. If years of long experience have taught the ego anything, it's caution. The kind of caution that engaged in telling emu not to trust anyone before them with a ferret until he became completely confident in himself. There can always be something else about Jorge's strange attitude. He didn't think so, but he wasn't sure, so he just told em about the threats against ego. When he said that he wasn't coming to any conclusions, Jorge looked puzzled.
  
  
  
  He raged. "They were the only ones who benefited from Senor Todd's death. They're threatening you and you're still not sure? " 'This is unbelievable. It's as clear as a log ."
  
  
  
  "If you're right," Nick said slowly, " you thought Todd Stahl was the victim of a robbery. It was as clear as day ."
  
  
  
  He watched as Jorge's jaw tightened and his face went white with anger. He knew that dostal, ego was very cruel, but this was the only way to get rid of this influence from the ego side
  
  
  
  "I'm going back to Los Reyes," Jorge said cheerfully. "I can be contacted at my office if you need me."
  
  
  
  Nick watched Jorge drive away furiously, then trudged toward Praia, the beach. The beach was almost deserted because of the coming darkness. However, the boulevard was full of girls with beautiful long legs, narrow hips, and full round breasts. Every time he looked at them, he thought of Maria Hawes and her intriguing beauty. Her black hair and dark eyes gave em no peace. He wondered what it would be like to get to know her better. More than interesting, he was sure of it. There were signs of the approaching carnival everywhere. It was a time when the whole city turned into a huge crowd of people. The entire city was decorated with garlands and colorful lights. Nick paused for a moment as the band rehearsed the sambas composed especially for the Carnival. They will participate in countless dance competitions that will be held during the carnival. Nick continued on, and when he reached both ends of Praia de Copacabana, it was already dark and he decided to turn back. Neat, well-kept buildings ended in a network of narrow alleys lined with shops. As he turned, the emu was blocked by three fat men with nine beach bunks. They kept umbrellas under their arms, but the umbrellas above kept falling out. While Nick was walking around ih, Odin around the men took out a piece of rope around his pocket and tried to tie the umbrellas together.
  
  
  
  "Identify, senor," he called to Nick. "Could you extend your hand?"
  
  
  
  Nick smiled and walked over to them. "Here you go," the man said, pointing to the spot where he wanted to tie the knot. Nick put his hand in it and saw the umbrella, which looked like a large battering ram, coming towards him and slamming into the emu high up. Nick spun around and saw the stars. He fell to his knees and then to the ground. He struggled to stay conscious. The men roughly grabbed ego and threw him back to the ground. He lay still, using his immense willpower to stay conscious.
  
  
  
  "We can kill the ego here," he heard one of the men say. "Let's do this and leave."
  
  
  
  "No," he heard another say. "It would be too suspicious if the first friend of the American was also found dead and robbed. You know that we must not arouse any further suspicion. Our task is to throw the ego into the sea. You will load the ego machine."
  
  
  
  Nick lay still, but his ego was clear again. He was thinking. Damn it! The oldest trick in the world, and he fell for it like a novice. He saw three pairs of legs in front of his face. He was lying on the floor of the car, his left arm tucked up. Putting his hand on the tile, he gathered all the strength in his massive thigh muscles and kicked at the ankles of the attackers. They fell on top of him, but he got up as fast as a cat. They set up heavy umbrellas against the side of the house. Nick quickly grabbed one and swung it at one of the best men in the world. The man collapsed to the ground, spitting blood.
  
  
  
  Odin, around the other two, rushed towards him with outstretched hands. Nick dodged it easily, grabbing his arm and slamming it against the wall. He heard the sound of bones breaking, and the man fell to the ground. The third man suddenly pulled out a knife. Hugo, Nick's stiletto, was still not secured under Ego's right sleeve, and he decided to leave ego there. He was sure that these people were amateurs. They were clumsy. Nick ducked as the third man tried to stab Ego. He let the man come over for a lick and then pretended to jump. The man immediately responded by stabbing him. As the man did, Nick grabbed his arm and twisted it. The man screamed, which hurt. Just to be absolutely sure, he threw another karate kick at the emu's neck, and it fell.
  
  
  
  Everything went quickly and easily. The only memento of the battle was a bruise on his temple. Compared to the man in the Cadillac, Nick thought. He quickly searched ih's pockets. One of them had a wallet with an ID card. He was a government official. The other, in addition to some unimportant documents, had an identity card. He knew ih's names, which could be traced, but emu would have to involve the police to do that, and Nick didn't want that. At least not yet. That would only complicate things. But all three of them had one thing: a neat little white card. They were completely empty except for a small red dot in the middle. It was probably a sign of some sort. He laid down three cards in a minute and continued on his way.
  
  
  
  As he walked slowly toward Vivian Dennison's apartment, all he could think of was that someone must be trying very hard to get rid of him. If these three scoundrels were sent by the Covenant, the participants wouldn't be wasting their time. However, he suspected that the Covenant was only meant to scare him, not kill ego, and the three of them intended to kill ego. Perhaps Vivian Dennison can shed some light on this strange tangle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Vivian was waiting for Nick at home. She immediately noticed the bruise when he went to the bathroom to freshen up. Through the door, she watched as Nick took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. In the mirror, he could see her staring at his powerful, muscular body. She asked him what was wrong, and when he said hey, a look of fear crossed her face. She turned and walked into the living room. Nick drank some of the strong stuff as he came out of the bathroom.
  
  
  
  "I thought you might need this," she said. "Of course I know." Now she was wearing a long black dress that was buttoned up to the floor. A row of small buttons went into small cocks instead of buttonholes. Nick took a sip and sat down on the long bench. Vivian sat down next to him, putting her glass on her lap.
  
  
  
  "What does a white card with a red dot in the middle mean?" he asked.
  
  
  
  Vivian thought for a moment. "I've never seen a map like this," she said. But it is a symbol of the New Movement party, a group of extremists in the mountains. They use ego for all their banners and posters. How so?'
  
  
  
  "Last time I saw it," Nick said laconically. So, Rohadas. A man of the crowd, a great benefactor, a great leader, Jorge. Why did three ego supporters try to kill ego? Everyone started to act.
  
  
  
  Vivian held out her glass, and as she sat there, she seemed to be trying her best not to cry. Only those round, full, and cold eyes staring at him didn't fit everything. No matter how much he wanted us, he didn't find the slightest trace of your sadness in it.
  
  
  
  "It was a terrible day, you know?" she said. "It seems that the world of vote-vote will collapse, and there is no one to stop the ego. There's so much I want to say, but I can't. I have no friends here, no real friends. We haven't been here long enough to make real friends, and it's not easy for me to connect with people. "Why don't you know how happy I am to have you here, Nick?" For a moment, she took ego's hand. "But I have something to talk about. Something very important to me, Nick. During the day, one thing became clear to me. I know about Todd's murder, and I appreciate you trying to figure it out. But I want you to do something for me, even if you think it's useless. Her, I want you to forget everything, Nick. Yes, hers, I think it's for the best in the end. Leave everything. What happened happened. Todd is dead, and that can't be changed. I don't care who did it, why, or how. He's gone, and that's all that matters to me."
  
  
  
  Really? Nick almost asked, but he didn't move. Just forget about equipping everyone. This corkscrew was number one in the local top ten. Everyone seemed to want it. That Cadillac guy, the Covenant, the three rogues from Rohadas, and now Vivian Dennison. All the hotels he needs to stay in.
  
  
  
  "You're in shock, aren't you?" 'You know what I said.
  
  
  
  "It's hard to surprise me," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "I'm not sure I can explain it to her, Nick," Vivian said. "It's because of a lot of things. Once her matters are settled, her want to leave. I definitely don't want to stay here any longer than necessary. Too many painful memories. I don't want to wait for Todd's death to be investigated. And Nick, if Todd was killed for some reason, I don't want to know that reason. Maybe he had gambling debts. He may have been involved in a suspicious relationship. Maybe it was another one ... woman.
  
  
  
  Nick admitted that they were all perfect, logical solutions, except that Todd Dennison wouldn't even think about it. And he was pretty sure she knew it, too, though again, she didn't realize he knew it, either. He let her continue. It was getting more interesting.
  
  
  
  "Do you understand, Nick?" she said, her voice trembling and her small, pointed breasts quivering. "I just want to remember Todd as he was. Very much go down the ego will not return. Finding the killer won't bring back the ego. This will only cause a lot of trouble. Maybe it's wrong to think that way, but I don't care. All I want to do is run away from this with my memories. Oh, Nick, me ... her so upset.
  
  
  
  She sat sobbing on his shoulder, her target pressed tightly against him, her body shaking. She puts her hand on emu's shirt, on his massive pectoral muscles. Suddenly, she raised her head and made a smacking sound of passion. She could very well be completely honest and just plain confused. It was possible, only he didn't think so. He knew he had to find out. If she played games with him, he would soon notice that he had trump cards. If he was right, he knew he would understand her game. If he was wrong, he would exhaust himself by apologizing to his old friend. But he had to find out.
  
  
  
  Nick leaned forward and circled her lips with his tongue. She moaned as he pressed his lips to hers and explored her mouth with his tongue. She gripped ego's neck with her hands like a vise. He unbuttoned her dress and felt the warmth of her taut breasts. She was wearing nothing under her dress, and he took her breasts in his hand. It was soft and exciting, and the nipple was already hard. He sucked on her, and when She started to struggle so hard, the dress fell off nah, revealing her soft body, slender thighs,and black triangle. Vivian freaked out and pulled down his pants.
  
  
  
  "Oh, my God, my God," she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut, and with both hands she rubbed her ego, her body. She wrapped her arms around ego's neck and legs around ego's body, her nipples tickling ego's chest. He fucked her as fast as he could, and she gasped with pleasure. When she came, she screamed, let go of her ego, and fell backward. Nick looked at Nah. Now he knew the value of many more. Her gray eyes studied him intently. She turned and covered her face with her hands.
  
  
  
  "Oh my God," she sobbed. 'What did I do? What should you think about me?
  
  
  
  Damn it! he cursed himself. She saw the look in his eyes and knew that he thought her role as a grieving widow was far-fetched. She put the dress back on, but didn't button ego and leaned against ego's chest.
  
  
  
  I'm so ashamed, " she sobbed. "I'm so ashamed. I really don't want to talk about it, but I have to."
  
  
  
  Nick saw her step back quickly.
  
  
  
  "Todd was so busy on this plantation," she sobbed. "He hasn't touched me in months, not that I blame her ego. He had too many problems, was abnormally exhausted, and was briefly confused. But she was hungry, Nick, and tonight, with you by my side, she just couldn't help herself. You figured that out, didn't you, Nick? It's important to me that you understand this."
  
  
  
  "Of course I understand her, dear," Nick said soothingly. "These things just happen sometimes." He told himself that she was no more a sad widow than he was a Carnival Queen, but she must continue to think that she was smarter than he was. Nick pulled her back to his chest.
  
  
  
  "These Rohadas supporters," Nick asked carefully, toying with the nipple of her breast, " did Todd know ego personally?"
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't know, Nick," she sighed contentedly. "Todd always kept me away from his friends. I don't want to talk about it anymore, Nick. We'll talk about it tomorrow. When I get back to the States, I want us to stay together. Then things will be different, and I know we'll have another one with the other much more fun ."
  
  
  
  She was obviously avoiding further questions. He wasn't sure what she had to do with this case, but Vivian Dennison's name should have been on the list, and the list was getting longer.
  
  
  
  "It's getting late," Nick said, setting her up. "It's long past bedtime."
  
  
  
  "Okay, I'm tired too," she admitted. "Of course I won't sleep with you, Nick. I hope you understand that. What happened now, well ... it happened, but it wouldn't be good if we went to bed together right now."
  
  
  
  She played her game again. Her eyes confirmed it. Well, he could handle his role as well as she could. Emu didn't care.
  
  
  
  "Of course, dear," he said. 'You're absolutely right.'
  
  
  
  He stood up and pulled her to him, holding her close. Slowly, he slid his muscular every tribe between her legs. Her breathing quickened, and longing's muscles tightened. He lifted her chin so that he could look her in the eye. She struggled to continue playing her part.
  
  
  
  "Go to bed, dear," he said. She struggled to control her body. Her lips said goodnight to emu, and her eyes called ego an asshole. She turned and went into the bedroom. For a day, she turned around again.
  
  
  
  "Will you do what she asked you to do, Nick?" she pleaded like a little girl. "You're giving up this troublesome business, aren't you?"
  
  
  
  She wasn't as smart as she thought, but he had to admit that she played her game well.
  
  
  
  "Of course, honey," Nick replied, watching her eyes search his to make sure he was telling the truth. "I can't lie to you, Vivian," he added. That seemed to satisfy her, and she left. He wasn't lying. It will stop. He knew everything once. When he went to bed, it occurred to him that he had never slept with a woman before, and he didn't really enjoy it.
  
  
  
  The next morning, the maid brought breakfast. Vivian was wearing a somber black dress with a white collar. Telegrams and letters came from all over the world, and she was constantly on the phone during breakfast. There were two telegrams for Nick, both from Hawk, delivered by special courier to Todd's office, where they were sent. He was happy that Hawke also used a simple code. He could translate it while reading. Emu liked the first telegram very much, as it confirmed ego's own suspicions.
  
  
  
  "I checked all the sources in Portugal. No Rodhadians known to the newspapers and offices. There is no file with this name here either. British and French intelligence agencies also asked. Nothing is known. Are you having a good vacation?
  
  
  
  "Very good," Nick growled.
  
  
  
  'What did you say?'What is it?' She asked, interrupting the phone call.
  
  
  
  "Nothing," Nick said. "Just a telegram from some third-rate prankster."
  
  
  
  It didn't mean anything that he had reached a dead end after the Portuguese journalist, but AX didn't have a file on this person, it said something. Jorge said he wasn't around this country, so he was a foreigner. Nick doubted that Jorge had ever told em stories. Jorge and the others, of course, took this story in good faith. Nick opened the second telegram.
  
  
  
  "Two and a half million gold pieces illegally sent on board, bound for Rio, were intercepted. Does this help you? Nice holiday weather?
  
  
  
  Nick crumpled up the telegrams and set them on fire. No, it didn't help the emu, but there should have been a connection, that's for sure. Rodhadas and money, there was a straight line between them. It didn't take that much money to bribe the police chief of a mountain town, but Rohadas spent the money and got ih by someone. Two and a half million in gold, it can buy a lot of people or a lot of things. For example, weapons. If Rohadas was funded externally, the corkscrew was, hema and why? And what does Todd's death have to do with it?
  
  
  
  He said goodbye to Vivian and left the apartment. He was supposed to meet Rohadas, but he was going to see Maria Hawes first. The part's secretary knows more than a woman. He remembered the red around those big black eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The red lines around those beautiful eyes were gone, but they were still sad. Maria Hawes was wearing a red dress. Her full, round breasts pressed against the fabric.
  
  
  
  Todd's office was a small space in the center of town. Maria was alone in the office. He wanted to be able to talk to her quietly and was afraid of the noisy and cluttered office. She greeted ego with a tired smile, but friendly nonetheless. Nick already had an idea of what he was going to do. It was supposed to be rough and merciless, but now it's time to get results. They will come in the near future.
  
  
  
  "Senor Carter," Maria Hawes said. 'How are you? Have you discovered anything else?"
  
  
  
  "Very little," Nick said. "But that's not what I came for. I've come for you."
  
  
  
  "I'm flattered, senor," the girl said.
  
  
  
  "Call me Nick," he said. "I wouldn't want it to be like it's official."
  
  
  
  "Very well, senor ... Nick, she corrected herself. 'What do you want?'
  
  
  
  "A little or a lot," he said. "It depends on how you look at it." He came around to stand next to her chair.
  
  
  
  "I'm here on vacation, Maria," he said. "I want to have fun, collect things, have my own cheques to keep and have fun with hema sometime at the carnival."
  
  
  
  A small frown appeared on Nah's forehead. She was unsure, and Nick confused her a little. She was finally beginning to understand that.
  
  
  
  "I mean, you'll stay with me for a little while," he said. "You won't regret this, dear. Her, I've heard that Brazilian girls are very different from other women. I want to experience it firsthand ."
  
  
  
  Her eyes darkened and she pursed her lips. He could see that it would only be a moment before she burst out in anger.
  
  
  
  He leaned down quickly and kissed her soft, full lips. She couldn't turn around because he had a firm grip on her. Maria pulled away and jumped up. Those kind eyes were now jet black, shooting fire at Nick. Her breasts rose and fell to the rhythm of her rapid breathing.
  
  
  
  "How dare you?" she shouted at him. "I thought you were Senor Todd's best friend, and that's all you can think about openly right now. You don't have any respect for him, in general, we don't have any internal restraint? His... I'm shocked. Please leave this office immediately."
  
  
  
  "Calm down," Nick continued. "You're just a little confused. I can make you forget everything."
  
  
  
  "You ... you ..." she muttered, unable to find the right words to express her anger. "I do not know what to tell you. Senor Todd told me some amazing things about you when he heard you were coming. It's a good thing he didn't know who you really were. He said that you are the best secret agent, that you are loyal, honest and a true other. And now you come here and ask me to have some fun with you when Senor Todd died just yesterday. Scoundrel, can you hear me? Rollback!'
  
  
  
  Nick laughed to himself. Ego first corkscrew was given rheumatism. It wasn't a trick or a game. Just real genuine anger. Still, he wasn't completely satisfied.
  
  
  
  "All right," he said lightly. "I was planning to drop the investigation anyway."
  
  
  
  Her eyes widened in anger. She clapped her hands in surprise. "Me ... I don't think I heard you," she said. "How can you say that? This is not fair. Don't you want to know who killed Senor Todd?" Are you interested in nothing but fun? '
  
  
  
  She was silent, trying to control herself as she crossed her arms in front of that beautiful, full chest. Her voice was cold and curt. "Look," she began, " from what I've heard from Senor Todd, you're the only one who can get to the bottom of this. Okay, do you want to spend the carnival with me? Do you want to meet Brazilian girls? I'll do this, I'll do everything, if you promise to find Senor Todd's killer. We're making a deal, okay?
  
  
  
  Nick smiled broadly. The girl's feelings were deep. She was willing to pay a heavy price for what she thought was right. She wasn't the first to ask me to stop. It gave him a little courage. He decided it was time to inform the sl.
  
  
  
  "All right, Maria Hawes," he said. "Calm down, you won't have to deal with me in any way. I just needed to find out, and that was the fastest way ."
  
  
  
  Was there something you needed to find out?" she said, looking at him in confusion. 'Good for me?'
  
  
  
  "Yes, about you," he said. "I should have known something. I tested your loyalty to Todd first.
  
  
  
  "You were testing me," she said, a little indignantly.
  
  
  
  "I tested you," Nick said. "And you did well. I won't stop investigating, Maria, until I find out the truth. But I need help and reliable information. Do you believe me, Mary?"
  
  
  
  "I want to believe you, Senor Carter?" she said. Her eyes were friendly again, and she looked at him frankly.
  
  
  
  "Ble," he said. "Did you love Todd, Maria? The girl turned and looked out the small window in the office. When she answered, she spoke slowly. She chose her words carefully as she stared out the window.
  
  
  
  'Love?'she said in a sad voice. "I wish she knew what that really means. I don't know if Senora Todd loved him. I know that this is the nicest and nicest person I've ever met. Hers was a great respect for him, and a deep admiration for him. Maybe he felt some kind of love for him. By the way, if ego loved her, that's my secret. We've never had any adventures. He had a deep sense of justice. That's why he built this plantation. To us, the one around us will never do anything that will make us lose our dignity towards each other. I'm not a prude, but my feelings for Senor Todd were too strong to take advantage of him."
  
  
  
  She turned her head to Nick. Her eyes were sad and proud, and made her look irresistibly beautiful. Beauty of the soul and body.
  
  
  
  "Maybe I didn't quite say what I wanted to say, Senor Carter," she said. "But this is something very personal. You're the only person Hema ee has ever talked to about this."
  
  
  
  "And you were very clear, Maria," Nick said. "I totally understand her. You also know that not everyone treated Todd the way you did. There are those who think I should just forget everything, like Vivian Dennison. She says what happened, happened, and finding the killer won't change that."
  
  
  
  "Did she tell you that?" said Maria, with a furious expression on her face. "Maybe it's because I don't care. Have you ever thought about it?
  
  
  
  "I've been thinking about it," Nick said, trying not to laugh. "Why are you thinking about this?"
  
  
  
  "Because she was never interested in Senor Todd, ego work, or ego issues," Maria Hawes replied angrily. "She wasn't interested in things that were important to him. All she did was argue with him about this plantation. She wants him to stop building landscaping."
  
  
  
  "Are you sure, Maria?"
  
  
  
  "I heard her say it herself. I heard them arguing, " she said. "She knew that the plantation would cost money, a lot of money. Money that she would rather spend on herself. She wants Senor Todd to spend his money on big villas and yachts in Europe."
  
  
  
  When Mary spoke, her eyes glowed with a mixture of anger and disgust. It was an unusual feminine jealousy in this honest, sincere girl. She really despised Vivian, and Nick agreed.
  
  
  
  "I want you to tell me everything you know," Nick said. "That Rodhadas," did he and Todd know the other one?
  
  
  
  Maria's eyes darkened. "Rojadas sent a letter to Senor Todd a few days ago, but it was top secret. How did you know?"
  
  
  
  "I was reading coffee grounds," Nick said. 'Go ahead.'
  
  
  
  "Rojadas offered Senor Todd a large sum of money for the plantation, which was already half finished. Senor Todd refused.
  
  
  
  "Rohadas said, why do emus need this unfinished plantation?"
  
  
  
  "Rohadas said that he wanted an ego so that the ego group could finish it off. According to ego, they were honest people who wanted to help people, and this would bring them a lot of new followers. But Senor Todd thought there was something fishy about it. He told me that he did not believe Rohadas, that he did not have the knowledge, craftsmen and equipment to finish and maintain the plantation. Rojadas wants Senor Todd gone."
  
  
  
  Yeah, Nick thought aloud. "It would make more sense if he asked Todd to stay and finish the plantation. So he didn't do it. What did Rohadas say when Todd refused?
  
  
  
  He looked furious, and Senor Todd was worried. He said that he could openly resist the hostility of large landowners. But Rohadas was terrible ."
  
  
  
  "You said that Rohadas offers many arguments. How much?'
  
  
  
  "More than two million dollars."
  
  
  
  Nick whistled softly through his teeth. Now he, too, could understand Hawk's telegram. The two and a half million gold coins they intercepted were intended for Rohadas to buy Todd's plantation. In the end, coincidence didn't play such a big role. But the real answers, such as who gave so much money and why, were still open.
  
  
  
  "It takes a very long time for a poor farmer to do this," Nick said to Maria. "How was Rohadas going to give Todd all that money? Did he mention a bank account?
  
  
  
  "No, Senor Todd was supposed to meet with an intermediary who would transfer the money."
  
  
  
  Nick felt his ego's blood flow faster, which always happened when he was on the right track. Firm meant only one thing. Whoever gave us the money didn't want to risk Rohadas running off with the money. Everything was well organized by Hema behind the scenes. Todd's Plantation and ego death may be a small part of something much bigger. He turned back to the girl.
  
  
  
  "Name, Mary," he said. "I need a name. Did Todd mention the name of this intermediary?
  
  
  
  "Yes, I saved her. "I found her," she said, rummaging through a drawer of papers. "It's him, Albert Sollimage. He is a documentation and ego business in a hall in the Pierre Maua area.
  
  
  
  Nick stood up and checked the luger in its shoulder holster with a practiced gesture. He lifted Maria's chin with a finger.
  
  
  
  "No more challenges, Maria. No deals, " he said. "Maybe when this is over, we can work together in a different way. You're a very pretty girl.'
  
  
  
  Bright black eyes looked at the hospitality, and Maria smiled. "I'd love to, Nick," she said hopefully. Nick kissed her on the cheek before leaving.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Pierre Maua area was located in the northern part of Rio. It was a small shop with a simple sign that read "Imported Goods-Albert Sollimage." The shop window was painted black so that it wouldn't be visible from the outside. It was a rather cluttered street, full of warehouses and dilapidated buildings. Nick parked the car on the corner and continued walking. It was a post he didn't want to lose. The $ 2 million intermediary was more than a simple script. He would have a lot of useful information, and Nick intended to get it one way or another. This started to quickly turn into a big business. He was still determined to find Todd's killer, but he was becoming more and more convinced that he had only seen the tip of the iceberg. If he catches Todd's killer, he'll know a lot more about the value of many things. He began to guess who was behind it. The Russians? The Chinese? These days, they were active everywhere. When he entered the store, he was still lost in thought. It was a small room with a narrow counter at one end, on which were several vases and wooden statues. Dusty bales lay on the ground and in crates. The two small windows were flanked by steel shutters. A small door led to the back of the store. Nick pressed the bell at the counter. Called on Hospitality, and he waited. No one showed up, so he clicked again. He called out, and listened to the noise around the back of the store. He didn't hear anything. Suddenly he felt a chill, a sixth sense of unease that he never ignored. He walked around the counter and stuck his head in the narrow door frame. The back room was packed to the ceiling with rows of wooden crates. There were narrow corridors between them.
  
  
  
  "Mr. Sollimage?" said Nick again. He entered the room and looked down the first narrow passage. His muscles tensed involuntarily when he saw the body lying on the floor. A jet of red liquid gushed into the crates, exiting through the holes in the man's temple. Ego's eyes were open. Nick knelt by the corpse and pulled out his wallet around the inside pocket.
  
  
  
  Suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, a primal instinct that is part of the ego brain. That instinct told him that death was near. Experience told him that there was no time to turn around. I'm on my knees with a dead man, he could only make one move, and he did it. He dived over the body. During this jump, he felt a sharp, piercing pain from an object sliding on ego's temple. The fatal blow was unsuccessful, but a trickle of blood appeared on the temple. When he got up, he saw that the assailant had stepped over the body and approached him. The man was tall, dressed in a black suit, and had the same face shape as the man in the Cadillac. He was holding a cane in his right hand, and Nick could see the two-inch nail on the handle of the cane. Silent, dirty and very efficient. Now Nick knew what had happened to Sollimage. The man was still coming, and Nick stepped back. Soon, he crashed into a wall and ran into a trap. Nick let Hugo slide around the scabbard into his sleeve and felt the reassuring sharpness of the stiletto's cold steel in his hand.
  
  
  
  He suddenly left Hugo. The attacker, however, noticed just in time, and pushed off from the crates. The stiletto pierced ego's chest. Nick followed the knife in a jump and was hit with a cane. The man approached Nick again. He swung his cane in the air like a scythe. Nick didn't have much room. He didn't want to make any noise, but making noise was still better than being killed. He took the Luger out of its shoulder holster. The attacker, however, was alert and quick, and when he saw Nick pulling the Luger, he drove the nail into Nick's arm. The luger fell to the ground. As the man drove the nail into Nick's hand, he threw the weapon away. This wasn't just one of Rohadas ' scoundrels, but a well - trained professional assassin, Nick thought. But by driving the nail into Nick's hand, the man was within reach.
  
  
  
  Gritting his teeth, he slammed a left hand into the man's jaw. It was enough to give Nick some time. The man spun on his feet as Nick pulled his arm free and ducked into the narrow hallway. The man kicked the Luger somewhere between the boxes. Nick knew that without the gun, the emu needed to do something else, and quickly. The tall man was too dangerous with his deadly walking stick. Nick went down another corridor. He heard the soft sound of rubber soles behind him. Too late, the corridor was a dead end. He turned around and saw that the ego opponent was blocking the only exit. The man hasn't said a word to us yet: the marks of a professional assassin.
  
  
  
  The conical walls of the crates and crates were the perfect trap and gave the weapon the maximum advantage in math and ego. The assassin was slowly approaching. The bastard wasn't in a hurry, he knew the ego victim couldn't escape. Nick was still looking back to give himself time and space. Suddenly he jumped up and pulled at the top of a tall pile of crates. The box teetered on the edge for a moment, then fell to the ground. Nick ripped off the lid of the crate and used it as a shield. Holding the lid in front of him, he ran forward as fast as he could. He saw the man frantically poke the edge of the lid with his stick, but Nick mowed down the ego like a bulldozer. He lowered the heavy lid on the man. Nick picked it up again and saw a bloody face. The tall man turned on his side and stood up again. He was as hard as a rock. He lunged again.
  
  
  
  Nick caught the ego of every tribe and punched them in the jaw. The man fell to the ground with a gurgle, and Nick saw him reach into his coat-width pocket.
  
  
  
  He pulled out a small pistol, no bigger than a Derringer. Nick's leg, perfectly aimed, hit the gun just as the man fired. The result was a gunshot, not much louder than a gunshot, and a gaping wound over the man's right eye. Damn it, Nick cursed. It wasn't ego's intention. This person could have provided the emu with information.
  
  
  
  Nick searched the man's pockets. Like the driver of the Cadillac, he didn't have any identification documents with him. However, now something is clear. It wasn't a local operation. Orders were given by professional people. Several million dollars were allocated to Rohadas for the purchase of Todd's plantation. The money was intercepted, forcing ih to act quickly. The main thing is the silence of intermediaries, Sollimaja. Nick felt it. he was sitting on a powder keg and didn't know where or when it would explode. Ih the decision to kill rather than risk it was a clear sign that an explosion was coming. He didn't know what to do with the women. It didn't matter now either. Em needed another lead so he could learn a little more about Sollimaje. Maybe Jorge can help emu. Nick decided to tell Em everything.
  
  
  
  He picked up his cane and examined the weapon carefully. He found that by turning the head of the mace, ble made the nail disappear. He admired the hand-made and well-designed piece. Something for special effects to come up with such a thing, he thought. Of course, this is not something that the peasant revolutionaries could come up with. Nick dropped the stick next to Albert Sollimage's body. Without the murder weapon, that little round hole in the ego temple can be a real mystery.
  
  
  
  Nick sheathed Hugo, picked up the Luger ,and went out into the store. There were a few people on the street, and he walked slowly to his car. He left, turned onto Avenida Presidente Vargas, and headed for Los Reyes. Once on the bandstand, he hit full throttle and sped through the mountains.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Nick arrived in Los Reyes, Jorge wasn't there. A uniformed officer, apparently an assistant, told Emu that the chief would be back in about an hour. Nick decided to wait outside in the warm sun. As he watched the slow movements of the city, he also began to live at this pace. Yet it was a world surrounded by great haste: people who wanted to kill each other as quickly as possible, spurred on by ambitious types. This city has already suffered from this. There were underground forces, hidden hatreds, and low-key vengeances that could easily break out at the slightest provocation. These innocent, peaceful people were cunningly used by crafty, ruthless people. The city's quiet, only the center of Athens makes Nick impatient, and he was glad when Jorge finally showed up.
  
  
  
  In the office, Nick told me about three men who tried to kill ego. When he was done, he placed three white cards with a red dot on the chair. Jorge gritted his teeth. He didn't say anything as Nick continued. When Nick had finished, Jorge leaned back in the swivel chair and gave Nick a long, thoughtful look.
  
  
  
  "You've said a lot, Senor Nick," Jorge said. "You have learned a lot in a very short time. I can't give you an answer to us that, except for one, namely the three who attacked you. Her confident that they were sent by the Covenant. The fact that they had all three Novo Dia cards doesn't mean anything at all."
  
  
  
  "I think it means a hell of a lot," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "No, amigo," the Brazilian said. "They may well be members of the New Generation parties, and yet they are hired by the Association. My other Rohadas gathered a lot of people around him. Not all of them are angels. Most of the people around them have almost no education, because almost all of them are poor. They've done almost everything in their lives. If he promised a high reward, as she was sure he would, it wasn't hard to find three men to do it. "What about the money that Rojadas offered Senor Todd?" Nick asked. "Where did he get this from?
  
  
  
  "Maybe Rojadas borrowed money," Jorge said stubbornly. "Is this wrong? Emu needs money. I think you have a complex. Everything that happened has to do with Rohadas. You want to blacken the ego, and that makes me very suspicious ."
  
  
  
  "If someone here has a complex, comrade, I would say that you have it. You refuse to face the truth. You can't solve so many problems."
  
  
  
  He saw Jorge spinning in his chair and getting angry. "I see the facts," he said angrily. "The most important thing is that Rohadas is a man of the people. He wants to help people. Why would such a man stop Senor Todd from finishing his plantation? Now answer this!
  
  
  
  "A man like that wouldn't have stopped the plantation," Nick admitted.
  
  
  
  "Finally," Jorge shouted triumphantly. "It couldn't have been clearer, could it?"
  
  
  
  "Voice and start again with your clarity," Nick replied. "I said that such a person would not do it. So what if Rohadas isn't that kind of man?
  
  
  
  Jorge recoiled as if his ego had been slapped in the face. His brow furrowed. "What are you trying to say?" "Stop it!" he snarled.
  
  
  
  "What if Rohadas is an extremist who wants to have power by relying on someone abroad?" Nick asked, knowing that Jorge might explode with anger. "What do you need most in math? He must have a lot of dissatisfied people. People without hope and good prospects. He must have people who obey the emu. This way it will be able to use ih. Senor Todd's plantations would have changed that. As you said yourself, this will bring people good wages, jobs and new opportunities. This would directly or indirectly improve ih's life. A man like that can't afford it. In their best interests, people should remain backward, restless, and penniless. You can't manipulate and use those who have gained hope and material improvement as easily as people who have lost hope. The plantation, even if it was almost finished, would cause the ego to lose control of the people."
  
  
  
  "I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense," Jorge shouted, standing up. "What right do you have to say such nonsense here? Why are you trying to blackmail this man, the only one who tried to help these poor people? You were attacked by three men, and you are distorting the facts to incriminate Rohadas. Why?'
  
  
  
  "The Covenant didn't try to buy Senor Todd's plantation," Nick said. "They admitted that they were happy about the construction stop and Todd's death.
  
  
  And I need to tell you something else. I've been making inquiries about Rohadas. No one in Portugal knows the ego."
  
  
  
  "I don't believe you," Jorge shouted in rheumatism. "You're just a messenger of the rich. You are not here to solve this murder case, but to destroy Rohadas. Here's what you're trying. You're all fat rich people in America. You can't be charged with murdering someone who meets your own kind."
  
  
  
  The Brazilian fidgeted with his hands. He could barely contain himself. He stood openly, his head held high and defiant.
  
  
  
  "I want you to leave immediately," Jorge said. "I can get you out of here by saying that I have information that you are a troublemaker. Her, I want you to leave Brazil."
  
  
  
  Nick realized there was no point in continuing. Jorge Pilatto's position could only be changed by himself. Nick had to rely on Jorge's good sense and pride. He decided to give that pride a final push. "Okay," Nick said, " I'm standing for a day. This is the only village in the world where there is a blind police chief ."
  
  
  
  He left, and when Jorge exploded, he was glad he didn't understand Portuguese very well.
  
  
  
  When he arrived in Rio, it was already evening. He went to Vivian Dennison's apartment. Nick was concerned about the wounds on his arm. This wound was undoubtedly infected. Emu had to pour iodine on his ego. There was always a small first-aid kit in the suitcase.
  
  
  
  Nick kept thinking that the time was coming when something would happen. He knew this not from the facts, but from his instincts. Vivian Dennison was playing her game, and he was going to take care of her tonight. If she found out something important, he would hear it both ways through the night.
  
  
  
  In her pajamas, she opened the door, pulled Ego into the room, and pressed her lips to his. She took another step back, lowering her eyes.
  
  
  
  "Simple, Nick," she said. "But since I haven't heard from you all day, I was worried. I just had to do it."
  
  
  
  "You just had to give me a try, honey," Nick said. He excused himself and went to his room to treat his hand. When he was done, he went back to her. She was waiting for ego Bakharev.
  
  
  
  She asked. "Will you make me a drink?" "The bar is over there, Nick. Do you really put too much water in your drink?
  
  
  
  Nick went to the bar and lifted the lid. The back of the lid was aluminum, like a mirror. He could see Vivian peeking out. There was a smell in the room, Nick sensed. A smell that wasn't there for us yesterday, for us last night. He knew the smell, but he couldn't immediately identify it as ego.
  
  
  
  "How about Manhattan?" "What is it?" he asked, reaching for the bottle of vermouth.
  
  
  
  "Great," Vivian replied. "I'm sure you make really good cocktails."
  
  
  
  "Pretty strong," Nick said, still trying to smell it. He leaned over to a small trash can with gold-colored pedals and dropped the bottle cap on it. As he did so, he saw that there was a half-smoked cigar at the bottom. Of course, he knew now. It was the smell of good Havana.
  
  
  
  'What did you do today?'What is it?' he asked pleasantly, stirring the drinks. "Have you had any visitors?"
  
  
  
  "No one but the maid," Vivian replied. "I spent most of the morning on the phone, and today is not when I started packing. Her hotel does not go to visit. She needs to be alone."
  
  
  
  Nick put the drinks on the coffee table and knew what he was going to do. Ee deception lasted long enough. What exactly she was doing with it, he didn't know yet, but she was still a top-notch whore. He finished his Manhattan in one gulp and saw Vivian looking surprised. Nick sat down next to her on the couch and smiled.
  
  
  
  "All right, Vivian," he said cheerfully. - 'Game over. Admit it.'
  
  
  
  She looked confused and frowned. She asked. 'What?"I don't understand you, Nick."
  
  
  
  "You understand better than anyone," he smiled. It was an ego-killing smile, and unfortunately, she didn't know it. "Start talking. If you don't know where to start, first tell me hema was your visitor today, not when."
  
  
  
  "Nick," she laughed softly. "I really don't understand you. What's happening?'
  
  
  
  He slapped her hard across the face with the flat of his hand. Ee "Manhattan" flew across the room, and the force of the impact caused her to fall to the ground. He picked her up and hit her again, but this time not so hard. She collapsed on the couch. There was real fear in her eyes now.
  
  
  
  "I don't like doing this," hey Nick said. 'It's not my way of doing it, but my mom always said I should do more things that I wouldn't like. So, honey, its suggest you start talking now, or its gonna make it tough. I know someone was here today, not when. There's a cigar in the trash can, and the whole house smells like cigar smoke. If you come from outside, like me, you'll notice it right away. You didn't count on it, did you? Well, who was it?
  
  
  
  She glared at him and turned her head to the side. He grabbed her short blonde hair and pulled her along. When she fell to the ground, she screamed, which hurt. Still holding her hair, he lifted her head and raised a threatening hand. 'Again! Oh no, please! she pleaded with horror in her eyes.
  
  
  
  "I'd be happy to hit you a few more times just for Todd," Nick said. "But I'm not here to express my personal feelings. Well done=) to hear the truth. Well, you have to talk, or you'll get a slap in the face?"
  
  
  
  "I'll tell you," she sobbed. "Please let me go ... You're hurting me!"
  
  
  
  Nick took her by the hair and she screamed again. He tossed it on the couch. She sat up and looked at him with a mixture of respect and hatred.
  
  
  
  "Give me another drink first," she said. "Please, me ... I need to recover a little."
  
  
  
  "All right," he said. "I'm not reckless." He went to a bar and started mixing another Manhattan. A good drink can loosen your tongue a little. As he shook the drinks, he peered into the aluminum back of the bar's lid. Vivian Dennison was no longer there, and suddenly he saw her target reappear. She stood up and walked slowly over to him. In one hand, she held a very sharp letter opener with a copper handle shaped like a dragon.
  
  
  
  Nick didn't move, just put Manhattan in a glass instead of the blender. She was almost at his side now, and he saw her hand rise to stab the emu. With a lightning-fast movement, he threw the Manhattan glass over his shoulder and pointed it at his face. She blinked involuntarily. He grabbed a letter opener and twisted her arm. Vivian screamed, but Nick held her hand behind her back.
  
  
  
  "Now you're going to talk, you little liar," he said. "Did you kill Todd?"
  
  
  
  He hadn't thought about it at first, but now that she was trying to kill ego, he thought she was quite capable of it.
  
  
  
  "No," she breathed. "No, I swear!"
  
  
  
  "What's that got to do with you?" "What is it?" he asked, twisting her arm even more.
  
  
  
  "Please," she screamed. "Please stop, you're killing me ... stop!"
  
  
  
  "Not yet," Nick said. "But I'll certainly do it if you don't talk. What did you have to do with Todd's murder?"
  
  
  
  "I told them... I told them when he would come back from the plantations, when he would be alone."
  
  
  
  "You passed on Todd," Nick said. He threw her to the edge of the couch and held her by the hair. Emu had to restrain himself from hitting her.
  
  
  
  "I didn't know they were going to kill ego," she breathed. "You have to believe me, I didn't know. His... I thought they were just trying to scare my ego.
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't even trust you if you told me I was Nick Carter," he yelled at nah. 'Who are they?'
  
  
  
  "I can't tell you that," she said. "They'll kill me."
  
  
  
  He hit her again and heard her teeth chatter. "Who was here today, not when?"
  
  
  
  'A new person. I can't say that, " she sobbed. "They will kill me. They told me this alone."
  
  
  
  "You're not doing well," Hey Nick growled. "Because I'll kill you if you don't tell me."
  
  
  
  "You won't do that," she said with a look that could no longer hide her fear. "You won't,"she confirmed," but they will."
  
  
  
  Nick swore under his breath. She knew she was right. He wouldn't have killed her, not under normal circumstances. He grabbed her by the pyjamas and shook her like a rag doll.
  
  
  
  "Maybe I won't kill you, but I'll get you to beg me for it, "he snapped, hey. Why were they here?
  
  
  
  "Oni hotels of money," she said breathlessly.
  
  
  
  "What money?" "What is it?" he asked, tightening the cloth around her neck.
  
  
  
  "The money that Todd had to keep the plantation going for the first year," she shouted. "You ... you're choking me."
  
  
  
  'Where are they in the hall?'
  
  
  
  "I do not know," she said. "It was an operating expense fund. Todd thought the plantation would turn a profit at the end of the first year."
  
  
  
  'Who are they? he asked again, but she didn't agree. She became stubborn.
  
  
  
  "I won't tell you," she said.
  
  
  
  Nick tried again. "What did you say to them today, not when?"
  
  
  
  He noticed the slight change in the look in her eyes and immediately knew that she was going to lie again. He pulled her up so that she was sitting up. "One more lie and I won't kill you, but you'll be begging me to kill you," he once said. "What did you tell them today, not when?"
  
  
  
  "I told them who knows where the money is, the only person who knows is Maria."
  
  
  
  Nick felt ego's fingers tighten around Vivian's throat and saw the startled look in her eyes again.
  
  
  
  "I really should kill you," he said. "But I have better plans for you. You come with me. We'll pick up Maria first, and then we'll go to a certain chief of police, to whom I'll hand her over to you.
  
  
  
  He pushed her out into the hallway, holding her hand. "Let me change," she said.
  
  
  
  "No time," he said. Nick pushed her out into the hallway. "Wherever you go, they'll give you a new dress and a new broom."
  
  
  
  He thought of Maria Hawes. That fake selfish witch also passed on the sl. But they wouldn't kill Maria, at least not yet. At least as long as she kept her mouth shut. However, at the hotel go to her and take her to a safe place. The intercepted money transfer was extremely important. This meant that it was intended for other purposes. He wondered if it would be better to leave Vivian here in her apartment and make her talk. He didn't think it was such a good idea, but he could do it if emu had to. No, he decided, Maria Hawes first. Vivian told Em where Maria lived. It was ten minutes by car. When they reached the revolving door in the lobby, Nick took a seat next to it. He wouldn't let Ay escape. They had just passed through the revolving door when shots rang out. Quickly, he fell to the ground and dragged Vivian with him. But her death was swift. He heard the sound of gunshots piercing her body.
  
  
  
  The girl fell forward. He turned the ee upside down, luger in hand. She was dead, and three bullets had hit her in the chest. Even though he knew he wouldn't see anything, he still looked. The killers were gone. They were waiting for her and killed her at the first opportunity. Other people came running now. "Stay with her," Nick said to the first comer. "I'm going to the doctor."
  
  
  
  He ran around the corner and jumped into his car. What emu didn't need right now was the Rio police. He felt stupid for not making Vivian talk. Everything she knew went with her to the grave.
  
  
  
  He was driving through the city at a dangerous speed. The house where Maria Hawes lived was a small, nondescript house. Veins on the house 2A.
  
  
  
  He rang the bell and ran up the stairs. The apartment door was ajar. Suddenly, he had a deep suspicion, which was confirmed when he pushed the door open. Emu didn't have to shout because she wasn't here anymore. The apartment was a mess: drawers overturned, chairs and armchairs overturned, cabinets overturned. They already had it in their hands. But the mess he saw in front of him told em one thing: Maria hadn't told him yet. If they did, they wouldn't have to search her room inch by inch. Well, these people were going to come and talk to him, he was sure of it. But as long as she kept her mouth shut, she was safe. There might still be time to free her, if only he knew where she was.
  
  
  
  Ego eyes, trained to find small details that others wouldn't notice, wandered. There was something for the day, on the carpet in the hallway. Thick reddish mud. He took some and rolled it between his fingers. It was good heavy mud, and he had seen it before in the mountains. The shoe or boot that they must have brought to the ego came outright from the mountains. But where? Perhaps one around the great Covenant farms? Or at Rohadas ' headquarters in the mountains. Nick decided to take Rohadas.
  
  
  
  He ran down the stairs and drove as fast as he could to the bandstand. Jorge told emu that I try the locality of Russia was held in the mountains, near Barra do Pirai.
  
  
  
  He wanted to take Vivian to Jorge to convince ego, but now he had as little evidence as before. As he drove down the Urde Road, Nick put all the facts together. If he made the right conclusions, Rohadas worked for several big bosses. He used rogue anarchists, but he also had a few professionals, no doubt through the same people who also cared about ego money. He was sure that the big bosses wanted a lot more than just stopping the construction of Todd's plantation improvement. And the Covenant was nothing more than an annoying side effect. Unless they've joined forces for a common purpose. This has happened before, everywhere and very rarely. It was possible, but it didn't seem likely to Nick. If Rohadas and the Covenant decided to work together, the Covenant's share would almost certainly be money. Members could receive money for the application from Todd individually or collectively. But they didn't. The money had come from abroad, and Nick wondered again where it had come from. He had a feeling that he would find out soon enough.
  
  
  
  The exit to Los Reyes was already behind them. Why did Jorge need to be so ego-hating? He came to the turn with the sign. One arrow pointed to the left and the other to the right. The sign said: "Barra do Mansa-left" and "Barra do Pirai-right".
  
  
  
  Nick turned straight ahead, and a few moments later saw the causeway to the north. On the way, he came to a cluster of houses. All the houses were dark except one. He saw a dirty wooden sign that read "Bar". He stopped and went inside. Plastered walls and several round tables - a restaurant and a bar. The man behind the faucet greeted him. The bar was made of stone and looked primitive.
  
  
  
  "Tell me," Nick said. "Onde fica a mission velho?"
  
  
  
  The man smiled. "I try the locality of Russia," he said. "Rohadas headquarters?" Turn left on the first old mountain road. Go candid up. When you reach the top, you'll see an old mission post on the other side ."
  
  
  
  "Muito obrigado," Nick said as he ran out. The easy part was over, he knew. He found an old mountain road and drove the car down steep, narrow paths. Then there was a clearing, and he decided to park his car there. He continued walking.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A large man dressed in a white shirt and white trousers wiped a trickle of pot from his forehead and blew a cloud of smoke into the quiet room. He drummed nervously on the table with his left hand. The smell of a Havana cigar filled the modest room that was now both an office and a living space. The man flexed his powerful shoulder muscles and took several deep breaths. He knew that emu really should go to bed and get ready for ... by tomorrow. All he always tried to do was get a good night's sleep. He knew he couldn't sleep after all. Tomorrow will be a big day. Starting tomorrow, Rojadas ' name will be entered in the history books along with Lenin, Mao and Castro. He still couldn't sleep because of his nerves. Instead of feeling confident and excited, he had been feeling restless and even a little afraid for the past few days. Most of his ego was gone, but it took longer than he thought. The difficulties and problems were still too fresh in the ego's mind. Some problems are not even fully resolved yet.
  
  
  
  Perhaps the anger of the last few weeks was still there. He was a careful man, a man who worked carefully and made sure that all the necessary precautions were taken. It was just impossible to do that. He was the worst. if the emu has to make sudden and necessary adjustments to its plans. That's why he's been in such a bad mood and nervous for the past few days. He paced the room with long, heavy steps. From time to time, he paused to sip a cigar. He thought about what had happened, and once again felt his ego, his anger, boil over. Why does life have to be so damn unpredictable? It all started with the first Americano, that Dennison with the rotten plantation ego. Before that Americano presented his "great" plans, he always controlled the people in the mountains. It could ih sagitate or break. And then suddenly, overnight, the whole atmosphere changed. Even Jorge Pilatto, a naive lunatic, sided with Dennison and the ego of planning. Not that it mattered. People were a big problem.
  
  
  
  At first, he tried to delay the construction of the plantation improvement to such an extent that Americano refused to plan it. But he refused to give up, and Stahl came more and more to the plantation. At the same time, people began to see more and more hope for a better future and better prospects. He had seen them praying at night in front of the unfinished main plantation building. Emu didn't like the idea, but he knew he had to act. The population had the wrong attitude, and the emu had to be manipulated again. Fortunately for him, the second part of the plan was much better laid out. The ego army, consisting of well-trained people, was ready. For the first part of the plan, there were a lot of weapons, and even a reserve army. When the plantation was almost finished, Rohadas could only decide to carry out his plans faster.
  
  
  
  The first step was to find another way to capture Americano. He got a maid's job with the Dennisons in Rio. It was easy to make the real maid disappear and put another one in there. The information that the girl passed on brought Rohadas good luck and proved invaluable. Senora Dennison was as interested in stopping the plantation as he was. Nah had her own reasons for that. They got together and prepared something. She "was around them self-confident, greedy, short-sighted, actually stupid women. Emu liked to use it. Rohadas laughed. It all seemed so simple.
  
  
  
  When Todd was killed, he thought it would be a thread, so he set up his own schedule again. Soon the second Americano appeared. The message he then received candid around headquarters was both disturbing and impressive. He had to be extremely careful and strike immediately. The presence of this man, one Nick Carter, caused quite a stir. At first, he thought they were greatly exaggerating at headquarters. They said he was an expert in espionage. Even the best in the world. They couldn't take any chances with him. Rohadas pursed his lips. HQ wasn't overly concerned. He wiped a trickle of blood from his brow. If they hadn't sent special agents, it might have gotten Nick Carter into even more trouble. He was glad they had reached Sollimage in time.
  
  
  
  He knew it was too late to stop the plan, but damn chance, they were all little things that went wrong. If he had made a final settlement with this Dennison guy, things might have gone a lot easier for him. But how the hell did he know that N3 was going to Rio and he was friends with Dennison? Ah, it's always a silly coincidence! And then that golden ship that was intercepted in America. Nick Carter knew it, too. He was like a guided missile, just as unwavering and merciless. It would be nice if he could get rid of it.
  
  
  
  And then this girl. He held her in his arms, but she was stubborn. It wasn't that he couldn't reveal it all, but she was something special. He didn't want to leave it to the dogs. She was too beautiful. He could have made her his wife, and he was already licking his heavy, plump lips. After all, he will no longer be the ghostly leader of a small extremist group, but a world-class man. A woman like her would suit an emu. Rohadas threw away his cigar and took a long swig of water around the glass on the nightstand. Most women always see what's best for them pretty quickly. Perhaps if he had gone to her alone and engaged in a friendly, calm conversation, he would have achieved some results.
  
  
  
  It was held in one of the smallest rooms downstairs for more than four hours. It gave her time to think. He looked at his watch. It will cost emu the night vaults, but he can always give it a try. If he could get her to say hey, where's the money, things would be much better. It also meant that she could do business with him. He could feel his ego shaking with excitement inside. However, the emu needed to be careful. Emus will also find it difficult to keep their hands to themselves. He would have liked to caress and caress her, but he didn't have time for that right now.
  
  
  
  Rohadas pushed back his thick greasy hair and opened the door. He quickly descended the stone steps, faster than one would expect from such a heavy man. The door of the small room that had once been the old monk's crypt was locked. Through a small opening in the day, he saw Maria sitting in the corner. She opened her eyes as he slammed the bolt and stood up. He could just catch a glimpse of her crotch. Next to her on a plate were untouched empada, meat medvedev. He went in, closed the door behind him, and smiled at the girl.
  
  
  
  "Maria, my dear," he said softly. He had a kind, friendly voice that, despite his calmness, was still convincing. "It's stupid not to eat. This is not the way to do it ."
  
  
  
  He sighed and shook his head sadly. "We need to talk, you and I," he said, hey. " You're too smart a girl to be unreasonable. You would be very helpful in my work, Maria. The world can be at your feet, baby. Think about it, you can have a future that every girl will envy. You have no reason not to work with me. You don't owe these Americans anything. I don't want to hurt you, Maria. You're too pretty for that." I brought you here to convince you, to show you exactly what is right."
  
  
  
  Rohadas swallowed, looking down at the girl's round, full breasts.
  
  
  
  "You must be loyal to your people," he said. Ego's eyes stared at her red satin lips. "You should be for us, not against us, dear."
  
  
  
  He looked down at her long, slender legs. "Think about your future. Forget the past. Its interested in your well-being, Maria.
  
  
  
  He fidgeted with his hands. He really wanted to hug her breasts and feel her body against his, but that would ruin everything. He had to handle it very smart. It's worth it. He restrained himself, spoke calmly, affectionately and in a fatherly way. "Say something, dear," he said. "You don't need to be afraid."
  
  
  
  "Go to the moon," Maria replied. Rohadas bit his lip and tried to control himself, but he couldn't.
  
  
  
  It exploded. "What's wrong with you?" What do you think of yourself, Khadisha d'Ark? You're not big enough, not important enough, to play the martyr."
  
  
  
  He saw that she was laughing at him and stopped her thunderous speech. He smiled again.
  
  
  
  "We're both dead tired, dear," he said. "I only want the best for you. But we'll talk about it tomorrow. Think of one more night. You will find that Rohadas understands and forgives everything, Maria.
  
  
  
  He went out through the cells, bolted the door, and went to his room. She looked like a tigress, and he'd just wasted his time. But if it didn't go well, then it's bad. Some women are only worth it when they're scared. For nah, it was supposed to appear the next day. Fortunately, he got rid of this American agent. It was at least one less headache. He undressed and immediately fell asleep. Good sleep always comes quickly to people with a clear conscience ... and to those who have no conscience at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The shadow crept up to the ledge and surveyed the state of the lower plateau, clearly visible in the moonlight. The mission post was built in a clearing and surrounded by a garden. There was a main building and two outbuildings that formed a cross-shaped structure. The buildings were connected by open corridors. With kerosene lamps burning on the outer walls and corridors, the atmosphere was medieval. Nick had more or less expected an impressive structure. Even in the dark, he could see that the main building was kept in good condition. At the intersection of the main building and outbuildings was a fairly high tower with a large clock. There were not many outbuildings. Both were in poor condition. The building on the left looked like an empty shell, and there was no glass in the windows. The roof partially collapsed and the floor was strewn with debris.
  
  
  
  Nick checked again. With the exception of a soft kerosene fire, the village of Russia seemed deserted. There were no guards, no patrols: the house seemed completely deserted. Rojadas felt perfectly safe here, Nick thought, or Maria Hawes in the hall somewhere else. There was always the chance that Jorge was right after all, and that it was all an accident. Had Rohadas already escaped? If not, why doesn't it have sentries? It was clear, of course, that he was coming for the girl. There was only one way to get answers, so he moved towards the mission through the undergrowth and tall trees. The space ahead was too empty, so he turned right.
  
  
  
  At the back of the main building, the distance didn't exceed 15-20 meters. When he got there, he saw three rather strange-looking school buses. He looked at his watch. There was still plenty of time tonight, but he knew that if he wanted to enter, it would have to be now, hidden by the darkness. He stopped at the edge of the forest, looked around again, and ran to the back of the main building. He glanced back once more and slipped inside. The building was dark, but in the light of the kerosene lamps, he could see what was in the hall in the former chapel. There were four corridors leading to this room.
  
  
  
  Nick heard laughter, the laughter of a man and a woman. He decided to try another corridor and just slipped inside when he heard the phone ring. It was on the floor above, reached by a stone staircase at the end of the corridor. Someone answered the phone, and he heard a muffled voice. He stopped abruptly, and there was a moment of silence. Then there was an infernal noise. First came the sound of a siren, followed by short shouts, curses, and the sound of footsteps. As the shrill sound of the siren continued, Nick decided to take shelter in the chapel.
  
  
  
  High up in the groans was a small window, under which was a sofa. Nick stood on it and looked out the window. There were now about thirty people in the courtyard, most of them wearing nothing more than shorts. Apparently, cheese interrupted ih's dream, because he also saw about a dozen women walking around bare-chested or wearing thin tank tops. Nick watched as the man stepped out and took command. He was a large, well-built man with black hair, thick lips on a large head, and a calm, clear voice.
  
  
  
  "Attention!" "Stop it!" he ordered. 'Hurry up! Make a circle through the forest and catch it. If he slipped in here, we'll catch him."
  
  
  
  While the others went to search, the big man turned and ordered the woman to come in with him. Most of them had rifles or pistols and bandoliers slung over their shoulders. Nick returned to the floor. It was clear that they were looking for an ego.
  
  
  
  He slipped in unnoticed and apparently unexpectedly, and after the phone rang, hell broke loose. That phone call was the trigger, but who was calling, and who-ego was waiting here? Nick whispered the name softly ... Jorge. It had to be Jorge. The Chief of Police, of course, when he discovered that Nick hadn't left the country, immediately thought of Rohadas and quickly put in the alarm. He felt the ego rush of active recreation frustrations. Did Jorge's mistletoe have anything to do with Rojadas, or was it just another stupid move on his part? But he didn't have time to think about it now. He had to hide as soon as possible. The people outside had already arrived, and he could hear them calling to each other. To his right was another stone staircase leading up to an L-shaped balcony. There must have been a choir here before, he thought. He carefully crossed the balcony and entered the corridor. At the end of the corridor, he saw a door ajar.
  
  
  
  ROHADAS PRIVATO - that was the text on the sign on the day. It was a large room. There was a bed against one wall and a small side room with a toilet. and the sink. A large oak chair sat against the opposite wall, piled high with magazines and a map of Rio de Janeiro. But Ego's attention was mostly drawn to the posters of Fidel Castro and Joe Guevara that hung above the table. Nick's thoughts were interrupted by a clatter at the bottom of the stairs. They returned to the building.
  
  
  
  "Search every room," he heard a small voice say. 'Hurry up!'
  
  
  
  Nick ran to the door and peered down the hall. On the other side of the hall was a stone spiral staircase. He ran toward her as quietly as he could. The further he climbed, the narrower the stairs became. Now he almost certainly knew where he was going ... the clock tower! He could hide there until everything calmed down and then go look for Maria. One thing he knew for sure: good priests wouldn't go ringing the bells. Suddenly, he was outside again, seeing the outline of heavy bells. The stairs led up to a small wooden platform in the bell tower. Nick thought that if it stayed low, the entire courtyard would be visible from the platform. He had an idea. If he could collect a few carbines, then from this spot, he would hit everything in the courtyard. He'll be able to keep a decent group of people at bay. It wasn't a bad idea.
  
  
  
  He bent down to get a better look, and it happened. First he heard the sharp crack of rotten wood. He felt himself falling headfirst into the black shaft of the bell tower. Because of the automatic instinct to escape, he desperately wanted something to hold on to. He felt his ego, his hands grabbing at the bell ropes. The old rough ropes chafed the emu's hands, but he held on. Immediately, a heavy chime rang out. Dammit, he cursed himself, this wasn't the right time to go public with the ego of being here, literally and figuratively.
  
  
  
  He heard the sound of voices and shaggy approaching, and a moment later many hands lifted ego from the ropes. The narrowness of the stairs forced ih to go one by one, but Nick was closely watched. "Keep quiet behind us," the first man ordered, pointing the carbine at Nick's head. Nick glanced over his shoulder and estimated that it must have been about five. He saw the first man's carbine swing slightly to the left as he staggered back for a moment. Nick quickly pressed the rifle to groan. At the same time, he hit the man's stomach with all his strength. He fell backward and landed on top of the other two. Nick was grabbed by the legs with a pair of hands, pushed away by ih, but grabbed again. He quickly grabbed Wilhelmina and hit the man in the head with the butt of his luger. Nick continued to attack, but didn't advance any further. The element of surprise was gone.
  
  
  
  Suddenly, ego's legs were grabbed from behind again, and he fell forward. Several people jumped on him at once and took the luger from him. Since the corridor was so narrow, he couldn't turn around. They dragged ego down the stairs, lifted him up, and held the carbine in front of ego's face.
  
  
  
  "One move and you're dead, Americano," the man said. Nick remained calm, and the egos started looking for other weapons.
  
  
  
  "Nothing more," he heard one man say, and another signaled Nick to move on with a tap of his carbine. Nick laughed to himself. Hugo was comfortably ensconced in ego's sleeve.
  
  
  
  A pot-bellied man with a bandolier slung over his shoulder was waiting in the office. It was the man Nick had seen, the commander. An ironic smile appeared on his fat face.
  
  
  
  "So, Senor Carter," he said. "We finally met. I didn't expect you to be as spectacular as requesting about yourself.
  
  
  
  "I like to come in with a big fuss," Nick said innocently. "It's just a habit of mine. Moreover, it's nonsense that you were waiting for me to come. You didn't know I was coming until you called.
  
  
  
  "That's true," Rohadas laughed again. "I was told that you were killed along with the widow Dennison. Well, you see, I only have a bunch of amateurs.
  
  
  
  It's true, Nick thought, feeling Hugo's hand on his arm. That's why it wasn't entirely safe. The gunmen outside Vivian Dennison's apartment saw them both fall and ran away.
  
  
  
  "You're Rojadas," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "Sim, her Rohadas," he said. "And you came to save the girl, didn't you?"
  
  
  
  "I planned it, yes," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "I'll see you in the morning," Rohadas said. "You'll be safe for both ends of the night." Its really sleepy. You could say this is one of my quirks. Besides, I won't have much time to sleep in the next few days anyway."
  
  
  
  "You also shouldn't pick up the phone in the middle of the night. "It makes you stop sleeping," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "You shouldn't ask directions in small cafes either," Rohadas said. "The farmers here tell me everything."
  
  
  
  Vote and that's it. A man is standing around the small cafe where he is staying. It wasn't Jorge, after all. For some reason, he was happy about it.
  
  
  
  "Take the ego and lock it up in a cell. Change the watchtower every two hours ."
  
  
  
  Rohadas turned and Nick was placed in one of the cells previously reserved for monks. There was a man standing guard at the door. Nick bench press on the floor. He stretched several times, tensing and relaxing his muscles. This was the technique of an Indian fakir, allowing you to completely relax mentally and physically. A few minutes later, he fell into a deep sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as the ego, which is the only transmission of the sun to the saints, enters through the small high window, the door opens. Two security guards ordered emu to stand up and took him to Rohadas ' office. He just put the razor away and wiped the soap off his face.
  
  
  
  "I was wondering about one thing," Rohadas said to Nick, looking at him thoughtfully. "Can you help the girl speak?" Last night, I made her a few suggestions, and she was able to think about it. But we'll find out in a minute. If not, maybe we'll make a deal with you.'
  
  
  
  "What could I gain from this?" Nick asked. "Your life, of course," Rohadas replied cheerfully.
  
  
  
  "Then what happens to the girl?"
  
  
  
  "Of course she will live if she tells us what we want to know," Rohadas replied. "That's why her voice brought her here. I call my people amateurs, because that's what they are. It's not in the hotel so they'll make more mistakes. It couldn't be killed while it was still unknown. But now that ee has seen her, she doesn't want to be killed anymore."
  
  
  
  Nick had a few more questions, though he probably knew the answers. However, it is worth hearing this from Rohadas himself. He decided to tease the man a little.
  
  
  
  "It looks like your friends think the same of you ... an amateur and a fool, " he said. "At least they don't seem to trust you very much."
  
  
  
  He saw the man's face darken. 'Why did you say that? Rojadas said angrily.
  
  
  
  "They had their own people for important work," Nick said lightly. "And millions were transferred through an intermediary. That's enough, I thought.
  
  
  
  "Two Russian agents were in the service of Castro.
  
  
  
  Rohadas shouted. "They were loaned to me for this operation. The money went through intermediaries to avoid direct communication with me. President Castro gave ih specifically for this plan ."
  
  
  
  And so it is, as it was. Fidel was behind it. So he was in trouble again. Finally, it all became clear to Nick. These two specialists were hired. They were Rohadas's, of course. Even what had happened to the gold was now clear to Emu. If the Russians or Chinese were behind this, they would also be worried about money. No one likes to lose so much money. They just wouldn't have reacted so fanatically. They won't be so desperate for other money.
  
  
  
  He felt that Maria's chances of survival would be very slim if she didn't speak up. Now Rohadas was desperate. Of course, Nick didn't think about negotiating with him. He'll break his promise as soon as he gets the information. But at least he could buy some time with it.
  
  
  
  "You were talking about negotiations," Nick told the math expert. "Did you also negotiate with Todd Dennison? Did your agreements end in this way?
  
  
  
  "No, he was nothing more than a stubborn obstacle," Rohadas replied. "He wasn't someone hema needed to deal with."
  
  
  
  "Because the plantation ego turned out to be the opposite of your propaganda of despair and unhappiness," Nick concluded.
  
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Rohadas admitted, puffing smoke around his cigar. "Now people are reacting the way we want them to."
  
  
  
  'And what is your task? Nick asked. This was the key to the solution. That would make everything perfectly clear.
  
  
  
  "In the mass killings," Rohadas said. The carnival starts today. Rio will be a sea of partygoers. All key government officials will also be present to open the party. We were informed that the opening ceremony will be attended by the President, governors of various states, members of the Cabinet of Ministers and mayors of major cities in Brazil. And among the revellers will be my people and me. Around noon, when all the government officials gather to open the feast, we will rise. A great opportunity with a great cover, isn't it?
  
  
  
  Nick didn't answer. It wasn't necessary, because they both knew rheumatism too well. A carnival would really be the perfect cover. This would give Rohadas the opportunity to strike and escape. For a moment, he was about to stab Hugo in that thick chest. Without the massacre, there would have been no coup d'etat, which they apparently hoped for. But killing Rohadas probably won't stop that. Perhaps he considered this possibility and appointed a deputy. No, playing now would probably cost emu his life for nothing and wouldn't interfere with the plan. He had to play the game as long as possible, at least to be able to choose the most appropriate moment for whatever it was. "I suppose you're getting people to respond," he began.
  
  
  
  "Of course," Rohadas said with a smile. "There will not only be chaos and confusion, but also a place for a leader. We incited people as much as possible, sowed revolution, so to speak. We have enough weapons for the first stage. Everyone around my men will lead a rebellion in the city of potomac. We also bribed some of the military to take over as well. There will be regular notifications and announcements - this is when we collect power. It's just a corkscrew of time ."
  
  
  
  "And this new government is headed by a guy named Rohadas," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "Correct assumption".
  
  
  
  "You needed the intercepted money to buy more weapons and ammunition, and also to get high hopes."
  
  
  
  "You're beginning to understand, amigo. International arms dealers are capitalists in the truest sense of the word. They are free entrepreneurs, sell to everyone and ask for more than half of the deposit. That's why Senor Dennison's money is so important. We've heard that money is made up around regular US dollars. This is what traders want ."
  
  
  
  Rohadas turned to one of the guards. "Bring the girl here," he ordered. "If the young lady refuses to cooperate, I will have to resort to harsher methods if she doesn't listen to you, amigo."
  
  
  
  Nick leaned back against the wall and thought quickly. Twelve o'clock was a deadly moment. Within four hours, a reasonable modern government will be destroyed. Within four years, an important Member of the United Nations, ostensibly for the good of the people, will be transformed into a land of oppression and slavery. In four hours, the biggest and most popular carnival in the world will be nothing more than a mask for killing, a carnival for killing instead of laughing. Death will rule it is necessary not when instead of happiness. Fidel Castro just stared at him from the wall. "Not yet, mate," Nick muttered under his breath. I'll find her something to say about it. I don't know how yet, but it will work, it should work.
  
  
  
  He was looking through the door jamb when Maria came in. She was wearing a white silk blouse and a simple heavy skirt. Her eyes looked pityingly at Nick, but hey, he winked. She was scared, he could see that, but there was a determined look on her face.
  
  
  
  "Have you thought about what I said last night, dear?" Rohadas asked sourly. Maria looked at him with disdain and turned away. Rohadas shrugged and walked over to her. "Then we'll give you a lesson," he said sadly. "I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary, but you're making it impossible for me. I'm going to find out where the money is and take you as my wife. Hers, I'm sure you'll want to collaborate on my little show."
  
  
  
  He deliberately slowly unbuttoned Maria's blouse and pulled her to the side. He ripped off her bra with his big hand, exposing her full, soft breasts. Maria seemed to be looking straight ahead.
  
  
  
  "They're so pretty, aren't they?" he said. "It would be a shame if anything happened to him, wouldn't it, dear?"
  
  
  
  He took a step back and looked at Nah as she buttoned up her blouse again. The red lines around her eyes were the only indication that she was feeling anything. She continued to stare straight ahead and pursed her lips.
  
  
  
  He turned to Nick. "I would still like to spare her, you know?" he said. "So I'll sacrifice one of the girls. They're all whores that I brought her here so my men could relax a little, then exercise."
  
  
  
  He turned to the guard. "Take a small, thin one with big breasts and red hair. You know what to do. Then take the two of them to the old building, to the stone staircase behind it. I'll be right there.'
  
  
  
  As Nick stood next to Maria, he felt her hand grab him. Her body was shaking.
  
  
  
  "You can save yourself, Maria," he said softly. She asked. 'Why?"Of course, to let that pig mess around with me. Its more likely to die. Senor Todd died because he wanted to do something for the Brazilian people. If he can die, his children will. Rohadas will not help people. He will oppress you, and use you as slaves. I won't tell her emu anything."
  
  
  
  They came to the oldest building, and ih was led through the back door. There were eight stone steps at the back. There was probably an altar here. The guard ordered them to stand at the top of the stairs, and the men stood behind them. Nick watched as two guards dragged a naked, struggling, cursing girl through a side entrance. They interrupted her and threw her to the ground. Then they drove wooden stakes into the ground and tied her up, spreading her arms and legs.
  
  
  
  The girl continued to scream, and Nick could hear her pleading why she was right. She was thin, with a long, saggy chest and a small, flat stomach. Suddenly, Nick noticed the presence of Rohadas, who was standing next to Maria. He signaled, and the two men hurried out around the buildings. The girl was left crying and cursing. "Listen and take a closer look, my dear," Rohadas said to Maria. "Honey smeared hey, between the breasts and the leg. We'll do it with you, honey, if you don't decide to cooperate. Now we need to wait quietly."
  
  
  
  Nick watched as the girl struggled to pull away, forcing her chest to rise and fall. But they tied her up well. Then, suddenly, a movement against the wall opposite him caught his attention. Maria noticed it too, and squeezed Ego's hand in fear. The movements turned into a shadow, the shadow of a large rat, which slowly moved cautiously further into the room. Then Nick saw another, and another, and more and more appeared. The floor was littered with huge rats, and they still appeared from everywhere: all over the old lairs, around the pillars, and around hide in the corners of the hall. They all hesitantly approached the girl, paused for a moment to smell the honey, and continued on their way. The girl raised her head and now saw the rats approaching her. She turned her head as hard as she could to see Rohadas and began to scream frantically.
  
  
  
  "Let me go, Rohadas," she begged. 'What did I do? Oh, God, no ... I beg you, Rohadas! I didn't do it to her, whatever it was to us, that I didn't do it to her! "
  
  
  
  "It is for a good cause," Rohadas replied. "To hell with your good work!" she shouted. "Oh, Kostya of God, let me go. Well, the voice!"The rats waited a short distance away, and new ones kept coming. Maria squeezed Nick's hand even harder. The first rat, a large, gray, dirty beast, came up to her and tripped over the girl's life. She started screaming horribly when another rat jumped on her. Nick saw the other two scramble to their feet. The first rat found honey on the left breast and sank its teeth impatiently into the flesh. The girl screamed in a way Nick had never heard before. Maria tried to turn her head, but Rohadas held her by the hair.
  
  
  
  "No, no, dear," he said. "I don't want you to miss anything."
  
  
  
  The girl was now screaming incessantly. The sound bounced off the walls, making it even more terrifying.
  
  
  
  Nick saw a pack of rats near her leg, and blood was running down her chest. Her screams turned to moans. In the end, Rohadas gave an order to the two guards, who fired several shots into the air. The rats scattered in all directions, returning to their safe lairs.
  
  
  
  Nick pressed Maria's head to his shoulder, and suddenly she fell. She didn't faint, as she was clinging to ego's legs and shaking like a straw. The girl below lay motionless, and only moaned a little. Poor thing, she's not dead yet.
  
  
  
  "Take ih outside," Rohadas ordered as he left. Nick supported Maria and hugged her tightly. Dejected, they went outside.
  
  
  
  "Well, dear?" Rojadas said, lifting her chin with a thick finger. "Are you going to talk now? I wouldn't want to give you a second meal to those filthy creatures." Maria slapped Rohadas openly in the face, and the sound of it echoed throughout the courtyard.
  
  
  
  "I'd rather have rats between my legs than you," she said fiercely. Rohadas was flustered by Maria's angry glare.
  
  
  
  "Bring her in and get her ready," he ordered the guards. "We put more honey in it. Apply a little, and her lips will be bitter."
  
  
  
  Nick felt his ego muscles tighten as he prepared to drop Hugo into his palm. He had to act now, and he hoped that if Rohadas had a replacement, he would be able to get the SL too. He couldn't watch Maria sacrifice herself. As he was about to put Hugo in his hand, he heard gunshots. The first shot landed on the right guard. The second shot hit another dazed security guard. Rohadas took cover behind a barrel from bullets, as the yard was being heavily shelled. Nick grabbed Maria's arm. The gunslinger was lying on the edge of the ledge and kept firing at lightning speed.
  
  
  
  'Let's go! Nick shouted. "We're covered!" Nick pulled the girl behind him and ran as fast as he could to the opposite bushes. The gunman continued to shoot at the windows and doors, forcing everyone to stay in cover. Several of Rohadas ' men returned fire, but ih shots failed. Nick and Maria had had enough time to reach the bushes, and now they were climbing the cliff. All the ihs cut through the thorns and thorns, and Nick saw Maria's blouse rip open, exposing most of those delicious breasts. The shooting stopped, and Nick Stahl waited. The only thing he could hear were faint noises and screams. Trees blocked the view. Maria leaned her head against Ego's shoulder and snuggled up to him.
  
  
  
  "Thank you, Nick, thank you," she sobbed.
  
  
  
  "You don't have to thank me, dear," he said. "Thank this man with the ego rifles." He knew that the stranger must have more than one rifle. The man fired too quickly and regularly to reload. Unless he's alone.
  
  
  
  "But you came here looking for me," she said, hugging him tightly. "You risked your life to save me. "Great, Nick. No one around my friends did that. "I'll thank you very much later, Nick. That's for sure.'He was wondering if he should tell hey that he didn't have time for this because he had so much work to do. He decided not to. She was happy now. Then why would he spoil her pleasure? Showing a little gratitude is good for a girl, especially a beautiful one.
  
  
  
  "Go," he said. "We have to go back to Rio. Maybe I can stop it after all."
  
  
  
  He was just helping Mary up when he heard a voice calling to him.
  
  
  
  "Senor Nick, vote, and her, really!"
  
  
  
  "Jorge!" yelled Nick as he saw the man get out. He held two rifles in one hand and one in the other. "I thought about it... I was hoping."
  
  
  
  The man hugged Nick warmly. "Amigo," the Brazilian said. "I have to apologize again. Her must be really stupid, right?
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "Not stupid, just a little stubborn. Are you here now?" This proves everything."
  
  
  
  "I couldn't get what you said out of my head," Jorge said a little sadly. "I started thinking, and now a lot of things popped up that I used to shove into the corners of my brain. It all became clear to me. Maybe it bothered me that you mentioned that the Los Reyes police chief is blind. In any case, she couldn't avoid it anymore. He put aside his feelings and looked at things the way a police chief would. When I heard on the radio that Vivian Dennison had killed her, I knew something was wrong. I knew you wouldn't leave the country on my orders. This is not your way, Senor Nick. So I asked myself, where would you go then? The rheumatism was mild enough. I came here, waited, and had a good look. I've seen enough of her."
  
  
  
  Suddenly Nick heard the roar of heavy engines. "School buses," he said. "I saw three buses parked behind the mission. They set off. They'll probably be looking for us.
  
  
  
  "This way," Jorge said. "There is a small cave here that directly cuts through the mountain. As a child, her father played there. They'll never find us there."
  
  
  
  With Jorge in the lead and Maria in the middle, they set off across the rocky ground. They'd just walked about a hundred yards when Nick called. "Wait a minute," he said. 'Listen up. Where are they going!'
  
  
  
  "The engines are dying down," Jorge said, frowning. "They're moving on. They won't be looking for us!
  
  
  
  "Of course not," Nick shouted angrily. "What a stupid thing to do. They're going to Rio. That's all Rohadas can do right now. There's no more time to chase us. He will bring his men there, who then pour into the crowd, ready to strike."
  
  
  
  He stopped and saw the confused expressions on Jorge and Maria's faces. He had completely forgotten that they didn't know. When Nick finished speaking, they looked a little pale. He tested every opportunity to thwart the plan. There was no time to contact the president or other government officials. They were undoubtedly on their way or attending the festivities. Even if he could contact them, they probably wouldn't trust em anyway. "During the carnival, Rio is full of people who want to have fun, and by the time they checked the bell, assuming they did, it was already too late.
  
  
  
  "Listen, my police car is just down the road," Jorge said. "Let's go back to the city and see if there's anything we can do."
  
  
  
  Nick and Maria followed, and a few minutes later, sirens blaring, they were driving through the mountains to Los Reyes.
  
  
  
  "We don't even know what they'll look like at the Carnival," Nick said angrily, slamming his fists into the day. He had never felt so powerless. "You can bet they're changing clothes. Just like a few hundred thousand other people ." Nick turned to Maria. "Did you hear them talk about anything?" "What is it?" he asked the girl. 'Did you hear them talk about the carnival, anything that might help us?
  
  
  
  "Outside the cell, I could hear women teasing men," she recalled. "They kept calling ih Directly and saying: Muito prazer, right up ... Nice to meet you guys. They really had fun."
  
  
  
  "Completely?" - repeat nickname. "What does that mean again?"
  
  
  
  Jorge frowned again and turned the car onto the highway. "That name means something," he said. "It has to do with history or legend. Let me think for a moment. History... legend... Wait, got it! He was a Mayan god. God of rain and thunder. The ego followers are known by the same name ... For example, ih was called red.
  
  
  
  "Voice and all," Nick shouted. "They're going to dress up as a Mayan scarecrow so they can get to know each other and work together. They will probably work to some extent on a fixed plan ."
  
  
  
  The police car pulled up in front of the train station, and Jorge looked at Nick. "I know a few people in the mountains who do what I say. They trust me. They trust me. I'll pack her up and take her to Rio. How many men does Rojadas have with him, Senor Nick?"
  
  
  
  "About twenty-five."
  
  
  
  "I can't bring more than ten. But maybe it will be enough if we get there before Rohadas strikes."
  
  
  
  "How long will it be before you get your men together?"
  
  
  
  Jorge grinned. "This is the worst part. Most don't have a phone. We'll have to pick up the ih one at a time. It takes a lot of time."
  
  
  
  "And time is something we desperately need," Nick said. "Rohadas is on his way, and now he will place his men in the crowd, ready to strike at the ego signal. I'm going to buy you some time, Jorge. Its going alone.
  
  
  
  The police chief was startled. "Only you, Senor Nick. Only against Rohadas and the ego of the people? I'm afraid that even you can't do it."
  
  
  
  "Not if the government people are already ready there. But I can be in Rio before noon. I'll keep Rohadas ' men busy so they can't start killing. At least hers, I hope it works. And if you can, you'll have just enough time to find your own people. All they need to know is to grab anyone who is dressed like a Mayan god."
  
  
  
  "Good luck, amigo," the Brazilian said. "Take my car. I have a few more here.
  
  
  
  "Do you really think you can take ih long enough?" Maria asked as she got into the car next to him. "You're acting on your own, Nick."
  
  
  
  He turned on the siren and pulled away.
  
  
  
  "Honey, I'll definitely try it," he said grimly. "It's not just because of Rojadas and ego movements, or because of the catastrophe it will mean for Brazil. There's a lot more to it than that. The big steamboats behind the scenes now want to see if a stupid little dictator like Fidel can handle it. If it succeeds, it means that in the future there will be a whole stream of similar shocks throughout the outdoor pool. We can't let that happen. Brazil cannot allow this to happen. I can't let that happen. If you knew my boss, you'd know what I mean.
  
  
  
  Nick gave her a smile full of courage, confidence, courage, and nerves of steel. He will be alone, Maria told herself again, looking at the handsome, strong man sitting next to her. She had never known such a thing. She knew that if anyone could do it, they would definitely be able to. She silently prayed for ego's safety.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Can I have her join you?" Maria asked outside the door of her apartment. They completed the trip in record time. "Maybe I can help you with something."
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said. "I'm already preoccupied with my own safety."
  
  
  
  He tried to run away, but she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss with her soft, wet and exciting lips. She let go of ego and ran into the building. "I will pray for you," she said, almost sobbing.
  
  
  
  Nick went to Floriano Square. Jorge said that's probably where the opening will take place. The streets were already filled with carnival, and it was impossible to drive a car there. The only ones moving through the crowd were decorated cars, each with its own story and usually filled with scantily clad girls. No matter how important and deadly the target was, he couldn't ignore the beauty of the girls around him. Some were white, some light brown, some almost black, but all were in high spirits and having fun. Nick tried to avoid the three around them, but it was too late. The ego was captured and forced to dance. Bikinis ' They were dressed as if they'd borrowed ih bikinis from five-year-old preschoolers. "Stay with us, sweet boy," said one around them, laughing and pressing her chest against his. "You'll have fun, I promise her."
  
  
  
  "I believe you, baby," Nick said, laughing. "But I have a date with God."
  
  
  
  He slid out through ih hands, slapped her on the back, and continued. The square was a highlight. The stage was empty except for a few probably junior officers. He breathed a sigh of relief. The stage itself was square in shape and consisted of a movable steel structure. He dodged several revelers again, and Stahl searched the crowd for a Mayan god costume. It was difficult. There were a lot of people, all kinds of costumes. He looked around again and suddenly saw a platform about twenty meters away from the stage. The platform was a small Mayan temple and was made by papier-mache. There were about ten people on nen, dressed in short cloaks, long trousers, sandals, masks, and feathered helmets. Nick smiled grimly. He could already see Rohadas. He was the only one with an orange feather on his helmet, and he was at the front of the platform.
  
  
  
  Nick looked around quickly, picking up the other men in the crowd. Then the ego's attention was drawn to the small square objects that men wore on their belts, on their wrists. They had walkie-talkies. He cursed everything. At least that part of the plan was well thought out by Rohadas. He knew that the walkie-talkies would make it harder for the emu. Sincerely, as always. Rohadas could see everything from there. He would rush to give orders as soon as he saw Nick deal with one through his own men.
  
  
  
  Nick continued along the row of houses on the side of the square, because there were fewer people there. All he could do was throw himself into the crowd. He was just watching everything when he felt a cold, hard object poke ego in the ribs. He turned and saw a man standing nearby. The man was wearing a spa suit, high cheekbones,and short hair.
  
  
  
  "Start walking back," he said. 'Slowly. One wrong move and it's all over.
  
  
  
  Nick went back to the building. He was about to say something to this guy in math when he got hit hard on the ear. He saw red and yellow stars, felt ego being dragged down the corridor, and lost consciousness ...
  
  
  
  The target's ego throbbed, and he saw a dim holy light in the half-open eyes. He ih opened up completely and tried to stop the whirling in front of his eyes. He could make out a dim wall and two figures in business suits on either side of the window. Nick tried to sit up, but Ego's hands and feet were tied. The first man came up to him and dragged him to a chair by the window. It was obviously a cheap hotel room. Through the window, he could see everything that was happening in the square. The two men were silent, and Nick saw that the one around them had a gun in his hand and was making an ego out of the window.
  
  
  
  "You can see it happening from here," he said to Nick in a clear Russian accent. They weren't Rohadas's men, and Nick bit his lip. It's the ego's own fault. He paid too much attention to Rohadas and ego people. By the way, the rebel leader himself told emu that he only works with two professionals.
  
  
  
  "Did Rohadas tell you that I would chase him?" Nick asked.
  
  
  
  "Rohadas?" the man with the gun said, grinning disdainfully. "He doesn't even know we're here. We were immediately sent here to find out why these people didn't tell us anything. When we arrived yesterday and heard that you were here, we immediately knew what was going on. We told our people about it, and we had to stop you as soon as possible."
  
  
  
  "So you're helping Rohadas with the ego rebellion," Nick concluded.
  
  
  
  "Actually," the Russian admitted. "But for us, this is only a secondary task. Of course, our people want to succeed, but they don't want to interfere directly. We didn't expect to be able to stop you. It was unexpectedly easy ."
  
  
  
  Unexpected, Nick thought. Just say so. One of those unexpected twists and turns that change the course of history. They took up a position in the square, saw ego zoom, and intervened. When he looked out the window, he felt further away on one side and close to his goal on the other.
  
  
  
  "We could shoot you and then go home," one Russian said again. "But we, like you, are professionals. We collect as little money as possible. There's a lot of noise down there, and the shot will probably remain noticeable, unnoticed. But we don't risk anything. Let's wait until Rohadas and the ego people start shooting. This is the end of the career of the famous N3. Somehow it's a shame that it has to be like this, in a small cluttered hotel room, isn't it?
  
  
  
  "I totally agree," Nick said.
  
  
  
  "Why don't you release me and forget to tell everyone?"
  
  
  
  A cold smile spread across the Russian's face. He looked at his watch. "It won't be long," he said. "Then we'll set you free forever."
  
  
  
  Then the second man went to the window and stood watching what was happening under it. Nick saw the man with the gun sitting on a chair, his feet propped up against the frame. The man continued to point the gun at Nick. They were silent, except when commenting on a bikini or a suit. Nick tried to untie the ropes around his wrists, but to no avail. Ego's wrists ached and he felt a rush of blood. He began to search desperately for a way out. He couldn't stand to watch the carnage helplessly. That would be a lot more painful than being shot like a dog. The time is almost up. But the cornered cat makes strange jumps. Nick had a bold, desperate plan.
  
  
  
  He moved his legs excessively to check the ropes. The Russian saw it. He smiled coldly and looked out the window again. He was sure that Nick was helpless, and that was exactly what Nick was hoping for. Killmaster's eyes darted back and forth to gauge the distances. He only had one chance, and if he wanted to succeed, everything had to go in the right order.
  
  
  
  The man with the gun was still swinging his legs on the back legs of his chair on the windowsill. The gun in ego's hand was pointed straight at the right point, and at a right angle. Nick carefully shifted his weight in the chair, flexing his muscles like springs about to relax. He looked around again, took a deep breath, and kicked it with all his might.
  
  
  
  Ego's feet touched the back legs of the chair with the Russian on them. The chair slid out from under the man. The Russian reflexively pulled the trigger and shot the other openly in the face. The one with the gun fell to the ground. Nick jumped on top of the man and landed with his knees on the emu's neck. He felt all the air being forced out around his body and heard a crack. He collapsed with difficulty, and the Russian clutched desperately at his throat. There was a hideous grimace on his face. He struggled to breathe, and his hands moved convulsively. Ego's face turned bright red. His body shook violently, tensed convulsively, and then suddenly froze. Nick glanced quickly at the other man, who was half-hanging through the windows.
  
  
  
  It worked, but he lost a lot of precious time, and he was still tied up. Inch by inch, he moved toward the old-fashioned metal bed. Some parts of it were uneven and a little sharp. He rubbed the ropes around his wrists against them. Finally, he felt the tension on the ropes loosen, and with a single twist of his hands, he was able to release the ropes. He freed his ankles, grabbed the Russian's gun, and ran out into the street.
  
  
  
  He was counting on Hugo and Ego's strong hands to deal with Rohadas ' men. There were too many people, too many children, and too many innocent people to risk a shootout. However, it may have been necessary. He put the gun in his pocket and ran into the crowd. He avoided a group of party-goers and made his way through the crowd. Rohadas ' men were easy to find in ih suits. They were still standing in the same places. As Nick worked his elbows hard, he noticed movement in the crowd. They created a group of revellers who would dance all day, bringing people in and losing ih. The block leader was standing next to two masked assassins. Nick joined the band at the end, and they started dancing circles of people's polonaise. Nick was unceremoniously dragged along. As they passed two Mayan gods, Nick quickly leaped out of the assembly and swung his stiletto at the silent unseen, the guest of honor of the event being the ambassador of death. It wasn't exactly Nick's style to kill people madly and without warning. However, he didn't spare the two of them. They were vipers ready to attack innocent people, vipers dressed like revelers.
  
  
  
  When one man suddenly saw his ego comrade fall, he turned around and saw Nick. He tried to pull out his gun, but the stiletto hit him again. Nick caught the man and put ego on the floor as if he was dead drunk.
  
  
  
  But Rohadas saw it and knew very well what was going on. Nick looked up at the platform and saw the rebel leader talking into his walkie-talkie. The small advantage he had, the element of surprise, was gone, he realized, when he saw the three Mayan gods approaching. He ducked behind the three girls, carrying large baskets of papier-mache fruit on their heads, and headed for the row of buildings. He had an idea. A man in a pirate costume was standing in front of the door. Nick cautiously approached the man and suddenly grabbed him. Deliberately pressing on certain nerve points and the man lost consciousness. Nick was wearing a suit and a blindfold.
  
  
  
  "Sorry, buddy," he said to the recumbent yahoo member.
  
  
  
  As he continued on, he saw the two assassins a few yards away, looking at the crowd in surprise. He walked over to him, stepped between them, and took Hugo in his left hand. Both ego hands touched the men. He felt them suffocate and saw them collapse.
  
  
  
  "Two birds with one stone," Nick said. He saw the astonishment of the passers-by and smiled amiably.
  
  
  
  "Calm down, amigo," he called cheerfully. "I told you not to interrupt." The passersby turned, and Nick pulled the man to his feet. The man stumbled, and Nick threw ego into the building. He turned around just in time to see the third Mayan god charging towards him with a large hunting knife.
  
  
  
  Nick jumped back into the house. The knife tore through the pirate's suit. Due to the man's speed, he crashed into Nick and they both fell to the ground. Nick hit the hard edge of his helmet, k heads. Pain joins the ego in rage. He grabbed the assailant's head and slammed it hard to the ground. The man was in the last convulsions. Nick grabbed the radio and ran outside, holding it to his ear. He heard Rojadas yell angrily over the radio.
  
  
  
  "It's him," the chief shouted. "Oni ego was released, idiots. The voice of this pirate in a red cloth and with an eye patch ... next to a large building. Take the ego! Quickly!'
  
  
  
  Nick dropped the radio and ran down the narrow path at the edge of the crowd. He saw two more feathered assassins break away from the crowd to follow him. At this point, a yahoo member wearing a red shirt, cape, and devil mask passed Nick's mimmo and ran down a narrow alley. Nick went after the devil, and when they reached the middle of the alley, he grabbed ego. He did it as gently as possible. Nick propped the man up to groan and put on the devil costume.
  
  
  
  "I started out as a pirate, and now I've been promoted to the devil," he muttered. "This is life, buddy."
  
  
  
  He was just leaving through the alleyway when the attackers dispersed and began searching for Ego at the edge of the crowd.
  
  
  
  "Surprise!" he shouted to the first, giving the ego a hard punch in life. As the man doubled over, Nick gave ego another quick pat on the neck and let the man fall forward. He ran after the others.
  
  
  
  'Heads or tails!' Nick grinned happily, grabbing the other man's arm and slamming it against the lantern. He took the gun from him and went back to the other one to do the same. These two might still have problems with their guns. He paused to look out over the crowd onto the platform. Rohadas saw it all, and pointed furiously at Nick. Nick was doing pretty well so far, but he was starting to wistfully search the street for George and other people's egos. There was nothing to be seen, and when he looked back at the platform, he saw that Rohadas, obviously very worried, had sent all his men after him. They lined up in two rows and pushed through the crowd, closing in on him with their pincers. Suddenly, Nick saw that the mass had split in two. He was standing in front of the group and saw another platform pass by mimically.
  
  
  
  The chariot was covered with flowers and a wreath above the flower throne. On the throne sat a girl with blonde curly hair, surrounded by other girls with high haircuts and long dresses. As the crowd chased after the platform, Nick looked again. All the girls were wearing too much makeup, and when they threw flowers at the crowd, their movements were too exaggerated. "Damn the tailor," Nick growled. "I might be an idiot if they're not transvestites."
  
  
  
  Some ran after the platform, behaving like the flowers that the" girls " threw out as gracefully as possible. The first row of feathered costumes reached the opposite side of the crowd. The devil made sure that the enemy stayed between him and his ego opponents. He knew that he was hiding from them, and he raised his step as the cart reached the end of the crowd. The clumsy cart was stuck at the end of the street, at a slight bend. Nick and a few others were still running alongside. When the car turned, he asked the blonde for a rose. The figure leaned forward to hand the flower to the emu. Nick grabbed Ego's wrist and pulled. A man in a red dress, black long gloves, and a blond wig fell into the emu's arms. He threw the boy over his shoulder and ran down the alley. The crowd began to laugh wildly.
  
  
  
  Nick chuckled, because he knew why they were laughing. They thought about the disappointment that the ego was waiting for. He put the man down on the street and took off his devil costume. "Put on that suit, dear," he said.
  
  
  
  He decided to just leave the bra on. He may not have looked particularly attractive, but a girl just needs to be content with what nah has. When he returned, he saw that two rows of assassins in suits were lined up in a semicircle. The sound of approaching cars ' sirens startled him.
  
  
  
  They were people, Jorge! He glanced quickly at the Rohadas platform. He was shouting orders over the radio, and Nick saw Rohadas ' men mingle with the crowd again. Suddenly, he saw a blue shirt and cap appear around the alley. Behind him ran several men in work suits, armed with pickaxes and shovels. Jorge saw Rojadas ' men and made his recommendations. Nick took a few steps forward before the feathered assassin bumped into him.
  
  
  
  "Desculpe, senhorita," the man said. 'I'm sorry.'
  
  
  
  Nick shouted, turning the man to the left. The man hit his head on the paving stones. Nick took the gun from him, emptied the magazine, and threw it away. The other god had just caught a glimpse of someone in a red dress bending over his friend's ego.
  
  
  
  "Hey," Nick called in a shrill voice. "I think you're still ill."
  
  
  
  The man came running quickly. Nick waited for him to come up to lick, then kicked the guy with his stiletto heel. The assassin automatically leaned forward and screamed, which hurt. Nick quickly delivered a knee uppercut to the emu, and the man fell forward. He looked around and saw that Jorge's men were dealing with other assassins. However, it wouldn't have worked. Either way, they will fail. Rohadas was still on the platform, still giving orders over the radio. Jorge and Ego's men had already captured quite a few killers, but Nick saw that it wasn't enough. Rohadas had about a sixth other people in the crowd. Nick quickly removed his dress, wig, and high-heeled ballet slippers. He knew that Rohadas kept urging his men to stick to their planned plan. He kept insisting that it could still work.
  
  
  
  Worst of all, he was right.
  
  
  
  Tall people took to the podium. Rohadas ' floating ship was too far away to reach him in time. Nick was stabbed. He couldn't contact Rohadas anymore, and he might still be able to. At first, he tried to push through and squeeze through, but when he couldn't, he crawled. He had looked at the stage before. The Ee could be completely disassembled.
  
  
  
  Finally, long steel supports appeared in front of him, which were fastened with long iron bolts. He examined the structure and found three places where he could excel. He leaned down and propped one up around the rungs. Ego's feet sank into the gravel. He moved his alenka and tried again. The crossbar slammed into Em's shoulder, and he heard ego's shirt rip as he flexed his back muscles. Bolt gave in a little, but it was enough. He pulled out the support, dropped to his knees, and breathed excitedly.
  
  
  
  He listened and expected to hear more or less opening volleys. He knew it was only seconds. The second support went much easier. He looked up and saw that the place was sinking. The third pillar was the most difficult. He had to pull it out first and then dive out from under the podium, otherwise he would be crushed. The third peg was the closest to the edge of the stage and the lowest to the ground. He put his back under the bar and lifted it up. It's cut into his skin, and his back muscles are sore. He tried to pull the handle with all his might, but it didn't help. He arched his back again and yanked the handle. This time it worked, and he ducked out from under the nah.
  
  
  
  The stage collapsed, and loud screams rang out. Tomorrow there will be a lot of officials with bruises and scratches. But at least Brazil still had a government, and the United Nations would retain one member. Right after the stage collapsed, he heard gunshots and laughed darkly. It was too late. He stood up, stepped on the beams, and looked around. The mob destroyed the remaining assassins. Jorge and Ego's men cordoned off the square. But the platform was empty, and Rohadas escaped. Nick could just see a glimmer of orange moving toward the far corner of the square.
  
  
  
  The bastard was still on the loose. Nick jumped up from his seat and ran through the mess on the stage. As he walked through the alleys surrounding the square, he could hear sirens wailing. He knew that all the big squares and avenues were filled with people, and Rohadas knew it too. He'll go to the back streets, of course. Nick cursed himself for not knowing Rio well enough to cut the bastard off. He saw the orange stripe hat come flying around the corner just in time. The intersection would lead to the next avenue, and Nick, like Rohadas, entered the first alley. The man turned, and Nick saw that he was pulling out a gun. He fired once, and Nick was forced to stop and take cover. He briefly considered pulling out his gun, but then changed his mind. It would be best if he caught Rohadas alive.
  
  
  
  Nick felt the muscles in his back ache. Any normal person would have stopped, but Nick gritted his teeth and picked up speed. He watched as the rebel leader threw away his helmet. Nick laughed to himself. He knew that Rohadas was now sweating and panting. Nick reached the top of the hill and saw Rohadas crossing a small square.
  
  
  
  An open trolleybus has just arrived. People were hanging everywhere. Other than the fact that they were now wearing suits, it was a common sight. Rohadas jumped on the bus, and Nick chased after him. Others who were trying to get on the trolley stopped when they saw a man dressed in a suit threatening the driver with a gun. Rohadas had free travel and a trolley bus full of hostages in one fell swoop.
  
  
  
  It wasn't just luck. This person came here intentionally. He prepared everything well.
  
  
  
  "Bond, senor," Nick shouted to one of the men around him. "Where is this bus going?"
  
  
  
  "Down the hill and then north," the boy replied.
  
  
  
  "Where is he staying?" Nick asked again. "Final stop?"
  
  
  
  "In the Maua Pier area."
  
  
  
  Nick pursed his lips. In The Pier Area, Maua! There was an intermediary, Alberto Sollimage. That's why Rohadas went there. Nick turned back to the man next to him.
  
  
  
  "I have to go to the pier area, Maua," he said. It is very important.'
  
  
  
  "With the exception of a few taxis, nothing else works," said one boy. "That person was a bandit, wasn't he?"
  
  
  
  "Very bad," Nick said. "He just tried to kill your president."
  
  
  
  The group of people looked surprised.
  
  
  
  "If I can get her to the Maua Pier area in time, I can capture her ego," Nick continued. "What's the fastest way? You may know the shortcut."
  
  
  
  Odin around the boys pointed to a parked truck, " Can you drive, senor?"
  
  
  
  "I can drive," Nick said. "Do you have any ignition keys?"
  
  
  
  "We'll push," the boy said. 'The door is open. You're off. Anyway, it's basically a descent, at least the first part of the way there."
  
  
  
  yahoo members enthusiastically prepared to push the truck. Nick grinned and got behind the wheel. It might not have been the best form of transportation, but it was the best. And it was faster than running. He hadn't thought about it yet. He decided to grab Rojadas and not look emu in the face exhausted. Ego's helpers jumped into the back of the truck, and he saw the boys standing at the side windows.
  
  
  
  "Follow the trolley tracks, senor," one of the men around them shouted.
  
  
  
  They didn't break the world record, but they also took the lead. When the road rose again or became level, the ego's new helpers pushed the truck on. Almost all of them were boys, and they liked it very much. Nick was pretty sure that Rohadas had already reached the warehouse and would believe that he had left Nick with the squares. They finally reached the edge of the Pier Maua neighborhood, and Nick stopped the car.
  
  
  
  "Muito abrigado, amigos," Nick shouted.
  
  
  
  "We'll go with you, senor," the rheumatism boy shouted.
  
  
  
  "No," Nick said quickly. "Thank you, but this man is armed and very dangerous. Its better to go alone.
  
  
  
  He meant what he said to them. By the way, such a herd of boys would be too conspicuous. Nick wanted Rojadas to keep thinking that he wasn't in a quandary.
  
  
  
  He waved goodbye and ran down the street. After walking through a winding alley and a narrow alley, he finally came to the store's black-painted windows. The front door was open and the lock was broken. Nick crept cautiously inside. The memories of the previous day were still fresh in the ego's mind. It was dead silent inside. A holy light burned in the back of the box. He pulled out his gun and entered the store. There was an open box on the floor. From the pieces of wood lying on the floor, he could tell that Ego had recently been hacked. He knelt down beside her. It was a rather flat box with a small red dot on it. The inside was filled with straw, and Nick carefully placed his hands in it. All he found was a small piece of paper.
  
  
  
  It was a factory instruction: inflate carefully, slowly.
  
  
  
  Nick was deep in thought. Slowly inflate, he repeats several times, standing up. He looked at the empty box again. It was ... The lifeboat! The Maua Pier area borders Guanabara Bay. Rohadas hotel escape by boat. Of course, there was an agreed location, probably one around small coastal islands. Nick ran as fast as he could toward the bay. Rohadas would have lost a lot of time inflating the boat. Nick poked his feet out from under his hole and soon saw the blue waters of the bay ahead of him. Rohadas could not sail yet. There was a long line of piers along the beach. Everything was completely deserted because everyone had gone to a party in the city center. Then he saw a figure kneeling at the end of the pier. The boats lay on the wooden planks of the dock.
  
  
  
  After Rohadas checked his boat, he pushed it into the water. Nick raised the gun again and took careful aim. He still wants to take the ego alive. He hit the boat with one shot. He saw Rohadas stare at the hole in surprise. The man slowly stood up and saw Nick approaching him with a gun pointed at him. He obediently raised his hands.
  
  
  
  "Take the gun out of its holster and throw it away. But slowly, " Nick ordered.
  
  
  
  Rohadas obeyed, and Nick threw the gun away. He fell into the water.
  
  
  
  "You never give up either, do you, senor?" sighed Rojadas. "Looks like you won."
  
  
  
  "In the dell itself," Nick said laconically. "Take the boat. They'll want to know where it's coming from. They will want to know the smallest details of your plan.
  
  
  
  Rohadas sighed and grabbed the boat from the shore. Without air sampling, it was nothing more than an elongated, shapeless piece of rubber. He dragged ego with him as he started walking. The man seemed completely defeated, all his masculinity gone. So Nick relaxed a little, and then it happened!
  
  
  
  As Rohadas passed mimmo, he suddenly threw a piece of rubber in the air and slapped Nick across the face. Then Rohadas leaped at Nick's feet with lightning speed. Nick fell and dropped the gun. Turning around, he tried to dodge the flight of stairs, but was hit high up. He desperately tried to grab onto something, but in vain. He fell into the water.
  
  
  
  As soon as it surfaced, he saw Rohadas grab a gun and aim it. He quickly ducked, and a gawk passed mimmo ego's head. He quickly swam under the pier and surfaced between the slippery pillars. He could hear Rohadas pacing slowly back and forth. Suddenly he stopped. Nick made as little noise as possible. The man was standing on the right side of the dock. Nick turned and looked. He was prepared to see the man's fat target hanging over the edge. Nick immediately disappeared as Rohadas fired again. Two shots from Rohadas and Odin from Nick himself: three in all. Nick estimated that there were only three bullets left in the gun. It floated out from under the pier, and with a loud noise, it floated to the surface. Rohadas turned quickly and fired. Two more, Nick told himself. He dived again, swam under the pier, and surfaced on the other side. Silently, he pulled himself up to the edge of the pier and saw Rohadas standing with his back to him.
  
  
  
  "Rohadas," he shouted.
  
  
  
  The man turned and fired again. Nick quickly fell into the water. He counted two shots. This time, he floated up in front of the pier where the stairs were. He climbed on top of nah and looked like a sea monster. Rohadas saw it, pulled the trigger, but heard nothing but the click of a gun on an empty magazine.
  
  
  
  "You should learn to count," Nick said. He walked forward. The man tried to attack him and held his hands like two battering rams in front of him.
  
  
  ear. Nick stopped him by giving em a left hook. Once again, it hit the emu in the eye, and blood spurted out. Suddenly, he thought of the poor girl's blood on the mission. Nick was a constant ego now. Rohadas swayed from side to side from the blows. He fell on the wooden dock. Nick picked up Ego and almost knocked ego's head off his shoulders. The man stood up again, and he had a wild, frightened look in his eyes. When Nick came up to him again, he backed away. Rohadas turned and ran to the edge of the pier. Without waiting, he dived.
  
  
  
  'Stop it! Nick shouted. "It's too shallow." A moment later, Nick heard a loud crack. He ran to the edge of the pier and saw jagged rocks sticking out around the water. Rohadas hung there like a big butterfly, and the water turned red. Nick watched as the body was pulled up by the waves around the rocks and sank. He took a deep breath and walked away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick rang the bell and Stahl waited. He had spent the entire morning with Jorge, and now emu was a little sad because he had to leave.
  
  
  
  "Thank you, amigo," the police chief said. "But mostly because of me. You have opened my eyes to many things. I hope you will come to me again."
  
  
  
  "If you're in Rio," Nick said with a laugh.
  
  
  
  "I hope you will, Senor Nick," Jorge said, giving him a hug.
  
  
  
  'See you soon. Nick said.
  
  
  
  After saying goodbye to Jorge, he sent a telegram to Bill Dennison saying that ego was waiting for the plantation.
  
  
  
  Maria opened the emu, wrapped her arms around ego, and pressed her soft lips to his.
  
  
  
  "Nick, Nick," she muttered. "It was such a long wait. I wish she could come with you."
  
  
  
  She was wearing a red judo suit. When Nick put his hand on her back, he noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra.
  
  
  
  "I made us a delicious meal," she said. "Pato with abacaxi and arros".
  
  
  
  "Duck with pineapple and rice," says Nick. "That sounds good."
  
  
  
  "You want to eat first ... or later, Nick? " she asked, her eyes sparkling.
  
  
  
  "And then what?" "What is it?" he asked casually. A sultry smile appeared on her lips. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, playing with her tongue in his mouth. With one hand, she unbuckled her belt, and the suit slid off her shoulders. Nick felt those beautiful, soft, full breasts.
  
  
  
  Mary moaned softly. "Oh, Nick, Nick," she said. "We're having a late lunch today, okay?"
  
  
  
  "The later the better," he said.
  
  
  
  Maria made love like a bolero. She began painfully slowly. Her skin was creamy, and her hands caressed her ego, her body.
  
  
  
  When he took her, she just turned into a wild beast. Half sobbing and half laughing, she cried out with desire and excitement. Rising rapidly to its zenith, the short gasping screams became one long moan, almost a moan. Then she suddenly froze. When she came to, she snuggled into ego's embrace.
  
  
  
  "How can a woman be content with another man after you?" Maria asked, looking at him seriously.
  
  
  
  "I can do it," he said to hey, with a smile. "You like someone just the way they are."
  
  
  
  "Will you ever come back?" "What is it?" she asked doubtfully.
  
  
  
  "I'll be back sometime," Nick said. "If there's one reason to go back to anything, it's you." They stayed in the city until sunset. They did it twice more before dinner, like two people who had to live with their memories. The sun was about to rise when he sadly and reluctantly left. He knew a lot of girls, but none of them radiated such warmth and sincerity as Maria. A faint voice inside him told em that it was good that he should leave. You can fall in love with this girl and fall in love that no one in this mail business is able to afford. Affection, passion, grace, honor ... but not love.
  
  
  
  He went straight to the airport to meet Ego's waiting plane. He stared at the blurry outline of the Sugar Loaf for a while, then fell asleep. Sleep is a beautiful thing, " he sighed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The door to Hawk's office in AX headquarters was open, and Nick came in. The blue eyes behind the glasses looked at him with amusement and taste.
  
  
  
  "Good to see you again, N3," Hawk said with a smile. "You look well rested."
  
  
  
  'Fair enough? Nick said.
  
  
  
  "Well, why not, my boy. You have just arrived on a relaxing trip around this beautiful Rio de Janeiro. How was the carnival?
  
  
  
  "Just murderous."
  
  
  
  For a moment, Em thought he saw a strange look in Hawke's eyes, but he wasn't sure.
  
  
  
  "So you had a good time?"
  
  
  
  "He wouldn't have missed it for the world."
  
  
  
  "Do you remember the difficulties I told you about?" Hawk asked casually. "It seems they decided ih on their own."
  
  
  
  'I'm glad to hear it.'
  
  
  
  "Well, then I think you know what I'm looking forward to," Hawke said cheerfully.
  
  
  
  'What then?'
  
  
  
  "Of course, I'll find a good job for myself."
  
  
  
  "Do you know what I'm really looking forward to?"
  
  
  
  'What will it be then?'
  
  
  
  "Next holiday".
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unable to ignore the plea for help from his old friend's son, Todd Dennison, Carter abandons his planned vacation in Canada and, guided by his instincts and Wilhelmina, flies to Rio de Janeiro.
  
  
  
  As soon as he arrives, he finds out that Dennison was killed less than four hours ago, he is almost pushed off the road, and he meets a girl with smoky gray eyes. Killmaster then opens a killer hunt with deadly precision.
  
  
  A fight that quickly turns the annual carnival in Rio into an eerie spectacle; bullets replace confetti, and gunshots replace incendiary music, for Nick it becomes a carnival of murders.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Rhodesia
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  
  Dedicated to the people of the Secret Services of the United States of America
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  From the mezzanine of New York's East Side terminal, Nick looked down, following Hawke's vague instructions. "To the left of the beginning of the second column. The map that shows the stagecoach. An energetic guy in a gray tweed with four girls."
  
  "I see ih."
  
  "This is Goose Boyd. Watch them for a while. We can see something interesting." They settled back into the green two-seater, facing the railing.
  
  Talking to Boyd was a very attractive blonde in a yellow knit suit that she had made beautifully. Nick scanned their photos and names. Hey, there will be Bootie DeLong, who lives three months out of Texas and, according to a smug report from the CIF-Consolidated Intelligence File, is more likely to support radical ideas. Nick didn't believe it. The spy network was so large and uncritical that the files of half the country's college students contained misinformation - raw, misleading, and useless. Bootie's father was H. F. DeLong, who jumped from a dump truck driver to many millions in construction, oil and finance in his lifetime. One day, people like H. F. will hear about these cases, and the explosion will be unforgettable.
  
  
  The hawk said: "Your eyes are caught, Nicholas. Which one is it?"
  
  
  "They all look like fine young Americans."
  
  "I'm sure the other eight people who will be joining you in Frankfurt will be just as charming. You're a lucky guy. Thirty days to get to know each other intimately - to get to know each other well."
  
  "I had other plans," Nick said. "You can't pretend it's a vacation." A hint of grumbling escaped from the ego voice. It was always like this when he came across a case. Ego, senses sharpened, ego reflexes alert, like an en garde swordsman, he felt obligated and betrayed.
  
  David Hawke played his cards well yesterday-asking, not ordering. "If you complain of overwork or poor self-esteem, N3, I'll take it. You're not the only man I have. You are the best."
  
  The unyielding protests that Nick had formed in his head on the way to Bard Art Galleries - an AX cover-up operation-melted away. He obeyed, and Hawke continued, his wise, kind eyes grimly hard under his gray brows. "This is Rhodesia. One of the very few places you've never been. You know about the sanctions. They don't work. Rhodesians ship copper, chromite, asbestos and other materials by ship to Portuguese Beira with strange bills. Last month, four shipments of copper arrived in Japan. We protested. The Japanese said, " The bills of lading indicate that this is south korea." This is the South Korea of Africa." By now, part of this medi is in a hall in mainland China.
  
  "Rhodesians are smart. Valiant. He was there. The Ih is less numerous than the Blacks, twenty to one, but they claim to have done more for the natives than they could ever have done for themselves. This led to a break with Britain and sanctions. I will leave it to the moral right or wrong according to economists and sociologists. But now we're moving on to gold - and in particular China's territory, the territory ."
  
  He had a nickname, and he knew it. He continued: "The country has been mining gold almost since the day Cecil Rhodes discovered it. Now we're hearing about huge new deposits stretching under some around the ih famous golden reefs. Mines, possibly discovered by ancient Zimbabwe events or new discoveries, I do not know. You'll find out."
  
  Caught and fascinated, Nick noticed: "King Solomon's mines? I remember her - was it Ryder Haggard? Lost cities and mines ..."
  
  "The treasury of the Queen of Sheba? Maybe." Hawk then revealed the real depth of his knowledge. "What does the Bible say? 3 Samuel 9: 26, 28. " And King Solomon built a fleet of ships ... and they came to Ophir, and took gold from there, and they brought ego king to Solomon ." The African words Sabi and Aufur can mean their program Sheba and Ophir. We'll leave that to the archaeologists. We know that gold has recently appeared around this region, and suddenly we hear that the ego of the price is much larger. what does this mean in the current world situation? Especially if big China can accumulate a decent pile ."
  
  Nick frowned. "But-the free world will buy the ego as fast as it gets the ego. We have an exchange. There are levers of influence on the productive economy."
  
  "Usually yes." Hawk handed Nick a plump file and saw that his ego had caught on. "But we should not, first of all, dump the industrial wealth of eight hundred million Chinese people. Or the probability that the price will rise from thirty-five dollars an ounce after inventory accumulation. Or the way Chinese influence surrounds Rhodesia, like the tendrils of a giant banyan tree. Or Judas."
  
  "Judas! "Is he there?"
  
  "It's possible. There was talk of a strange organization of assassins led by a man with claws instead of hands. Read this file when you have time, Nicholas. And you won't have much ego. As I said before, the Rhodesians are astute. They kicked out most of the British agents. They read James Bond and all that stuff. Four of our men were kicked out without further ado, but two were not.
  
  
  
  
  For our large firm, they are clearly being watched there. So, if Judas is behind the problem, we're in trouble. Especially since the ego associate seems to be His Jiang Kalgan."
  
  "Your Kalgan!" Nick exclaimed. "I was sure he was dead when I participated in these Indonesian kidnappings." 1
  
  "We think that with Judas, and probably Heinrich Muller too, if he is alive, then he will be in the Java Sea. China has supposedly supported Judas again, and he is weaving his web in Rhodesia. Ego cover companies and figureheads are, as usual, perfectly organized. . He must be providing Odessa with finances. Someone - many of the old Nazis we're watching have risen again financially. By the way, a few good coppersmiths around the ih club fell out all over the field of view in Chile. They may have joined Judas. . Ih stories and photos are in the dell, but ih search is not part of your task. Just watch and listen. Get proof, if you can, that Judah is increasing control over Rhodesia's export flow, but if you can't get proof, then your word is enough. Of course, Nick, if you have a chance, the order for Judas is still the same. Use your own judgment ... "
  
  
  Hawke's voice trailed off. Nick knew he was thinking of a scarred and battered Judas who had lived ten lives in one and escaped death. It was rumored that his name had once been Martin Bormann, and it was possible. If so, then the Holocaust in which he participated in 1944-1945 turned the ego's hard iron into steel, sharpened the ego's cunning, and made it forget pain and death in vast quantities. Nick would have liked an emu to be bold. Experience had taught him that the bravest are usually the kindest. The cruel and ruthless ones are scum. Judas ' brilliant generalship, lightning-fast tactical savvy, and quick combat prowess were beyond doubt.
  
  Nick said: "I'll read the file. What's my cover story?"
  
  Hawke's hard, thin mouth softened for a moment. The lines at the corners of the sharp eyes ' egos relaxed and looked less like deep lines. "Thank you, Nicholas. I won't forget it. We will arrange a vacation for you when you return. You will travel as Andrew Grant, assistant escort eagle with Edman's Educational Tour. You will help escort twelve young ladies around the country. Isn't this the most interesting cover story you've ever seen? The senior escort is an experienced man named Gus Boyd. He and the girls think you're an Edman official checking out a new tour. Manning Edman told them about you."
  
  "What does he know?"
  
  "He thinks you're from the CIA, but you didn't actually say anything to Della Emu. He's already helped them."
  
  "Can Boyd gain popularity?"
  
  "It won't be a big deal. Queer people often travel as escorts. Organized tours are part of the travel business. Free rides with low fees."
  
  "I need to know about the country ..."
  
  "Whitney will be waiting for you at the American Express at seven tonight. He will show you a couple of hours of color film and inform you."
  
  Films about Rhodesia were impressive. So beautiful that Nick is not stahl ih put. No side can be combined with the most vibrant vegetation of Florida and the features of California and the Grand Canyon in Colorado, scattered across the landscape of a Painted Desert. and everything is retouched. Whitney gave Em a stack of color photos and detailed verbal advice.
  
  Now, his shoulders hunched and his eyes lowered below the railing, he studied the blonde in the yellow suit. Maybe it'll work out. She was on guard, she was the most beautiful girl in the hall. Boyd tried to draw everyone's attention to them. What the hell could they possibly be talking about in this place? It was less interesting than at the train station. I was struck by a brunette in a sailor beret. It's going to be Teddy Northway in Philadelphia. The other black-haired girl will be Ruth Crossman, very pretty in her own way; but maybe it's the black-rimmed glasses. The other blonde was something special: tall, with long hair, not as attractive as Bootie, and yet ... She will be Janet Olsson.
  
  Hawke's hand fell lightly on emu's shoulder and stopped the ego from appreciating. There. Enters through the far gate, a medium-sized, neatly dressed Negro ."
  
  "I see the ego."
  
  "This is John J. Smith. Johnson. It can play folk blues by a horn so soft it will make you cry. He's an artist with the same talent as Armstrong. But the ego is more interested in politics. He is not Brother X, but rather a non-aligned devotee of Malcolm X and a socialist. Not a supporter of Black Power. He's friends with all of them, which can make the ego more dangerous than them fighting amongst themselves ."
  
  "How dangerous is it?" Nick asked, watching the lean Black man make his way through the crowd.
  
  "He's smart," Hawke muttered without emotion. "Our society is most afraid of such people from top to bottom. A man with a brain who sees through everything."
  
  
  Nick nodded impassively.
  
  
  
  
  This was a typical application of the Hawk. You wondered about the person and philosophy behind it, and then realized that it didn't really reveal anything. It was the ego's ability to draw an accurate picture of a person in juxtaposition with the world at the moment. He watched Johnson stop when he saw Boyd and the four girls. He knew exactly where to find ih. He used the pole as a barrier between himself and Boyd.
  
  Bootie DeLong saw ego and moved away from the group, pretending to read the arrival-departure panel. She passed mimmo Johnson and turned. For a moment, white and black skin contrasted like the center point in a Brueghel painting. Johnson gave Hey something and immediately turned away, heading for the 38th Street entrance. Bootie stuffed something into a large leather bag slung over her shoulder and returned to the small group.
  
  "What was that?" Nick asked.
  
  "I do not know," Hawk replied. "We have our own person in the civil rights group that they both belong to. It's about college. You saw the ego name in the file. She knew Johnson was coming here, but she didn't know why." He paused, then added ironically:: "Johnson is really smart. He doesn't trust our math class."
  
  "Propaganda for siblings in Rhodesia?"
  
  "It's possible. I think you should try to find out, Nicholas."
  
  Nick glanced at his watch. It was two minutes before he was supposed to join the group. "Will anything else happen?"
  
  "Voice and all, Nick. Sorry, nothing else. If we get anything vital that you need to know about, I'll send her a courier. The code word "biltong" is repeated three times."
  
  They stood up, immediately turning their backs on the hall. Hawke's hand gripped Nick, gripping his hard arm just below the bicep. Then the older man disappeared around the corner into the corridor of offices. Nick went down the escalator.
  
  Nick introduced himself to Boyd, introduced himself to the girls. He used a light handshake and a shy smile. Up close, Goose Boyd looked very fit. Ego tan wasn't as deep as Nick's, but nen didn't have an ounce of fat, and it was spectacular. "Welcome aboard," he said as Nick released the slender Janet Olsson, around cool hands. "Luggage?"
  
  "Verified at JFK, NY."
  
  Good. Girls, please excuse us for starting the second lap, just go through the Lufthansa counter twice. The limos are waiting outside."
  
  As Clare was sorting through the ih tickets, Boyd said: "Have you worked with tours before?"
  
  "With American Express. Once. Many years ago."
  
  "Nothing has changed. These dolls shouldn't be a problem. We have eight more in Frankfurt. They also dealt with Europe. Do they tell you about them?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "How long have you known, Manny?"
  
  “no. Just joined the team."
  
  "Okay, just follow my instructions."
  
  The cashier returned the bundle of tickets. "It's all right. You didn't need to register here ..."
  
  "I know," Boyd said. "Just be careful."
  
  Bootie Delong and Teddy Northway moved a few steps away from the other two girls, waiting for ih. Teddy muttered: "Wow. What the hell, Grant! Did you see those shoulders? Where did they dig up this beautiful swinger?"
  
  Bootie watched the wide backs of "Andrew Grant" and Boyd make their way to the bar. "Maybe they dug deep." Her green eyes were slightly closed, thoughtful and thoughtful. The soft curve of her red lips was very hard for a moment, almost hard. "These two seem like good guys to me. I hope not. This Andy Grant is too good to be just an employee. Boyd looks more like a CIA agent. A lightweight who likes an easy life. But Grant is a government agent, if I know anything about it..."
  
  Teddy giggled. "They're all similar, aren't they? Like the FBI people lining up at the peace parade-remember? But-I dunno, Bootie. The grant looks different somehow"
  
  "It's good to know," Bootie promised.
  
  * * *
  
  The Lufthansa 707 first class was only half full. The big season is over. Nick denied media reports that although winter is approaching in the United States and Europe, it is ending in Rhodesia. He was chatting with Bootie when the group broke up, and it was up to estestvenno to follow her and take the aisle seat next to her. She seemed to welcome the company's ego. Boyd kindly checked that everyone was comfortable as a flight attendant, and then joined Janet Olsson. Teddy Northway and Ruth Crossman play this game together.
  
  First class. Four hundred and seventy-eight dollars for this part of the trip alone. Ih fathers must be rich. Out of the corner of his eye, he admired the rounded curve of Bootie's cheeks and the pert straight nose. There was no baby fat in her jaw. It was really cool to be so beautiful.
  
  Over the beer, she asked, " Andy, have you been to Rhodesia before?"
  
  "No, the Goose is an expert." Some strange girl, he thought. She pointed out the blatant corkscrew about the ruse. Why send a master who doesn't know the country? He continued: "I have to carry bags and support Gus. And learn. We are planning more excursions to the area and I will probably spend some around them. In a way, this is a bonus for your group. If you remember , the tour required only one escort ."
  
  Bootie's hand, which was holding the glass, stopped on his leg as she leaned toward him. "No problem, two handsome men are better than one.
  
  
  How long have you been with Edman?" "
  
  To hell with that girl! “no. It was delivered by American Express." Stick to the truth forever. He wondered if Janet was rocking Boyd so the girls could check their notes later.
  
  "I love traveling. Although I get a funny feeling of guilt ..."
  
  "Why not?"
  
  "Look at us. Here, you are in the lap of luxury. Probably fifty people are watching our comfort and safety right now. Being at the bottom... " She sighed, drank, and put her hand back on ego's leg. "You know - bombs, murder, famine, poverty. Haven't you ever felt that way before? You escorts live a good life. Beautiful eda. Beautiful women.
  
  He grinned into her green eyes. She smelled good, looked good, felt good. You could go far astray with such a cute candy and enjoy the ride until one day the bills arrive - "Swing now" - "Pay later" - "Cry at your leisure". She was as naive as the Chicago District Attorney at the usual parties with her alderman brother.
  
  "It's a tough job," he said politely. It would be fun to take out the needle all over her cute arm and stick it in her pretty ass.
  
  "For difficult men? I bet money that you and Boyd break hearts month after month, and I see you in the moonlight on the Riviera with old, lonely ladies. Widows all over Los Angeles with a million blue chips killed themselves to get you. They, who are in the front row at Burch meetings, are waving pamphlets."
  
  "They were all passionate about gaming tables."
  
  "Not with you and Gus. His woman. I know her.
  
  "I'm not sure if you remind me or yourself, Bootie. But there are a few things you don't know about escorts. He's a low-paid, overworked, feverish drifter. He is prone to frequent dysentery from strange whining. because you can't avoid all infections. He is afraid to drink water, eat fresh vegetables or ice cream even in the United States. Avoiding ih has become a conditioned reflex. The baggage ego is usually filled with dirty shirts and impressive suits. Ego watches are in a repair shop in San Francisco, his new suit has been released from tailors around Hong Kong, and he tries to exist in two pairs of shoes with holes in the soles until he gets to Rhyme, where he has two new pairs that were made six months ago."
  
  They were silent for a while. Then Bootie said doubtfully: "You're lying to me."
  
  "Listen: ego, the ferret's skin itches with them as he discovered something mysterious in Calcutta. Doctors, if he had seven options for antihistamines, and recommended to pass a one-year course of allergy tests, that is, they are puzzled. He buys some shares. lived like a beggar when he's in the States, because he can't resist the right advice that rich travelers give emu. But he still goes all over the country so much that he can't watch the market and all his purchases have lost touch with all the friends that emu likes. He could get a dog, but you'll see how impossible that is. As for hobbies and interests, he can forget about them if he doesn't collect matchboxes around hotels that he hopes the tailor will never see again or restaurants where the emu has become ill."
  
  "Urrf". Bootie growled, and Nick stopped. "I know you're teasing me, but a lot of it sounds like it might be true. If you and the Goose show signs of such a life during the month-long trip, its founding a society for the prevention of this atrocity."
  
  "Just look..."
  
  Lufthansa put on the usual great dinner. For brandy and coffee, the green eyes settled back on Nike. He could feel the hair on his neck, smelling nice. It's perfume, he told himself, but he's always been susceptible to wary blondes. She said: "You made a mistake"*.
  
  "How?"
  
  "You've told me everything about the life of a third-person escort. You never said " I "or "we." You guessed a lot of things, and you made up some of them."
  
  Nick sighed, his face as expressionless as a Chicago district attorney's. "You'll see for yourself."
  
  The stewardess put away the glasses, and curls of golden hair tickled ego's cheek. Bootie said, " If it's true, poor guy, I'm going to feel so sorry for you, I just need to cheer you up and try to make you happy. I mean, you can ask me to equip everything. I think it's terrible, these days, that fine young men like you and Goose are forced to live like galley slaves ."
  
  He saw the shimmer of the emerald spheres, felt a hand-no glass in it now-on his leg. Some of the cabin lights were off, and the passage was momentarily his ... He turned his head and pressed his lips to her soft red lips. He was sure she was preparing for this, half mocking, half shaping a woman's weapon, but her target twitched slightly as ih's lips met - but didn't back down. It was beautiful, well-fitting, fragrant, and it was pliable to the flesh. What he meant was that it would be a five-second thing. It was like stepping on sweet, soft quicksand with a hidden threat - or eating peanuts. The first step was a trap. He closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the soft, tingling sensations that swept through his lips, teeth, and tongue...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He opened one eye, saw her eyelids droop, and closed the world again for just a few seconds.
  
  A hand tapped Ego on the shoulder, and he stiffened and pulled away. "Janet isn't feeling well," Goose Boyd said softly. "Not serious. Just a mild air sickness. She says she's committed to it. I gave you a couple of pills. But she would like to see you for a moment, please.".
  
  Bootie climbed out over the seats and Gus joined Nick. The young man looked more relaxed, his attitude more friendly, as if what he had just seen guaranteed Nick's professional status. "This is the centurion," he said. "Janet's dolls, but I can't take my eyes off Teddy. Nah has a playful look. Glad to see you're getting acquainted. This Loot looks like a girl with class."
  
  "Plus brains. She started the third degree. He told " a sad story about the hard life of an escort and the need for kindness."
  
  Gus laughed. "This is a new approach. And it might work. Most guys work themselves out, and damn it, anyone with any sense knows they're just Gray-Line conductors without megaphones. Janet gave me a pretty good workout, too. about the wonders that can be seen in Rhodesia ."
  
  "This is not a cheap tour. Are all ih families provided for?"
  
  "Except for Ruth, I think. Nah has something like a scholarship or gift funded by ee college. Washburn's accounting department keeps me posted, so I'll have an idea who Hema can work with for tips. This is not a big deal for this group. Young depraved girls. Selfish bitches. "
  
  Nick's brows rose in the gloom. "It used to be preferred over older girls," he said. "Some of them were very grateful for everything."
  
  "Of course. "Aforzio made a great result last year. Married this old girl from Arizona. He has a house in five or six other places. The ego fortune is supposed to be forty or fifty million. He's a cool cat. Did you know the ego?"
  
  "No way."
  
  "How long have you been on American Express, Andy?"
  
  "From time to time, for four, five years. She has conducted many special FIT tours. But I've never had a chance to touch Rhodesia, even though I've been to most of the rest of Africa. So don't forget that you are the senior escort, Goose, and I won't bother you. You can tell me where you want us to plug the hole in the line. I know that Manning probably told you that I have a free hand and he is ready to go, and I can leave you for a few days. But if I do, I'll try to tell you in advance. Meanwhile, you're the boss ."
  
  Boyd nodded. "Thank you. I knew the minute I saw you, you were ordinary. If you capture Edman, I think you'll be a good guy to work for. Her, I was afraid I'd get another gay guy. I don't mind sweethearts, but they can be a hell of a mess when you have real work to do or the drawer gets cramped. Are you aware of the problems in Rhodesia? A black bitch was chasing a group of Triggs and son candid from the market. A scratched couple of tourists . I don't think it will happen again. The Rhodesians are methodical and tough. Most likely, we will get a policeman to us. Anyway, I know the contractor. He'll give us one or two guards along with the cars, if it looks like it's needed. "
  
  Nick thanked Boyd for the briefing, then asked casually, " What's your name?": "How about some extra money? With all the sanctions and stuff like that, are there any really good angles? They mine a lot of gold.
  
  Although no one was close enough for ih to hear, and they were talking in a very low voice, the Goose lowered its voice to an even quieter level. "Have you ever dealt with this, Andy?"
  
  “yeah. In a way. All I would ask for from life is a chance to buy at a price in the US or Europe and have a reliable pipeline to India. Her, I heard that there are good channels from Rhodesia to India, so I was wondering ... "
  
  "I have a point of view. I need to get to know you better."
  
  "You just said that you knew as soon as you saw me that I was a regular customer. What's wrong now?"
  
  The goose snorted impatiently. "If you're a regular, you know what I mean. I don't give a damn about this job with Edman. But a gold medal is a different story altogether. Many boys have become rich. I mean escorts, pilots, stewards. airline representatives. But many around them ended up in rooms furnished with bars. And in some of the countries where they were arrested, the service they were staying in is really terrible." The goose paused and shuddered slightly. "It's not good - five years with lice. I've worked hard on this pun, but it tells you what I mean. If you have a person working with you, say the customs officer wants a piece, you will return home if it is hot." But if you're in a hurry, you're risking a lot. You can buy most of these Asian boys for a piece of cake, but they constantly need sacrifices to show they're doing their job and cover up the deals ih gets involved in. So if they you people are going to come after him, you might fall hard ."
  
  "I have more in Calcutta," Nick said. "It has enough weight to help us, but the rim doesn't need to be adjusted in advance."
  
  "Maybe we'll have a chance," the Goose replied. "Stay in touch with him if you can. It's a gamble if you don't have the brakes. Boys who transport things
  
  automatically calculates a ten percent loss rate to let the government guys look like they're doing their job, and another ten percent loss rate to lubricate. This is inappropriate. Sometimes you go in, especially with an "Amex" or "Edman Tours" badge or something like that, and you pass mimmo. They won't even look under your spare shirts. Other times, you get a full check-up, and it's sudden death ."
  
  "Once it was played with quarters. We were very lucky."
  
  The goose was interested. "Not a bank, eh? How much did you earn on barr?"
  
  Nick smiled briefly. The ego of the new partner used the confession to test their knowledge and therefore its veracity. "Imagine for yourself. We had five bars. In 100 ounces each. The profit is thirty-one dollars an ounce and the cost of lubrication is fifteen percent. There were two of us. We split about $ 11,000 for three days of work and two hours of worry."
  
  "Macau?"
  
  "Now, Gus, I've already mentioned Calcutta, and you haven't told me much. As you say, let's get to know each other and see what else we think of each other. I would say that the main point of view is this. If you can help create a spring in Rhodesia, I have a gateway to India. One or both of us can drive along the route on an imaginary tour or on the road to join a Deli party or whatever. Our cute badges and my connection will help us with this."
  
  "Let's think carefully."
  
  Nick told Em what he would think. He'll be thinking every second, because the pipeline leading to illegal gold through the Rhodesian mines must have me somewhere at its junctions and connections, in the world of Judah and Kalgan.
  
  Bootie returned to the seat next to him, and Gus joined Janet. The flight attendant gave them pillows and blankets while they tilted their seats almost to horizontal level. Nick grabbed one of the blankets and turned off the reading lamp.
  
  They entered the strange silence of the dry capsule. The monotonous roar of a body that held ih, ih's own lung, an iron lung. Bootie didn't protest when he took only one blanket, so she made a small ceremony of tucking her ego over both of them. If you could ignore the projections, you could imagine yourself in a cozy double bed.
  
  Nick looked up at the ceiling and remembered Trixie Skidmore, a Pan Am flight attendant with whom he had once spent a few cultural days in London. Trixie said: "I grew up in Ocala, Florida, and parts of the sole went back and forth to Jax on a greyhound and, believe me, I felt like I'd seen everything in the world of sex done in those backseats. You know, long ones. who go candid through the bus. Well, honey, I just never had any education until I got into the air. She's seen fornication, hand jobs, blowjobs, side rewinds, spoon tucks, down Y's, and whips . "
  
  Nick laughed heartily. "What do you do when catching ih?"
  
  "I wish them luck, dear. If they need another blanket or pillow, or if you choose another light fixture or two, I'll help." He remembered how Trixie had pressed her plump, full lips to his bare chest and murmured, " I don't know.: "I love lovers, dear, because I love love, and I need a lot of it."
  
  He felt Bootie's soft breath on his jaw. "Andy, are you very sleepy?"
  
  "No, not particularly. Just sleepy, Bootie. Well-fed - and today was a busy day. It's nice for her."
  
  "Satisfied? How?"
  
  "I'm meeting you. I know you'll make good company. You can't even imagine how dangerous a trip can be with someone who is not interesting and conceited. You're a smart girl. You have ideas and thoughts that you hide."
  
  Nick was glad she couldn't see his expression in the dim light. He meant what he said, but he missed a lot. Nah had ideas and thoughts that she was hiding, and they might have been interesting and valuable - or distorted and deadly. He wanted to know exactly what Nah's connection to John J. Smith was. Johnson and what, hey, nigger.
  
  "You're a strange person, Andy. Have you ever been involved in any business other than traveling? I can introduce you to some kind of manager. Not insurance or finance, but some business that has action."
  
  "I did something in other directions. Just like everyone else. But I like the travel business. My partner and I can buy some of Edman's work." He couldn't tell if she was pumping up her ego or just being interested in her past. "What are your hopes, now that college is over?"
  
  "Work on something. Create. Live." She sighed, stretched, wriggled, and pressed, rearranging her soft curves that spread out over her ego, her body, touching at many points. She kissed ego's chin.
  
  He ran his hand between her arm and her body. There was no resistance; as he lifted her up and back, he could feel her soft breasts pushing against his ego. He stroked her gently, slowly reading the Braille on her smooth skin. When his tactile fingertips noticed that his nipples were stiff, he concentrated, reading the exciting phrase over and over again. She let out a soft purr, and he felt light, slender fingers exploring his ego's tie clip, undoing the buttons of his shirt, pulling up his tank top.
  
  
  
  
  
  He thought that the pads of her hand might be cool, but they were like warm feathers above ego's navel. He'd pulled on a yellow sweater, and her skin felt like warm silk.
  
  She pressed her lips to ego's lips, and it was better than before, ih flesh merging like a plastic buttery butterscotch into one sweet mass. He'd solved the brief puzzle of her bra, and Stahl's braille was alive and real, egos feeling the ancient contact, the subconscious memories of well-being and nutrition aroused by the warm push of her firm breasts.
  
  Her manipulations sent memories and expectations running down the ego's spine. She was smart, creative, and patient. As soon as he found the zipper on the side of her skirt, she whispered, " Tell me what it is ..."
  
  It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long, long time, " he said softly.
  
  "That's good. But that's not what I mean."
  
  Her hand was a magnet, a wireless vibrator, the importunate persuasion of a milkmaid, the caress of a gentle cosway that contained her entire body, the butterfly's grip on a pulsing leaf. What did she want him to say? She knew what she was doing. "It's delicious, "he said." Bathing in sugar pumping. The ability to fly in the rays of the moon. Rollercoaster ride in a good dream. How would you describe it when ..."
  
  "I mean what's under your left arm," she muttered dryly. "You've been hiding it from me with them ferret-like us in this kind of game. Why are you carrying a gun?"
  
  
  Chapter two.
  
  
  Ego plucked from a nice pink cloud. Oh, Wilhelmina, why do you have to be so fat and heavy to be so accurate and reliable? Stewart, AX's chief weapons engineer, had modified the Lugers with shortened barrels and thin plastic handles, but they were still large weapons that could be hidden even in perfectly fitted armpits. Walking and sitting, they were hidden neatly, without a single bulge, but when you were fighting a kitten like Bootie, sooner or later she bumped into metal.
  
  "We're going to Africa," Hey Nick denied the media reports, " where our customers are exposed to a lot of dangers. Among other things, it's your security guard. We've never had any problems there, this place is really civilized. but..."
  
  "And you will protect us from lions, tigers, and natives with spears?"
  
  "That's a rude thought." He felt stupid. Bootie had the most annoying way of saving ordinary things that made fun of you. The delicious fingers made a final stroke that made ego flinch involuntarily, and then they moved away. He felt both disappointed and stupid.
  
  "I think you're talking nonsense," Bootie whispered. "Are you on the FBI?"
  
  "Of course not."
  
  "If you were an ih agent, hers, I guess you'd be lying."
  
  "I hate lying." It was the truth. He hoped she wouldn't return to her position as district attorney and question ego about other government agencies. Most people didn't know about it, but Bootie wasn't most people.
  
  "Are you a private investigator? Did anyone around our fathers hire you to look after one around us or all of them? If he did, I'll ..."
  
  "You have a lot of imagination for such a young girl." That stopped her. "You've lived in your comfortable, sheltered world for so much of your life that you think this is it. Have you ever been to a poor man's shack in Mexico? Have you seen the slums of El Paso? Remember the Indian shacks on the back roads in Navajo Country? "
  
  "Yes," she said hesitantly.
  
  Ego's voice remained low, but firm and firm. This can work - when in doubt and pressing, attack. "Wherever we go, these people could qualify as high-income suburban residents. In Rhodesia itself, there are less than twenty to one whites. Oni keep their upper lip tight and smile, because if they don't, well, their teeth will chatter. Consider that revolutionaries are looking across borders, and in some places seventy chances are five to one. When the opposition gets weapons and they get egos , it will be worse than Israel against the Arab legions ."
  
  "But tourists are usually not bothered - can you?"
  
  "There have been many incidents, as ih is called. There may be a danger, and it's my job to eliminate it. If you're going to tease me, I'll change my seat and we'll do the rest. travel as business friends. You'll love it. I'll just work on it."
  
  "Don't be angry, Andy. What do you think about the situation in Africa, where we are going? I mean, the Europeans took the best parts of the country away from the natives, didn't they? And raw materials ... "
  
  "I'm not interested in politics," Nick lied. "I suppose the natives get some benefits. Do you know the girls who are joining us in Frankfurt?"
  
  She didn't answer. She fell asleep snuggled up to him.
  
  Eight added to the group attracted attention, each in its own way. Nick wondered if wealth, good looks, or good eda, extra vitamins, educational tools, and expensive Swedish food helped. They changed airlines in Johannesburg, and for the first time saw the African mountains, jungles, and endless plains of the bundu, veldt, or bush.
  
  Salisbury denied media reports about Nick Tucson, Arizona, with the addition of Atlanta, Georgia, suburbs and vegetation. They were given a guided tour of the city under contract to the brilliant Austin Tora.
  
  
  
  
  Nick pointed out that the contractor's trading firm for local car suppliers, guides, and travel services is joining four burly people in addition to seven drivers with cars. Security?
  
  They saw a modern city with wide streets lined with colorful flowering trees, with numerous parks and modern British architecture. Nick was driving with Ian Masters, the contractor, with Bootie and Ruth Crossman in the same car, and Masters pointed out places they could visit at their leisure. Masters was a powerful man with a booming voice that matched the ego of a curved black Uhlan mustache. Everyone expected him to scream at any moment: "Trooo-o-p . Kanter. Attack!"
  
  "All right, arrange special visits for people," he said. "She's running out of checklists at dinner tonight. You should not miss the Museum and National Gallery of Rhodesia. The National Archives ' galleries are very useful, and the Robert Mclewain National Park with Ego Preserve will spur you on for Vanki. You'll want to see aloes and cycads at parque Evanrigg, Mazou and Balancing Rocks ."
  
  Bootie and Ruth asked em questions. Nick assumed they'd asked the other egos to listen to the baritone voice, and he could see the moustache bobbing up and down.
  
  Dinner in the private dining room at the ih - Meikles Hotel was a great success. Masters brought along three large young men, gorgeous and tuxedoed, and the stories, drinking, and dancing continued until midnight. Goose Boyd distributed the attention correctly among the girls, but most often danced with Janet Olsson. Nick played the role of proper escort, talking mostly to the eight girls who had joined them in Germany, and felt an unusual resentment at the way Masters and Booty got along. He was dancing with Ruth Crossman when they said good night and left.
  
  He couldn't help but wonder - all the girls had separate rooms. He sat sullenly with Ruth Irina, washing down his nightcaps with whisky and soda. Only the brunette Teddy Northway was still with them, comfortably dancing with one of the Masters men named Bruce Todd, a tanned youth who was a local soccer star.
  
  "She'll take care of herself. Hey, I like you."
  
  Nick blinked, and looked at Ruth. The dark-haired girl spoke so rare cures that you forget she's with you. He looked at nah. Without her dark-rimmed glasses, her eyes had the hazy, unfocused tenderness of the nearsighted - and even her features were quite beautiful. Did you think of her as quiet and sweet - never bothering?
  
  "What?" Nick asked.
  
  "Loot, of course. Don't pretend. She's on your mind."
  
  "I'm thinking of a girl."
  
  "All right, Andy."
  
  He escorted her to her room in the east wing, and paused in the doorway. "I hope you had a good evening, Ruth. You're a very good dancer."
  
  "Come in and close the door."
  
  He blinked again, and obeyed. She turned off one of the two lamps the maid had left, pulled back the curtains that gave her a view of the city lights, poured two Cutty Sark and added a soda without asking him if he wanted a drink. He stood admiring the two double beds in one, with the duvet neatly pulled back around them.
  
  She handed Em the glass. "Sit down, Andy. Take off your jacket if you're warm."
  
  He slowly took off his pearl gray tuxedo, and she casually hung up her ego in the closet and walked back to stand in front of him. "Are you just going to stand there all night?"
  
  He put his arm around her slowly, looking into her misty brown eyes. "I think I should have told you earlier," he said, " you're beautiful when you open your eyes wide."
  
  "Thank you. A lot of people forget to look at it."
  
  He kissed her and found that her firm-looking lips were surprisingly soft and pliable, and her tongue bold and shocking against the light gusts of feminine and alcoholic breath. She pressed her slender body against his, and in a moment, one thigh bone and a soft-lined tribal knife fit him like a puzzle piece inserted into the right slot.
  
  Later, as he took off her bra and admired her gorgeous body sprawled out on the smooth white sheet, he said: "I'm a bloody fool, Ruth. And please forgive me."
  
  She kissed the inside of ego's ear and took a small sip before asking hoarsely, " Why, shouldn't I have?"
  
  "Don't forget every year."
  
  She gave a little snort, like a giggle. "I forgive you." She ran the tip of her tongue along the line of ego's chin, around the top of ego's ear, tickled ego's cheek, and he felt the warm, wet, trembling probe again. He'd forgotten all about Bootie.
  
  * * *
  
  When Nick took the elevator to the spacious lobby the next morning, Boyd the Goose was waiting for Ego. The senior attendant said, " Andy, good morning. Wait a second before we go to breakfast. Five girls are already there. Strong, dear Zhirinovsky, isn't it? How do you feel after opening?"
  
  "Very well, Goose. I could sleep for a couple more hours."
  
  They passed the mimmo chair. "Me too. Janet is quite a demanding doll. Did you do it with Bootie, or did Masters finish his score?"
  
  "I ended up with Ruth. Very nice."
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick wished he'd missed this chatter between the boys. He had to be truthful, and Em needed Boyd's full confidence. Then he felt guilty - the guy was just trying to be friendly. The escort undoubtedly exchanged these confidences as just a matter of course. He himself, always acting as a loner behind invisible barriers, lost touch with other people. Forever is an annual event.
  
  "I've decided we'll be free tonight," Gus announced cheerfully. "Masters and Ego fun people take girls to Evanrigg Park. They'll have lunch with them and show them a couple more sights. We won't have to pick up ih by cocktail time. I want to understand what the mail business is.? "
  
  "It was me in the heads with them ferret as we talked."
  
  The Oni changed course, got out, and walked down the sidewalk under porticos that reminded Nick of Flagler Sturt in Miami. Two alert young men inhale the morning air. "She might have gotten to know you better, Andy, but I guess you're straight. I'll introduce you to my contact. Do you have any cash on you?" I mean, real money."
  
  "Sixteen thousand US dollars"
  
  "It's almost twice as much as I keep it, but I think my reputation is good. And if we convince this guy that we can actually run the case.
  
  Nick asked casually: "Can you trust emu? What do you know about the ego past? No chance of a trap?"
  
  Gus chuckled. "You're careful, Andy. I think I like it. This guy's name is Alan Wilson. Ego's father was a geologist who discovered several gold sites - in Africa, ih is called bindings. Alan is a tough guy. So he was a mercenary in the Congo, and I've heard that he was very fast and free, with lead and steel. Not to mention that I told you that Wilson's father has retired, I think you're probably loaded with gold. Alan is engaged in export. Gold, asbestos, chrome. Very large batches. He's a real pro. She was tested by ego in New York."
  
  Nick started. If the Goose had accurately described Wilson, the guy stuck his neck out next to a man who knew how to handle an axe. Not surprisingly, amateur smugglers and embezzlers who never found themselves killed immediately after fatal accidents asked, " How did you check your ego?"
  
  The banker sent a request to the First Rhodesian Commercial Bank. Alan is rated as a seven-figure average."
  
  "He seems too big and outspoken to be interested in our little deals."
  
  "It's not square. You'll see the vote. Do you think your Indian unit can handle a really big operation?"
  
  "I'm sure of it."
  
  "This is our entrance!" The goose happily clicked the door and immediately lowered its voice. "He told me the last time he saw her, ego, that he wanted to start a really big enterprise. Let's try it with a small batch. If we can build a big pipeline, and I'm sure we can, once we have the material to operate with, we'll make fortunes ."
  
  "Most of the world's gold production is sold legally, Goose. What makes you think Wilson can deliver in large quantities? Has he discovered new mines?"
  
  "From the way he spoke, I'm pretty sure he did."
  
  * * *
  
  In the almost-new Zodiac Executive, thoughtfully provided by Ian Masters, the Goose took Nick off the Goromonzi road. Landscape again refuted media reports that Nick Arizona was at its best time of year, although he noted that the vegetation seemed dry, except in places where it was artificially watered. He thought back to his briefing notes: an Abraham Lincoln was approaching in Rhodesia. The white population looked healthy and alert, and many of the men, including the police, were dressed in crisp shorts. The black natives went about their business with extraordinary attention.
  
  Something seemed odd here. He studied the people rolling along the boulevard thoughtfully, and decided it was tension. Under the sharp and intense mood of the whites, one could feel uneasiness and doubt. One could guess that behind the friendly industriousness of the blacks there was a keen impatience masked by resentment.
  
  The sign said WILSON. He was standing in front of a complex of warehouse-type buildings, fronted by a long, three-story office structure that could easily belong to one of the most managed corporations in the United States.
  
  The installation was neat and well-painted, the lush foliage making colorful patterns on the brown-green lawn. As they drove around the driveway to the large parking lot, Nick saw trucks parked at the loading ramps in the back, all of them big, the giant new International closest to them dwarfing the eight-wheeled Leyland Octopus maneuvering behind it.
  
  Alan Wilson was a big man in a big office. Nick guessed that Ego was six - foot-three and 245 pounds - he wasn't fat. He was tanned, moving easily, and the way he slammed the door and returned to his chair after Boyd briefly introduced Nick showed that he wasn't happy to see ih. Hostility was reflected from all sides of egoism.
  
  The goose understood the message, and the ego words got confused. "Alan ... Mr. Wilson ... me ... we have come to continue ... talking about gold ..."
  
  "Who the hell told you that?"
  
  "Last time, you said ... we have agreed to... I was going to ..."
  
  
  
  "I said I would sell you the gold if you wanted it. If you do, show your identification to Mr. Trizzle in the reception area and place your order. Anything else?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick felt sorry for Boyd. Gus had a backbone, but it would take a few more years to build up his ego in situations like this. When you spent your time giving orders to restless travelers who ignored you because they wanted to believe you knew what you were doing, you weren't prepared for a big guy you thought was friendly to turn around and hit you in the face with a wet fish. - hard. And that's what Wilson did.
  
  "Mr. Grant is well connected in India," the Goose said too loudly.
  
  "Me too."
  
  "Mr. Grant ... ah ... Andy is experienced. He moved the gold ..."
  
  "Shut your stupid mouth. I don't want to hear about it. And I certainly didn't tell you to bring someone like him here."
  
  "But you said..."
  
  "Who-you said. You say so yourself, Boyd. Too much of this for too many people. You're like most of the Yankees she's met. You have a disease. Permanent diarrhea iso rta".
  
  Nick winced in sympathy for Boyd. Straight - turn. To get a fish in the face of one, for another can be terrible, if you did not know medicine. You should grab the first one and either prepare ee, or hit the giver twice as hard. Gus blushed a bright pink. Wilson's heavy face looked like something carved from aged brown beef that had been deep-frozen to a solid state. The goose opened its mouth at Wilson's angry glare, but nothing came out. He glanced at Nick.
  
  "Now get out of here," Wilson growled. "And don't come back. If I hear you say something to me that I don't like, I'll find you and smash your head in."
  
  The goose looked back at Nick and asked: "What the hell went wrong?" What did I do? This man is crazy.
  
  Nick coughed politely. Wilson's hard gaze turned to him with the letter. Nick Rivnenskaya said :" I don't think the Goose Hotel is used in all the houses around. Not as much as you pretend. He did you a favor. I have markets for up to ten million pounds in gold a month. At the highest prices. Any currency. And if you could guarantee more, which of course you can't, I have the option of contacting the IMF for the resulting additional funds ."
  
  "Ah!" Wilson squared his bullock shoulders and made a tent around his big arms. Nick thought they looked like a pair of hockey gloves that had come to life. "The chatterbox brought me a liar. How do you know how much gold I can deliver to her?"
  
  "Your entire country produces so much a year. Say, about thirty million dollars? So come out through your clouds, Wilson, and talk business with the peasants."
  
  "Bless my body and soul! An expert in shimmering gold! Where did you get your action figures, Yankee?"
  
  Nick was pleased to see Wilson's interest. This man was no fool, he believed in listening and learning, even though he pretended to be impetuous.
  
  "When I'm in business, I like to know everything about it," Nick said. "When it comes to gold, you're nothing, Wilson. South Korea alone produces fifty-five times as much as Rhodesia. At a price of thirty-five dollars per troy ounce of pure gold, the world produces about two billion dollars annually. I'd say hers."
  
  "You're overreacting," Wilson said.
  
  "No, the official figures are underestimated. They don't appear in the US, greater China, North Korea, Eastern Europe - and in amounts that are stolen or unreported."
  
  Wilson studied Nick in silence. The goose couldn't keep its mouth shut. He messed up the ego by saying, " See, Alan? Andy really knows his stuff. He operated on ..."
  
  One gauntlet-like hand silenced ego with a stop gesture. "How long have you known Grant?"
  
  "Eh? Well, not for long. But in our dell, we learn ..."
  
  "You'll learn how to pick your grandmother's wallets. Shut up. Grant, tell me about your channels to India. How reliable are they? What arrangements ..."
  
  Nick interrupted him. "I won't tell you anything, Wilson. Its just decided that you don't agree with my policy."
  
  "What policy?"
  
  "I don't deal with loudmouths, braggarts, hooligans, or mercenaries. On any given day, I prefer a black gentleman to a white asshole. Come on, Goose, we're leaving."
  
  Wilson slowly rose to his full height. He looked like a giant, as if the manufacturer of the demo had taken the suit around fine linen and stuffed the ego with muscle, size 52. Nick didn't like it. When they moved quickly, then the needles or ih faces turned red. could understand that ih mind is getting out of control. Wilson moved unhurriedly, the ego, the anger shining primarily on the ego of hot eyes and the harsh rigidity of the ego of rta. "You're a big man. Grant, " he said softly.
  
  "Not as tall as you are."
  
  "Sense of humor. It's a pity you're not bigger - and you don't have a big stomach. I like to exercise a little."
  
  Nick grinned and seemed to stretch comfortably in his chair, but in reality, he was well on his feet. "Don't let that stop you. Is your name Windy Wilson?"
  
  The big man must have pressed the button with his foot - his hands were always visible. A burly man-tall but not broad - poked his head into the large office. "Yes, Mr. Wilson?"
  
  "Come in and close the door, Maurice. After I throw it out to that big ape, you'll make sure Boyd gets away one way or another."
  
  Maurice leaned against the wall to groan. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed that he was crossing his arms, as if he didn't expect ego to be called out any time soon.
  
  
  
  
  As a sports spectator. Wilson glided around the big chair and quickly grabbed Nick's forearm. The hand moved away, along with Nick, who jumped sideways around the leather chair and curled up under Wilson's groping hands. Nick skipped past Maurice's mimmo to the far moan. He said: "Goose, come here."
  
  Boyd proved that he can move. He ran across the room so fast that Wilson stopped in his tracks because of the execution permit.
  
  Nick pushed the young man into an alcove between two ceiling-high bookcases and shoved the emu into Wilhelmina's hand, flicking the safety catch with his finger. "She's ready to shoot. Be careful."
  
  He saw Maurice, doubtfully but warily keeping his ego pointed at the floor, take out a small automatic rifle. Wilson stood in the center of the office, a colossus on a linen cloth: "No shooting, Yankee. You'll hang yourself if you put a bullet in anyone in this country."
  
  Nick took four steps away from Gus. "It's up to you, bakko. What's Morris holding-a spray gun?"
  
  "Don't shoot, boys," Wilson said, and jumped at Nick.
  
  There were plenty of places. Nick let go of the pedal and ducked, watching as Wilson followed him efficiently and balanced, and then hit the big man on the nose with a left lightning bolt, which was strictly experimental.
  
  The left kick he received from rheumatism was fast, accurate, and if he hadn't slipped, his teeth would have been shattered. He flayed the ego of his left ear when he caught the other left one for the big man's ribs, and jumped away. He felt as if he had slammed his fist into a leathern jumping horse, but Em thought he saw Wilson flinch. He actually saw the big man's right start - then the blow was delivered when the other man decided to keep his balance and continue advancing. Wilson was there. Nick turned around and said: "Queensberry rules?"
  
  "Sure, Yankees. If you're not lying. Better not forever. I know him from all the games."
  
  Wilson proved this by switching to boxing, jab, and left punches: some bounced off Nick's hands and fists, others pulled when Nick parried or blocked. They were circling like roosters. The passing left brought grimaces to Gus Boyd's startled face. Maurice's brown features were expressionless, but his ego's left hand - the one that wasn't even holding the gun-clenched in sympathy with each blow.
  
  Nick thought he had a chance when Low's left kick bounced off his armpit. He blew steam down his right heel into a solid right stance, aimed precisely at the point of the giant's jaw - and lost his balance as Wilson slammed into him inside, on the right side of his head. Left and right slapped Nick's ribs like slaps. He didn't dare go back and couldn't stick his hands inside to protect himself from the violent blows. He grappled, wrestled, twisted, and turned, pushing his opponent until he bound those punishing hands. He got the levers, pushed, quickly broke away.
  
  He knew he'd done the wrong thing before his left landed. Ego's superior vision caught the right side of K vida as it crossed the outgoing kick and hit Ego in the face like a battering ram. He jerked to the left and tried to disappear, but the fist was only a few feet faster than egoism's retreat. He took a step back, caught his heel on the carpet, gave himself another leg, and hit the bookcase with a crash that shook the room. He fell into a pile of broken pollocks and falling books. Even as he rolled over and bounced back and forth, recovering like a wrestler, Thomas was still thumping on the floor.
  
  Currently! Nick ordered his aching hands. He went forward, made a long left around his eyes, made a short right across his ribs, and felt elated when his own half-hook right surprised Wilson as it slid up ego's shoulder and hit ego hard on the cheek. Wilson couldn't get his right leg out in time to hold himself up. He swung sideways like a fallen statue, took one stumbling step, and collapsed into a chair between two windows. The legs of the chair broke, and a large, squat vase of gorgeous flowers flew ten feet into the air and smashed against the large chair. Magazines, ashtrays, a tray, and a water decanter rattled under the big man's writhing body.
  
  He rolled, pulled himself together, and jumped.
  
  Then a fight broke out.
  
  The third chapter
  
  If you've never seen two good big men fight "fair" before, you have a lot of misconceptions about fist fights. Staged bullying on TELEVISION is misleading. These unprotected punches can break a man's jaw, but in reality they have rare therapeutic effects. TV paint is a ballet with a lame kick.
  
  Old boys with bare fists went fifty rounds, fought for four hours, because first you learn to take care of yourself. This becomes automatic. And if you can survive for a few minutes, your opponent will be shocked and both of you will swing your arms wildly. This becomes the case when two rams fall on another one. An unofficial record was set by an unknown Englishman and an American sailor who fought in a Chinese cafe in St. John's, Newfoundland, for seven hours. No timeouts. Draw.
  
  Nick thought about it briefly for the next twenty minutes, as he and Wilson fought from one end of the office to the other.
  
  
  
  
  They were still different. They parted ways and exchanged long-range blows. They grappled, wrestled, and pulled. Each person missed a dozen opportunities to use a piece of furniture as a weapon. Wilson once gave Nick a low blow to the thigh bone, and immediately said, although puffing out the words:"I apologized - I slipped."
  
  They are set up in a window seat, four easy chairs, one priceless sideboard, two end chairs, a dictaphone, a desktop computer, and a small bar. Wilson's chair was swept up and pinned to the worktable in front of them. Both men had torn doublets. Wilson was bleeding around the cut above his left eye, and drops of blood were running down Ego's cheek and splattering the debris.
  
  Nick worked on that eye, opening the wound with slithering and scratching blows that did extra damage on their own. Ego's right hand was blood-red. The ego of folding a dollar hurt, and my ears were buzzing uncomfortably from the blows to my skull. He could see Wilson's head swaying around from side to side, but those huge fists kept coming - seemingly slowly, but they arrived. He stopped Odin and threw a punch. Back to my eyes. Evaluations.
  
  They both slipped on Wilson's blood and clung to each other, eyeball to eyeball, gasping so hard they almost resuscitated the other other mouth to mouth. Wilson kept blinking to clear the blood from his eyes. Nick desperately gathered strength in his aching leaden hands. They gripped each other's biceps and looked at each other again. Nick felt Wilson gather his remaining strength with the same tired hope that was constantly straining his own numb muscles.
  
  Ih eyes seemed to say: "What the hell are we doing here, tailor?
  
  Nick said between breaths, " This ... bad... a cut."
  
  Wilson nodded, seeming to think about it for the first time. Ego the wind whistled and died away. He exhaled, " Yeah ... take a guess ... better... fix it ... this."
  
  "If ... at you... no ... bad stuff ... the scar."
  
  "Yeah ... despite ... call... draw?"
  
  "Or ... Round... Odin."
  
  The powerful tricks of Nick's hands relaxed. He relaxed, staggered back, and got to his feet first. He thought that he would never reach the chair, made an ego and sat down on it, lowering his head. Wilson collapsed with his back to the moan.
  
  Goose and Morris looked at each other briefly, like two shy schoolboys. The office was quiet for more than a minute, except for the agonizing breaths of the battered men.
  
  Nick ran his tongue over his teeth. They were all there. The inside of rta's ego was badly cut, and his lips soon pouted. They probably both had black eyes.
  
  Wilson staggered to his feet and stared out at the chaos. "Morris, show Mr. Grant the bath."
  
  Nick was led around the room and they took a few steps down the hall. He poured a basin of cold water and plunged his throbbing face into it. There was a knock on the door and Gus came in, carrying Wilhelmina and Hugo, a thin knife that had been unsheathed on Nick's arm. "Are you okay?"
  
  "Of course."
  
  "Gee. Andy, I didn't know. He's changed."
  
  "I don't think so. Everything has changed. He has a main outlet for all his gold - if he has a lot, as we think-so the emu doesn't need us anymore."
  
  Nick filled another glass of water, dipped his head again, and dried off with thick white towels. The goose held out its weapon. "I didn't know you - I brought this."
  
  Nick tucked Wilhelmina into the waistband of her shirt and inserted Hugo. "It looks like I might need them. It's a harsh country."
  
  "But ... customs ..."
  
  "So far, we are doing well. How's Wilson?"
  
  "Morris took ego to another bathroom."
  
  "Let's get out of here."
  
  Good."But the Goose didn't hold back. "Andy, I have to tell you. Wilson has a lot of gold. I've bought it from him before."
  
  "So you have a way out?"
  
  "It was just a quarter-bar. It was sold by ego in Beirut."
  
  "But they won't pay much there."
  
  "He sold the ego to me for thirty dollars an ounce."
  
  Nick felt dizzy. Back then, Wilson did indeed have so much gold that he was willing to sell the ego at a bargain price, but now he has either lost the source or developed a satisfactory mode of supply-the ego markets.
  
  They got out and walked down the corridor to the hall and entrance. As they passed a mimmo open day labeled "Ladies," Wilson called out, " Ho, Grant."
  
  Nick stopped and peered cautiously in. "Yes? How's the eye?"
  
  Good."Blood was still flowing from under the bandage. "Are you feeling all right?"
  
  “no. Her, I feel like I've been hit by a bulldozer."
  
  Wilson walked over to Day and grinned through puffy lips. "Dude, I could use you in the Congo. How did the Luger turn out?
  
  "I'm told it's dangerous in Africa."
  
  "It could be."
  
  Nick watched the man carefully. There was a lot of ego and self-doubt here, as well as an extra bit of loneliness that strong people create around themselves when they can't put their head down and listen to smaller people. They build their plans separately from the main thing and are surprised at their isolation.
  
  Nick chose his words carefully. "No offense taken. Its just trying to make a buck. I shouldn't have come. You don't know me, and I don't blame you for being careful. The goose said it was all real..
  
  
  
  
  
  "He hated putting a stupid cap on Boyd, but right now every impression mattered.
  
  "Do you really have lines?"
  
  "Calcutta."
  
  "Sahib Sanya?"
  
  "Ego friends-Goahan and Freed". Nick named the two leading operators of gold on the black market-India.
  
  "I see. Take the hint. Forget about it for a while. Everything changes"
  
  "Yes, prices are constantly rising. Maybe I can contact Taylor-Hill-Boreman Mining. I heard it, they're loaded. Can you contact me or introduce me?"
  
  Wilson's good eye widened. "Grant, listen to me. You're not an Interpol spy. They don't have lugers and they can't fight, I think I have your number. Forget about the gold. At least in Rhodesia. And stay away from THB."
  
  "Why not? Do you want to get all the ih products for yourself?"
  
  Wilson laughed, wincing as his torn chopsticks rubbed against his teeth. Nick knew that he thought this rheumatism confirmed the ego score of "Andy Grant". Wilson has lived his entire life in a world other than white and black, for us or against us. He was selfish, thought it was normal and noble, and didn't blame anyone for it.
  
  The big man's laughter filled the doorway. "I suppose you've heard of Golden Tusks and you ih just get a feel for it. Or can't you just see ih? Crossing the bundu. So big, what do you need, six blacks to carry each? Hey god, you think about it a bit and you can almost ih give it a try, can't you? "
  
  "I've never heard of Golden Tusks," Nick replied, " but you've drawn a pretty picture. Where can I find him ih?"
  
  "You can't. It's a fairy tale. Gold sweats - and what is there is said. Anyway, it's open now," Wilson's face pouted, his lips swollen. However, Em managed to grin, and Nick realized that this was the first time he had ever seen ego smile.
  
  "Do I look like you?" Nick asked.
  
  "I think so. They'll know you've hit something. It's a pity you're doing this with your knickers around your waist, Grant. If you come back here in I asked for anything, come to me."
  
  "For the second round? I don't think I can do it until then."
  
  Wilson liked the implied compliment. "No , that's where we use the tools. Tools that go boo-du-du-du-du brr-r-r-r -". It perfectly imitated a large-caliber and light machine gun. "We've used ih a bit, and we'll have to use ih prices a lot more. You would be in the first team."
  
  "For cash? I'm not a romantic."
  
  "Of course - although in my case -" he paused, studying Nick. You'll understand when you see a little more of the country."
  
  "I wonder if I'll be her?" Nick answered. "Thank you for everything."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The Goose was apologetic as it drove up to Salisbury through the brightly lit landscape. "I was scared, Andy. He should have gone alone or checked on her over the phone. Last time, he was open to cooperation and full of promises for the future. Dude, that was some garbage. Were you a pro?"
  
  Nick knew the compliment was partly buttery, but the guy meant well. "No harm done, Goose. If the ego-attracting channels become clogged with its brilliant teaching abilities, it will return to us quickly enough, but this is unlikely. He is very happy in the present under different circumstances. No, he wasn't a professional. in college."
  
  "Just a little more! And he would have killed me."
  
  "You wouldn't mess with him. Wilson is a big kid with principles. He fights fairly. Kills people only when the principle is correct, as he sees it."
  
  "Me ... I don't understand ..."
  
  "He was a mercenary, wasn't he? You know how these boys behave when they get their hands on natives."
  
  Gus clenched his hands on the steering wheel and said thoughtfully: "I heard. Somehow you don't think a guy like Alan is a good mower."
  
  "You should know better. This is an old, old pattern. Visit Mom on Saturday, church on Sunday and detonate bombs on Monday. When you try to work it out with yourself, you get tight knots. In your country. Connections and relays there begin to smoke and burn out. What about those Golden Tusks? Have you ever heard of them? "
  
  Gus shrugged. "The last time I was here, there was a story about a shipment of golden tusks that went by rail and through Beirut to circumvent the sanctions. There was an article in The Rhodesia Herald that talked about whether they were cast in this way, and painted white. or found in the old ruins of Zimbabwe and disappeared. It's an old myth about Solomon and the Queen of Sheba."
  
  "Do you think the story was true?"
  
  “no. When I was in India, I discussed it with guys who should have known. They said there was a lot of gold coming in from Rhodesia, but it was all in good four-hundred-ounce bars."
  
  When they reached the Meikles Hotel, Nick slipped through the side entrance and went up to his room. He used cold and hot baths, rubbed lightly with alcohol, and took a nap. Ego's ribs hurt, but there was no sharp pain to indicate a fracture. At six o'clock, he dressed carefully and, when the Goose called him, used the eye paint he had bought. This helped some, but the full-length mirror told Emu that he looked like a very well-dressed pirate after a tough battle. He shrugged, turned off the holy light, and followed Gus into the cocktail lounge.
  
  After the ego visitors left, Alan Wilson used Maurice's office, while half a dozen ego employees worked on ego treatment.
  
  
  
  
  
  He examined three photos of Nick taken with a hidden camera.
  
  "Not bad. They show the ego's face from different angles. Hey, by God, he's strong. Someday we will be able to use the ego." He put the printouts in an envelope. "Let Herman deliver ih to Mike Bohr."
  
  Morris took the envelope, walked through the complex of offices and warehouses to the control room at the rear of the plant, and relayed Wilson's order. As he walked slowly back to the front offices, his lean, dark face wore a satisfied expression. Wilson follow orders; immediately take photos of anyone interested in buying gold, and send ih k to Bohr. Mike Bohr was the chairman of Taylor-Hill-Boreman, and he had a little time difficulty following Alan Wilson. Morris was part of the management network. He was getting a thousand dollars a month to keep an eye on Wilson, and he intended to keep doing so.
  
  * * *
  
  For example, when Nick disguised his darkened eye with makeup, Herman Dusen began a very cautious approach to the airport of the Taylor-Hill-Boreman Mining company. The giant planet was classified as a no-fly zone for military research, with forty square miles of protected airspace above it. Before taking off for Salisbury, flying like THIS in scorching sunny weather, Herman called the Rhodesian Air Force Control Service and the Rhodesian Air Police. As he approached the restricted area, he radioed in his location and direction, and received another clearance from the station's dispatcher.
  
  Herman did his duty with absolute precision. Emu was paid more than most airline pilots, and he felt vaguely that he was sympathetic to Rhodesia and the THB. We can say that the whole world was against them, just as the world was once against Germany. It was strange that when you worked hard and did your duty, it seemed that people didn't like you for no particular reason. It was obvious that THB had discovered giant gold deposits. Good! Good for them, good for Rhodesia, good for Herman.
  
  It began its first stage of landing by flying over squalid native huts packed like brown marble in boxes inside the ih protective walls. Long snake-like posts of barbed wire line the road from one around the mines to the natives ' territory, guarded by men on horseback and in jeeps.
  
  Herman made his first ninety-degree turn around the mark, at airspeed, in revolutions per minute, descending speed, accurate to degrees on course. Maybe Kramkin, the senior pilot, was watching, or maybe he wasn't. That's not the point, you did your job perfectly out of dedication to yourself and - to what? Herman was always puzzling over the fact that this was once an ego father, strict and fair. Then the Air Force - he was still in the Republic reserve-then the Bemex Oil Exploration Company, he was really heartbroken when the young firm went bankrupt. He blamed the British and Americans for the failure of ih's money and connections.
  
  I made the last signpost, and was pleased to see that Rivnenskaya would land on the third yellow rung of the runway and settle down like a feather. He was hoping for the Chinaman. Your Kalgan looked great. It would be nice to get to know ego better, such a beautiful devil with a real brain. If he didn't look Chinese, you'd think ego was German - so quiet, alert, and methodical. Of course, race ego didn't matter - if there was one thing Herman really prided himself on, it was being open-minded. Voice where Hitler, for all his subtleties, was wrong. Herman had seen this for himself and prided himself on his insight.
  
  The crewman took an ego step toward the cable, waving a yellow baton. Herman stopped where he was and was pleased to see that His Kalgan and the crippled old man were waiting under the awning of the field office. He thought of nen as a crippled old man, because he usually traveled on the electric cart he was currently sitting in, but with the ego, the body, there was supposedly nothing wrong, and certainly nothing slow in the ego-mind or language. He had an artificial arm and wore a large eye patch, but even when he was carapace-limping-he moved as decisively as he spoke. Ego's name was Mike Pines, but Herman was sure it had once been called something else, probably in Germany, but it was best not to think about it.
  
  Herman stopped in front of the two men and handed the envelope to the cart. "Good evening, Mr. Kalgan-Mr. Pine. Mr. Wilson sent this to you."
  
  Vash smiled at Herman. "Nice landing, nice to watch. Report to Mr. Kramkin. I think he wants you to come back in the morning with some staff."
  
  Herman decided not to salute, but paid attention, bowed, and entered the office. Pine tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the aluminum armrest. "Andrew Grant, "he said softly.
  
  "Is he the one you and Heinrich met before?"
  
  "Yes." Bohr handed Em the photos. "Never forget that face - until we eliminate it. Call Wilson and alert ego. Clearly tell him not to take any action. We'll figure it out. There should be no mistakes. Come on - we need to talk to Heinrich."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting in a sumptuously furnished room with a wall that slid back slightly and connected to a spacious courtyard, Pines and Heinrich talked quietly while Kalgan rang the bell. "There is no doubt about it. Do you agree?" Bohr asked.
  
  Heinrich, a gray-haired man in his mid-fifties who seemed to be sitting at attention, even in the deep foam-cushioned chair, nodded. "This is AXman. I think he's finally in the wrong place. We have the details in advance, so we plan and then strike." He clasped his hands together with a small slap. "Surprise, join us."
  
  "We won't make mistakes," Bohr said in the measured tone of a chief of staff outlining strategy. "We reputed that he would accompany the tour group to Wanki. He has to do this to keep what he sees as his cover. This is our ideal place to strike, as the Italians say. Deep in the bushes. We'll have an armored truck. By helicopter in reserve. Use Herman, who is dedicated to his work, and Krol as a gunner, he is an excellent shot - for a Pole. Roadblocks. Make a complete tactical plan and map, Heinrich. Some people will say that we use a hammer to hit a bug, but they don't know this bug as well as we do, huh?"
  
  "It's a beetle with a wasp bite and skin like a chameleon. Don't underestimate it." Muller's face showed the ugly anger of bitter memories.
  
  "We want to get more information if we can get it, but our main goal is to destroy Andrew Grant once and for all. Call it Operation Kill the Bug. Yes, a good name, it will help us keep our main goal alive.
  
  "Kill the Bug," Muller repeated, savoring the words. "I like it"
  
  "So," the man named Bohr continued, marking dots on the metal projections of his artificial arm, " why is he in Rhodesia? Political assessment? Is he looking for us again?" Are they interested in the increasing flow of gold that we are so happy to provide? Maybe they've heard of our well-organized gunsmiths being successful? Or maybe nothing around it? I suggest you inform Foster and send Ego and Herman to Salisbury in the morning . Let him talk to Wilson. Give the emu clear orders and find out. It should only gather intelligence, not alarm our victim."
  
  "He follows orders," Heinrich Muller said approvingly. "Your tactical plan is, as always, excellent."
  
  "Thank you." A good eye flashed at Muller, but even in gratitude for the compliment, he had a cold, merciless gaze, like a cobra looking at a target, plus a cold narrowing, like a selfish reptile.
  
  * * *
  
  Nick discovered what he didn't know - how smart travel agents, tour operators, and travel contractors make their important clients happy. After cocktails at the hotel, Ian Masters and four ego-driven, fun-loving men took the girls to a party at the South African Club, a beautiful tropical building surrounded by lush greenery, lit by colorful lights and refreshed by sparkling fountains.
  
  In the club, the girls, resplendent in their colorful dresses, were introduced to a dozen men. They were all young, and most of the people around them were beautiful, two of them in uniform, and for good measure, two elderly citizens, one of whom had a tuxedo full of jewelry around him.
  
  yahoo reserved a long chair in the corner of the main dining room, adjacent to the dance floor, and with its own serviced bar. After meeting and having a pleasant conversation, they found cards of places in which each girl deftly sat between two men. Nick and Gus found themselves side by side at the far end of the chair.
  
  The senior escort muttered, " Ian, good cameraman. This is popular with women. They've seen enough of you and me."
  
  "Look where he put the Loot. Next to old Sir Humphrey Condon. Ian knows she's a VIP. I didn't tell emu."
  
  "Maybe Manny sent the old man's credit score and further confidential advice."
  
  "She can handle this body to no avail. She looks great, maybe he guessed it." Gus chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time with her."
  
  "I haven't been spending much time lately. But Ruth is good company. Anyway, I'm worried about Bootie ..."
  
  "What! Not so soon. It's only been three days - can you please ..."
  
  "Not what you think. She is cool. Something's wrong. If we're going into the gold business, I suggest we keep an eye on her."
  
  "Loot! Was she dangerous, too ?.. spying ..."
  
  "You know how these kids are different kind of adventures. The CIA got into a lot of trouble using kindergarten spies. They usually do it for the money, but a girl like Bootie can go for the glamour. Little Miss Jane Bond."
  
  The goose took a long drink of wine. "Ugh, now that you mention it, it's consistent with what happened when I was getting dressed. She called and said she wasn't going with the band tomorrow morning. In any case, then lunch is free time for shopping. She has hired a car and is walking on her own. He tried to pin her down, and she spoke secretly. He said he wanted to visit someone in the Motoreshang area. He tried to talk her out of it, but the tailor - if they have the means, they can do whatever they want. She takes a car from Selfridge's Self-Drive Cars.
  
  
  
  "She can easily get his Masters, can't she?"
  
  "Yes." Gus paused with a whistling sound, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful.: "You might be right about nah. Her, thought she just wanted to be independent like some around them. By showing you that they can act on their own ... "
  
  "Can you contact Selfridge s and find out about the machine and delivery time?"
  
  "They have a night phone number. Give me a minute." He returned five minutes later with a slightly gloomy expression on his face. "The Singer car. At the hotel at eight. It looks like you're right. She received a credit card and a wire transfer permit. Why didn't she ever tell us about this?"
  
  "Part of the plot, old man. When you get the chance, ask Masters to arrange for me to go to the hotel on my own at seven. Make sure it's as fast as this 'Zinger'."
  
  Later in the evening, between a roast and a sweet treat, Goose said to Nick, " Okay. BMW-1800 for you at seven. Ian promises that he will be in perfect shape."
  
  Just after eleven, Nick said good night and left the club. He won't be missed again. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Eda was excellent, wine galore, and pleasant music, Ruth Crossman was with a dashing guy who looked like fun, friendliness, and courage were ego's main qualities.
  
  Nick went back to Makles ,soaked his battered body in the hot and cold tub again, and checked his equipment. It always felt better when every item was in place, oiled, cleaned, soaped, or polished to suit your needs. Your sense seemed to function faster when you didn't have minor doubts or worries.
  
  He removed the wads of banknotes from the khaki money belt and replaced the ih with four blocks of explosive plastic shaped and wrapped like small Cadbury's chocolates. With them, he installed eight fuses, which were usually part of the ego of pipe cleaners, and were detected only by tiny drops of solder on one end of the wire. He turned on the small beep of the transmitter, which gave a signal at a distance of eight or ten miles under normal conditions, and noted the directional response of his wallet-sized transistor radio. End to transmitter, strong signal Flat to audio signal, weakest signal.
  
  He turned and was grateful that Ego hadn't been disturbed until Emu got the call at six. Ego's travel alarm went off with a bang-r-r-r when he hung up.
  
  When he was seven, he met one of the brawny young men who had been at the party the day before, John Patton. Patton handed Em a bunch of keys and pointed to the blue BMW, shining in the crisp morning air. "Refilled and checked, Mr. Grant. Mr. Masters said you especially want him to be in perfect shape."
  
  "Thank you, John. It was a good night last night. Did you have a good rest?"
  
  "Impressive. This is a great band you brought. Have a good trip."
  
  Patton hurried away. Nick chuckled a little. Patton couldn't tell by the flicker of his eyelid what he meant by "wonderful," but he was snuggling up to Janet Olsson, and Nick could see that he had drunk a fair amount of the Strong Stuff.
  
  Nick parked the BMW again, checked himself on the controls, checked the trunk, and checked the engine. He checked the subframe as best he could, and then used the receiver to see if the car was bugged. There were no telltale emissions. He went through the entire machine, scanning all the frequencies that the ego special set could pick up, before deciding that the machine was clean. He went up to Gus's room and found the senior attendant hurrying to get a shave, his eyes bleary and bloodshot in the light of the bathroom lights. "Big night," said the Goose. "You were smart to refuse. Ugh! He left at five."
  
  "You should live a healthy life. He left early."
  
  The goose studied Nick's face. "This eye turns black, even under the paint. You look almost as bad as she does."
  
  "Sour grapes. You'll feel better after breakfast. I'm going to need a little help. Escort Bootie to her car when she arrives, and then faithful ee to the hotel under some pretext. How about they put it in a box? lunch, and then take her back to pick it up. Don't tell hey what it is - she'll find some excuse not to get ego, or she's probably already booked Odin. "
  
  Most of the girls were late for breakfast. Nick wandered into the lobby, looked down the street, and at eight o'clock in Rivne saw a cream-colored Singer car parked in one of the corner spaces. A young man in a white jacket entered the hotel, and the public address system called Miss Delong. Through the window, Nick watched Bootie and Goose meet the delivery guy by the chair and walk out to the Singer . They were talking. The guy in the white jacket left Bootie and the Goose went back to the hotel. Nick slipped out of the gallery door.
  
  He quickly walked behind the parked cars and pretended to drop something behind the Rover parked next to the Singer. He disappeared from sight. When he got out, the beeper emitter was fixed in the rear frame of the Singer.
  
  Around the corner, he watched Bootie and Gus come out around the hotel with a small box and Bootie's big purse. They stopped under the portico.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick watched until Bootie got into the Singer and turned off the engine, then hurried back to the BMW. When he reached the turnoff, the Singer was halfway down the block. The goose noticed ego and waved a little upward. "Good luck" is like a semaphore.
  
  Bootie drove north. It was a glorious day, and the sun shone brightly on a landscape that looked like Southern California in dry weather - not desert areas, but almost mountainous terrain with dense vegetation and strange rock formations. Nick followed her, staying well behind, confirming contact with the beep of the radio receiver against the back of the seat next to him.
  
  The more he saw of the country, the more he liked it-the climate, the landscape, and the people. The Blacks looked calm and somewhat prosperous, taking all sorts of cars and trucks. He denied reports in the media that he sees a developed commercial part of the country and should refrain from reporting it.
  
  He saw an elephant grazing near an irrigation pump, and from the astonished looks of passers-by, he concluded that they were as surprised as he was. The animal probably came to civilization because of the drought.
  
  The sign of England was everywhere, and it fitted very well, as if the sun-drenched countryside and hardy tropical vegetation were as good a backdrop as the mildly humid, cloudy landscape of the British Isles. The baobabs caught my attention. Oni threw strange hands into space that looked like banyan trees, or Florida fig trees. He passed a tree that must have been thirty feet across and came to an intersection. Signs included Ayrshire, El Dorado, Picaninamba, Sinoya. Nick stopped, picked up the radio, and turned it around. The strongest signal came outright ahead. He went candid and checked out ba-hip again. Frank svperedi, loud and clear.
  
  He swerved around for signs and saw Bootie's Singer pull up at a roadside gate; he pressed the BMW's pursuit button and deftly hid Ego in a parking lot apparently used by trucks. He ran around the car and looked out at the neatly trimmed bushes that blocked out the cluster of trash cans. There were no cars on the road. Bootie's car beeped four times. After a long wait, a black man in khaki shorts, shirt, and cap ran down the side road and unlocked the gate. The car drove in, and the man locked the gate, got in the car, drove down the slope and disappeared from sight. Nick waited a moment, then drove the BMW to the gate.
  
  It was an interesting barrier: unobtrusive and insurmountable, although it looked flimsy. A three-inch steel bar swung on a counterbalanced turntable. It was painted with red and white stripes, and you could mistake the ego for a tree. Ego free flow was blocked by a strong chain and a fist-sized English lock.
  
  Nick knew he could crack the ego or break it, but it was a tailspin of strategy. In the center of the pole hung a long oblong sign with neat yellow letters - "SPARTACUS FARM, ""PETER VAN V," and THE MAIN ROAD.
  
  There was no fence on either side of the gate, but a moat from the main road formed a moat impassable even for a Jeep. Nick guessed it had been carefully excavated.
  
  He went back to the BMW, drove the nen further into the bushes, and locked it. Carrying a small walkie-talkie, he walked along the Bund on a course parallel to the country road. He crossed several dry streams that reminded the emu of New Mexico in the dry season. Much of the vegetation seemed to be mistletoe, a desert feature that could retain moisture during periods of drought. He heard a strange growling sound around a clump of bushes and walked around ego, wondering if Wilhelmina would be able to stop the rhino or whatever else you would encounter here.
  
  Keeping the road in view, he saw the roof of a small house, and approached it until he could see the area. The house was of cement or stucco construction, with a large cattle pen and neat fields stretching up the valley to the west and hidden from view. The road ran past Mimmo house into the bushes, heading north. He took out his small brass telescope and examined the details. Two small horses grazed under the shady roof like a Mexican ramada; the small windowless building looked like a garage. Two large dogs sat and looked in ego's direction, ih jaws seriously thoughtful as they passed through the ego lens.
  
  Nick crawled back and continued to run parallel to the road until he was not far from the house. The bushes were getting thicker and rougher. He reached the road and followed it, opening and closing the cattle gate. Ego tube showed that "Singer" is ahead of ego. He moved forward, careful but covering the ground.
  
  The dry road was covered with gravel and looked like it was well drained, but that didn't matter in this weather. He saw dozens of cattle attack skill values under the trees, some very far away. A small dragon flew off the gravel as he was running mimmo, and one day he saw a lizard-like creature on a log that could take any prize for ugliness-six inches long. it had different colors, scales, horns, sparkling and laughed-looking teeth.
  
  
  
  He stopped and wiped his head, and she looked at him gravely, not moving.
  
  Nick checked his watch - 1: 06. He'd been walking for two hours; estimated distance: seven miles. For a fee, he made a pirate cap for protection from the scorching sun. He went to the pumping station, where the diesel purred smoothly, and the pipes disappeared into the bundu. There was a tap in the pumping station, and he drank after sniffing and examining the water. He had to come around deep underground and was most likely fine; he badly needed it. He went up the hill and looked cautiously ahead. He took out his telescope and held it out.
  
  The powerful little lens showed the emu a large California-style ranch house with circles of trees and well-manicured vegetation. There were several outbuildings and kraals. The Singer was driving around in a circle with a Land Rover, a sports car and a classic car that he doesn't know, a roadster with a long hood that must be thirty years old and looks three years old.
  
  In a spacious courtyard with a canopy on one side of the house, he saw several people sitting in colorful chairs. He focused intently - Bootie, an old man with weathered skin who gave the impression of a master and leader, even at this distance, three other white men in shorts, two black ones ...
  
  He was watching. One of them was John J. Smith. Johnson was last seen at New York's East Side terminal, which Hawk described as a rare person with a hot pipe. Then he gave Bootie an envelope. Nick thought he'd come to pick it up. Very smart. The tour group, with its powers, easily passed through customs without opening any luggage.
  
  Nick crawled down the hill, turned 180 degrees, and looked around his office. Emu was uneasy. In fact, he couldn't see anything behind him, but em thought he heard a short bell that didn't match the sounds of the animals. Intuition, he thought. Or just being overly cautious in this foreign country. He studied the road and the bund - nothing.
  
  It took an hour for the emu to circle around the patio to protect itself from being seen, and then approach the house. He crawled sixty feet away from the group behind the screens and hid behind a thick, gnarled tree; the rest of the well-tended shrubs and colorful plantations were too small to hide the dwarf. He made his own telescope, through a slot in the branches. At this angle, there would be no visible sun glare from the lens.
  
  He could only hear snatches of conversation. It seemed like they were having a pleasant meeting. There were glasses, shot glasses, and bottles on the tables. Apparently, Bootie had come here to have a good lunch. He really wants it. The patriarch, who looked like the owner, talked a lot, as did John Johnson and another black, wiry, short guy in a dark brown shirt, trousers, and heavy boots. After watching for at least half an hour, he saw Johnson pick up a package from a chair that he realized was the one Bootie had received in New York, or the twin's ego. Nick never jumped to conclusions. He heard Johnson say, " ... a little ... twelve thousand ... it is vital for us ... we love to pay ... nothing in vain ..."
  
  The older man said, " ... the contributions were better before ... sanctions... He spoke softly and softly, but Nick thought he heard the words "golden tusks."
  
  Johnson unfolded a piece of paper around the package that Nick heard: "Thread and needles ... ridiculous code, but understandable ..."
  
  The ego rich baritone is absurdly better than other voices. He continued, " ... it's a good weapon, and the ammunition is reliable. Explosives always work, at least not yet. Better than A16 ... " Nick lost the rest of his words in a giggle.
  
  Behind him, on the road Nick was traveling, a motor hummed. A dusty Volkswagen came into view, parked in the driveway. A woman in her forties entered the house and was met by an older man who put on a Bootie like Martha Ryerson. The woman moved as if she spent most of her time outside; her gait was fast, her coordination excellent. Nick decided that she was almost beautiful, with her expressive, open features and neat, short brown hair that was left in place when she took off her wide-brimmed hat ...
  
  A heavy voice behind Nick said: "Don't move fast."
  
  Very quickly - Nick didn't move. You can tell when they mean it, and you probably have something to back up. A deep voice with a musical British accent said to someone Nick couldn't see, "Zanga, tell Mr. Prez." Then, louder: "You can turn around now."
  
  Nick turned around. A medium-sized Black man in white shorts and a pale blue sports shirt stood with a double-barrelled shotgun under his arm, aimed to the left of Nick's knees. The gun was expensive, with clear and deep engravings on the metal, and it was a ten-gauge, short-range portable rifle.
  
  These thoughts passed through the heads ' egos as he calmly watched his captor. He wasn't going to move or speak first - it made some people nervous.
  
  
  
  
  
  A sideways movement caught Ego's attention. The two dogs he had seen in the little house at the head of the road came up to the Negro and looked at Nick as if to say, " Our lunch?"
  
  These were Rhodesian ridgebacks, sometimes referred to as lion dogs, weighing about five hundred pounds each. They can break a deer's leg with a snap and twist, knock down big game with their battering ram, and the three around them can hold a lion. The negro said: "Hold on, Gimba. Wait, Jane."
  
  They played this game next to him and opened their tongues in Nick's direction. The other man looked at them. Nick turned and jumped back, trying to keep the tree between him and the shotgun.
  
  He was counting on a few things. The dogs have just been told to "stay". This can delay ih for a moment. The Negro probably wasn't the leader here - not in "white" Rhodesia - and maybe the emu would have been told not to shoot.
  
  Blam! It looks like a shot on both barrels. Nick heard the howl and screech of the world cutting through the air where it had been a moment ago. It hit the garage he was approaching, forming a jagged circle to his right. He saw it when he jumped up, hooked his hand on the roof of the garage, and threw his body up and to the top in one bound, and rolled.
  
  When he was out of sight, he heard the scraping of lap dogs and the heavier sounds of a man running. Each of the dogs let out a loud, hoarse bark that echoed along the length, as if I were saying, " There he is!"
  
  Nick could imagine them putting their front paws up against the garage wall, those huge mouths with inch-long teeth that looked like emu crocodiles, hoping to bite. Two black hands gripped the edge of the roof. An angry face appeared, as well as an outdoor pool. Nick grabbed Wilhelmina and crouched down, placing her an inch from the man's nose. They both froze for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Nick shook his head and said, " No."
  
  The black face didn't change expression. Strong arms opened, and he disappeared across the field of vision. On 125th Street, Nick thought, he would have been called a real cool cat.
  
  He examined the roof. It was covered with a light-colored compound, similar to smooth hard plaster, and had no obstacles. If it wasn't slightly tilted back, you could put up a net and use it for a table tennis court. A bad place to protect yourself. He looked up. They could climb any one of a dozen trees and shoot him if it came to that.
  
  He took out Hugo and unearthed the moldings. The emu might be able to cut a hole in the plastic and steal the car - if it were inside the stalls. Hugo, ego the steel was driven in with all its might, knocking out shavings smaller than a fingernail. Emu will need an hour to make a bowl for explosives. He sheathed Hugo.
  
  He could hear voices. The man shouted, " Tembo-who's up there?"
  
  Tembo described the ego. Bootie exclaimed, " Andy Grant!"
  
  The first man's voice, British with a hint of Scottish burr, asked who Andy Grant was. Bootie explained and added that he had a gun.
  
  Tembo's deep tone confirmed this. "He has this with him. Luger".
  
  Nick sighed. Tembo was there. He guessed that the Scottish accent belonged to the elderly math major he'd seen on the patio. At nen, he was an authority figure. Now it said, " Put your guns down, guys. I shouldn't have shot you, Tembo."
  
  "I wasn't trying to shoot the ego," Tembo's voice replied.
  
  Nick decided he believed it - but the shot was damn close.
  
  The burr voice is absurdly louder. "Hey, Andy Grant?"
  
  "Yes," Nick said. They knew it anyway.
  
  "You have a beautiful Highland name. Are you Scottish?"
  
  "It's been so long since I knew what kilt thread to fit into."
  
  "You should learn, buddy. They are more convenient than short." The other man chuckled. "Do you want to go down?"
  
  "No way."
  
  "Well, look at us. We won't hurt you."
  
  Nick decided to take the risk. He doubted they would have killed ego by accident in front of Bootie. And he wasn't going to win anything from that roof - it was one of the worst positions he'd ever faced. The simplest thing can be the most dangerous. He was glad that Odin's nam in ego spiteful enemies had never drawn the ego into such a trap. Judas would have thrown a few grenades and then riddled ego with gunfire from the trees for insurance. He cocked his head and added a grin: "Hello, everyone."
  
  Oddly enough, at this moment, the hands-free system flooded the area with a drum roll. Everyone froze. Then a good band - it was like the Scots Guards Band or the Grenadiers-thundered and thundered through the opening bars of"The Garb of Good Gaul". In the center of the group below him, an old man with weathered skin, over six feet long, lean and straight as a plumb line, roared: "Harry! Please go and turn it down a little."
  
  The white man Kick had seen in the group on the patio turned and ran toward the house. The older man looked back at Nick. "Sorry, we weren't expecting a conversation with music. It's a beautiful melody. Do you recognize her?"
  
  Nick nodded and called ee.
  
  
  
  
  The old man looked at him. He had a kind, thoughtful face and stood quietly. Nick felt uneasy. Until you found out ih, it was the most dangerous type in the world. They were true and direct - or pure poison. It was they who led the army, with a whip. They marched back and forth through the trenches, singing "Highland Laddie" until ih was shot down and replaced by others. They were mounted like the sixteenth Lancers when they came upon forty thousand Sikhs with sixty-seven pieces of artillery in Aliwal. The damn fools had attacked, of course.
  
  Nick looked down. The story was very helpful; it gave you a chance against men and reduced your mistakes. Dobby sat twenty feet behind the tall old man. With her were two other white men he'd noticed on the porch, and a woman who'd been introduced as Martha Ryerson. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and looked like a lovely matron to an English garden tea party.
  
  The old man said: "Mr. Grant is her Peter van V. You know, Miss Delong. Let me introduce Mrs. Martha Ryerson. And Mr. Tommy Howe on the left of nah, and Mr. Fred Maxwell on the right."
  
  Nick nodded to everyone and said he was very pleased. The sun was like a hot iron on the emu's neck, where the pirate cap did not reach. He realized what it was supposed to look like, picked it up with his left hand, wiped his earlobe, and put it away.
  
  Wang W said, " It's hot out there. Could you drop the gun and join us for something cooler?"
  
  "I'd love something cool, but I'd rather keep the gun. I'm sure we'll be able to discuss it."
  
  "Sir-r-r, we can. Miss Delong says she thinks you're an American FBI agent. If so, you don't quarrel with us."
  
  "Of course, I'm not just concerned about Miss Delong's safety. The voice left her, followed her."
  
  Bootie couldn't keep quiet. She said, " How did you know I was here? I kept looking in the mirror. You weren't behind me."
  
  "Yes, I was," Nick said. "You just didn't look closely enough. You should have walked up the driveway. Then turn back. Then you would have caught me."
  
  Bootie glared at him. If only a glance could give you a rash! The "robes of Old Gaul", now softer, are over. The band switched to "Road to the Isles". The white man walked slowly back through the house. Nick glanced down at the supporting arm. Something moved in the corner of the roof, behind him.
  
  "I can get her down ..."
  
  "Drop your weapon, buddy." The tone wasn't so gentle.
  
  Nick shook his head, pretending to think. Something screeched over the battle music, and the ego was caught in a net, and the ego was blown off the roof. He was groping Wilhelmina when he landed with a stunning thud of his foot, at Peter van Preez's.
  
  The older man leapt, grabbing Nick's gun arm with both hands as Wilhelmina got tangled in the ropes on the floor. A moment later, Tommy and Fred were in a pile. The Luger jerked away from him. Another fold of the bet covered the ego as white bounced back and two blacks flipped the ends of the policy tied with practiced precision.
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  Nick landed partially on his head. He thought his ego reflexes were normal, but they slowed down for a few seconds, even though he understood everything that was going on. He felt like a television viewer who has sat for so long that he is numb, and his muscles refuse to activate, although the ego, the mind continues to absorb the contents of the screen.
  
  It was fucking humiliating. The two blacks took the ends of the nets and retreated. They resembled Tembo. He imagined that one of them might be Zanga, who had come to warn Peter. He saw John J. McCarthy. Johnson came around the corner of the garage. He was there to help them with grid.
  
  The band started playing "Dumbarton's Drums," and Nick frowned. The rousing music was deliberately played to drown out the noise of moving people and the mind. And Peter van Press organized the movement in seconds with the smooth tactics of an experienced strategist. He gave the impression of a likeable, eccentric old man who played the bagpipes for his friends and regretted losing horses to the cavalry because it interfered with fox hunting when he was in the hall on active duty. Enough historical background - the old man probably knew a lot about computer analysis with random selection.
  
  Nick took a couple of deep breaths. His ego was clear, but he felt as stupidly constrained as a newly caught game. He could reach Hugo and get free in an instant, but Tommy Howe handled the luger very professionally, and you could bet there was other firepower hidden here and there.
  
  Bootie giggled. "If only J. R. R. Tolkien had Edgar could see you now ..."
  
  Nick felt the coals rising up his neck. Why didn't he claim this vacation or retire? He told Peter: "I'll have a cool drink now if you'll pull me around this mess."
  
  "I don't think you have another weapon," Peter said, and then showed off his diplomatic prowess by not having Nick frisk him, finally after telling Em what he thought of him. "Unbutton your ego, guys. Please forgive me for my rough treatment, Mr. Grant. But you trespassed, you know. These are bad times. You never know everything. I don't think so.
  
  
  
  
  
  That we have some kind of quarrel, unless the United States is ready to put tough pressure on us, and that doesn't make sense. Or not? "
  
  Tembo unfolded the net. Nick stood up and rubbed his elbow. To be honest , I don't believe that we have any disagreements. Miss Delong is my concern."
  
  Peter didn't buy it, but he didn't say no. "Let's go in the cool. On a day like this, you can have a glass."
  
  Everyone except Tembo and Zangi sauntered out into the courtyard. Peter personally made the whiskey and handed it to Nick. Another subtle gesture of appeasement. "Anyone named Grant takes a whiskey and water. Did you know that you were being chased from the high road?"
  
  "I thought about it once or twice, but I didn't see anything. How did you know I was coming?"
  
  "Dogs in a small house. Have you seen ih? "
  
  "Yes."
  
  Tembo was inside. He called me and then followed you. Dogs seeing silently. You may have heard that he ordered them to hold back and not warn you. It sounds like an animal growling, but your ear might not believe it ."
  
  Nick nodded and sipped his whiskey. Ah-Ah-Ah. He noticed that Van Pre sometimes lost the hangnails of his speech and spoke like an educated Englishman. He pointed to a beautifully appointed courtyard. "Very nice house, Mr. van Pre."
  
  "Thank you. It shows what hard work, frugality, and a solid legacy can do. You may wonder if my name is Afrikaans, but my actions and accent are Scottish. My mother, Duncan, married van Preez. He came up with the first hikes around South Africa and much more around it ." He waved his hand at the vast expanse of land. "Cattle, tobacco, minerals. He had a sharp eye."
  
  The others sat down on foam chairs and chaise lounges. The furniture would serve as a small family resort hotel. Bootie was next to Jon Johnson, Howe, Maxwell, and Zanga. Mrs. Ryerson brought Nick a tray of appetizers-meat and cheese on triangles around bread, pecans, and pretzels. Nick took a handful. She sat down with them. "You had a long hot walk. Mr. Grant. I could drive you." Is that your BMW parked near the highway?"
  
  "Yes," Nick said. "The strong gate stopped me. I didn't know it was so far away."
  
  Mrs. Ryerson nudged the tray at Ego's elbow. "Try biltong. Vote ... " She pointed to what looked like dried beef rolled in bread with drops of gravy. "Biltong is just salty meat, but it's delicious if it's cooked properly. It's a bit of pepper sauce on biltong."
  
  Nick smiled at ay and tried one on the pillow as the ego-mind clicked. Biltong-biltong-biltong. For a moment, he remembered Hawke's last shrewd, kind look and caution. Ego's elbow hurt, and he rubbed it. Yes, dear Papa Hawk, pushing Junior out on a skydiving plane every other day. It's got to be done, son. I'll be there when you hit. Don't worry, the flight is absolutely guaranteed.
  
  "What do you think of Rhodesia, Mr. Grant?"
  
  "Charming. Exciting."
  
  Martha Ryerson chuckled. Wang W glanced sharply at nah, and she returned emu's gaze cheerfully. "Have you met many of our citizens around?"
  
  "Masters, contractor eagle. Alan Wilson, businessman."
  
  "Oh, yes, Wilson. Odin is around our most enthusiastic defenders of independence. And healthy business conditions."
  
  "He mentioned something about it."
  
  "Also a brave man. At your own discretion. Roman legionnaires are brave as they see fit. A kind of half-interested patriotism."
  
  "I thought he'd make a fine Confederate soldier," Nick said, following suit. "You get a philosophy by combining courage, ideals and greed in a Waring mix."
  
  "Waring Blandor?" Van V. asked.
  
  "The machine that deals with ih puts everyone together," Mrs. Ryerson explained. "He mixes everything up, turning it into soup."
  
  Wang W nodded, imagining the process. "It fits. And they can never be separated again. We have a lot of them."
  
  "But not you," Nick said carefully. "I think it's more reasonable from your point of view." He looked at John Johnson.
  
  "Reasonable? Some call it treason. For the record, let's say I can't make up my mind."
  
  Nick doubted that the meaning behind those piercing eyes had ever been permanently eroded. "I understand that this is a very difficult situation."
  
  Vanya poured them both some whisky. "That's right. Whose independence is most important? You had a similar problem with the Indians. Should we solve it your way?"
  
  Nick refused to get involved. When he had finished, Mrs. Ryerson intervened: "Are you just taking a tour, Mr. Grant? Or do you have other interests?"
  
  "Her father was thinking about going into the gold business. Wilson turned me down when Ego tried to buy it. For example, I heard that the Taylor-Hill-Boreman Mining Company has made new mines.
  
  "If I were you, I'd stay away from them," Wang said quickly.
  
  "Why not?"
  
  "They have markets for everything they produce. And they are a tough crowd with strong political connections.. There are rumors that there are other things going on behind the golden facade - strange rumors about assassins.
  
  
  If they catch you like we do, you won't just be online. You won't survive." "So what's left for you as a Rhodesian patriot?" Vanya shrugged. "On the balance sheet". "Did you know that people also say they are funding new Nazis? They contribute to the Odessa Foundation, support half a dozen dictators-both with weapons and gold." "I heard. I don't necessarily believe it." "Is it amazing?"Why would they sell Communists and finance degrees?" First you abandon the socialists, using your own money to finance your strikes, and then you finish off democracy at your leisure. When it's all over, they'll build statues of Hitler in every capital city in the world. Three hundred feet high. He would have done it. Just a little late, a vote, and that's it. Van and Mrs. Ryerson looked at each other questioningly. Nick guessed that this idea had been here before. The only sounds were the trills and cries of birds. Finally Wang W said: "I should think about that time for tea." He stood up. "Can Bootie and I leave afterward?" Mrs. Ryerson will show you the way." As for you leaving, we'll have to arrange an indaba here in the parking lot for that." He waved his hand, hugging everyone else. Nick shrugged and followed Mrs. Ryerson through the sliding glass doors of the house. She led Ego down a long corridor and pointed to a door. "There. Nick whispered: "Biltong is fine. Robert Morris should have sent more to Valley Forge." The name of the American patriot and the winter quarters of Washington were the identifying words of AX. Mrs. Ryerson gave the correct rheumatism diagnosis. "Yisrael Putnam, General for Connecticut. You've arrived at the wrong time, Grant. Johnson was smuggled through Tanzania. Tembo and Zanga have just returned to Zambia. They have a guerrilla group in the jungle along the rivers. They're fighting the Rhodesian army now. and they're doing such a good job that the Rhodesians should have brought in South African troops." "Did Dobby bring the money?""Yes. She's just a courier. But Wang W might think you've seen too much to let her go. If the Rhodesian police show you pictures of Tembo and Zangi, you can identify ih." "What do you recommend?" "I do not know. I've lived here for six years. Its in place AX P21. I'll probably be able to release you eventually if they detain you." "They won't," Nick promised. "Don't break your cover, it's too valuable." "Thank you. And you..." "N3." Martha Ryerson swallowed and calmed down. Nick thought she was a pretty girl. She was still very attractive. And she obviously knew that N3 meant Killmaster. She whispered: "Good luck," and left. The bath was state-of-the-art and well-appointed. Nick washed quickly, tried men's lotion and cologne, and combed his dark brown hair. When he returned through the long hall, Van Pre and his guests were gathered in the large dining room. The sideboard - in fact, a buffet chair-sat on a side table at least twenty-five feet long, covered in a sheet of snow and decorated with gleaming silverware. Peter kindly handed the first large trays to Mrs. Ryerson and Bootie and invited ih to start eating. Nick loaded his plate with meat and salad. Howe had a monopoly on Bootie, which was normal for Nick until he took a few mouthfuls. A black man and a woman in a white uniform came out of the back of the house to pour tea. Nick noticed the revolving doors and assumed the kitchen was in the hall outside the butler's pantry. When he felt a little less drained, Nick kindly told Van Preez, " This is a great lunch. It reminds me of England." "Have you decided my fate?" "Don't be so melodramatic. Yes, we should ask you to stay at least until tomorrow. We'll call your friends and tell them you have a problem with your engine." Nick frowned. For the first time, he felt a slight hostility towards his master. The old man had taken root in a country that was suddenly dealing with problems like a locust infestation. He could sympathize with emu. But this is too arbitrary. "May I ask her why we're being held up?" Nick asked. "On the dell itself, only you are being held. Buti rade accept my hospitality. I don't think you'll go to the authorities. It's none of your business, and you seem like a reasonable person, but we can't take any chances. Even when you leave, I will ask you, as a gentleman, to forget all that you have seen here." "I suppose you mean... anyone, " Nick corrected. "Yes." Nick noticed the cold, hateful look Jon Johnson gave Ego. There had to be a reason why they needed a day's grace. They probably had a column or tactical group between Van Pre Ranch and jungle valley. He said. "Suppose I promise-as a gentleman - not to talk, if you'll let us go back now." Van Preez's serious gaze turned to Johnson, Howe, and Tembo. Nick had read the denial in ihc. "I'm sorry," Van V. replied." Me too, " Nick muttered. He finished his meal and pulled out a cigarette, fumbling in his pants pocket for a lighter. Not that they didn't ask for it. He felt a sense of satisfaction at going on the offensive, and then scolded himself
  
  
  
  . A killmaster must control his emotions, especially in his ego. He must not go over himself because of that unexpected slap from the garage roof, because of the ego being tied up like a trapped animal.
  
  Putting the lighter away, he took out two egg-shaped containers around the pocket of his shorts. He was careful not to take ih for pellets left containing explosives.
  
  He explored the room. It was air-conditioned; all the furniture and hallways were closed. The servants had just come through the swing door into the kitchen. It was a large room, but Stewart designed a large expansion of the knockout gas compressed under very high pressure. He felt for the small switches and turned off the ih fuse. He said loudly: "Well, if we have to stay, I guess we'll get the most out of it. We can ..."
  
  Ego's voice didn't cover the loud double whoosh-whoosh and hiss as the two gas bombs released their charges.
  
  "What was that?" Wang Yi roared and stopped halfway by the chair.
  
  Nick held his breath and started counting.
  
  "I don't know." Maxwell answered from across the chair and pushed back his chair. "It looks like a small explosion. Somewhere on the floor?"
  
  Vanya stooped, gasped, and fell slowly, like an oak tree smashed through by a chain saw.
  
  "Peter! What happened?" Maxwell stepped around the chair, staggered, and fell. Mrs. Ryerson threw back her head as if she were dozing.
  
  Bootie's target fell into the leftover lettuce. Howe choked, swore, reached under his jacket, and then slumped back in his chair, looking like an unconscious Napoleon. Tembo, who was three places away, managed to reach Peter. This was the worst direction he could go in. He fell asleep like a tired baby.
  
  John Johnson was the problem. He didn't know what had happened, but he got up and walked away from the chair, sniffing suspiciously. The two dogs that were left outside intuitively knew that something was wrong with their owner. They hit the glass partition with a double thud, laia -, ih giant jaws were small red caverns framed by white teeth. The glass was solid - it held up.
  
  Johnson pressed a hand to his hip. Nick picked up the plate and carefully plunged it into the man's throat.
  
  Johnson staggered back, his face calm and without hatred, serenity in black. The hand that he had been holding on his hip suddenly hung forward at the end of a powerless and leaden arm. He took a deep breath, tried to pull himself together, determination showing in his helpless eyes. Nick picked up van Preez's plate and weighed it like a disc. The man didn't give up easily. Johnson's eyes closed and he fell.
  
  Nick carefully set van Preez's plate down. He was still thinking, one hundred and twenty-one, one hundred and twenty-two. He didn't feel the need to breathe. One of Ego's best skills was holding his breath; he could almost achieve an unofficial record.
  
  He pulled out a small blue Spanish revolver from Po Johnson's pocket and took several pistols from the unconscious Van Preez Howe. Maxwell and Tembo. He pulled out Wilhelmina Po for Maxwell's belt and searched Bootie's and Mrs. Ryerson's bags to make sure everything was in order. Us who didn't have guns.
  
  Running to the double doors of the butler's pantry, he pushed open the ih. The large room was empty, with an astonishing number of hanging cabinets and three built-in sinks. He ran through the tie room and into the kitchen. Across the room, a screen door slammed shut. The man and woman who served them were running through the service yard. Nick closed and locked the door to keep the dogs out.
  
  Fresh air with a strange smell flowed softly through the screen. Nick exhaled, emptying and filling his lungs. He wondered if they had a spice garden next to the kitchen. The fleeing Negroes were out of sight.
  
  The big house suddenly became quiet. The only sounds were the distant birdsong and the soft trickle of water in the kettle on the stove.
  
  In the pantry off the kitchen, Nick found a fifty-foot coil of nylon clothesline. He went back to the dining room. Men and women lay where they had fallen, looking sadly helpless. Only Johnson and Tembo showed signs of regaining consciousness. Johnson was muttering unintelligible words. Tembo shook his head very slowly from side to side.
  
  Nick tied up the ihs first, throwing carnations around their wrists and ankles, secured in square knots. He did it almost without looking like an old boatswain's mate.
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Neutralizing the rest took only a few minutes. He bound the ankles of Howe and Maxwell - they were serious guys and he couldn't have taken a kick with his hands tied - but he only held van Preez's hands together and left Bootie and Mrs. Ryerson free. He gathered up the pistols on the buffet table and emptied them all, dropping the cartridges into a greasy basin of leftover green salad.
  
  Thoughtfully, he dipped the bullets in the slime, then poured the salad into each of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he picked up a clean plate, selected two thick slices of roast beef and a spoonful of seasoned beans, and put them in the place he was taking for lunch.
  
  Johnson and Tembo were the first to wake up. The dogs sat behind the glass partition, watching warily, their fur cocked. Johnson said hoarsely: "Tailor ... you ... Grant. You... you'll regret it ... you will ... never came on ... our land."
  
  "Your land?" Nick stopped with a fork of beef.
  
  "Not the entire hotel, but my people. We'll get her back and hang the bastards like you. Why are you interfering? You think you can rule this world! We'll show you! We're doing it now, and we're doing it well. More..."
  
  The ego tone was getting higher and higher. Nick said sharply: "Shut up and go back to your chair if you can. Her em."
  
  Johnson turned, struggled to his feet, and hopped into his seat. Tembo, seeing the demonstration, said nothing, but did the same. Nick has denied reports in the media that Tembo did not allow himself to approach him with a weapon.
  
  By the time Nick had washed up his plate and poured himself another cup of tea over the teapot on the buffet table, comfortably warm in his knitted woolen cozy clothes, the others had followed Johnson and Tembo's lead. They didn't say anything, just looked at him. He wanted to feel like a winner and take revenge - instead, he felt like a skeleton at a feast.
  
  Van Preez's gaze was a mixture of anger and frustration that made Ego almost wish he'd gotten the upper hand - as if he'd done the wrong thing. Em had to break the silence himself. "Miss Delong and him will now return to Salisbury. If you don't want to tell me more about your... er... program." And I would be grateful for any information you could add about the Taylor-Hill-Boreman company."
  
  "I'm not going anywhere with you, beast!"
  
  "Well, now, Bootie," Wang W said in a surprisingly soft voice. "Mr. Grant is managing the situation. It would be worse if he came back without you. You plan to turn us in. Grant?"
  
  "Turn you in? To whom? Why? We had some fun. I know a few things about her, but I'm not going to tell anyone about them. In fact, I forgot all your names. That sounds silly. I usually have a great memory. No, no, I went to your ranch, found nothing but Miss Delong, and we went back to town. How does this sound? "
  
  "He talks like a mountaineer," said Van V. thoughtfully. They made a mine. Probably the best gold price in the country. It's selling fast, but you know that. To everyone. And my advice is still relevant. Stay away from them. They have political connections and powers. They will kill you if you go against them."
  
  "How about we go together against them?"
  
  "We have no reason to do that."
  
  "Do you believe that your problems don't concern ih?"
  
  "Not yet. When the day comes ..." Wang Yi looked around at his friends. "I should have asked if you agreed with me."
  
  Heads nodded in agreement. Johnson said: "Don't trust emu. Honky is a government official. He's ..."
  
  "You don't trust me?" "I'm a traitor,"Wang said softly.
  
  Johnson looked down. "I'm sorry."
  
  "We understand. There was a time when my men killed the English on the spot. Now some people around us call themselves English without really thinking about it. After all, John, we are all ... people. Parts of the whole."
  
  Nick stood up, unsheathed Hugo, and released van Preez. "Mrs. Ryerson, please take a table knife and release everyone else. Miss Delong, shall we go?"
  
  With an expressive silent flick of the shuttlecock, Bootie picked up her purse and opened the patio door. Two dogs burst into the room, beading their eyes on Nick, but not taking their eyes off van Preez. The old man said, " Stay... Jane... Gimba... stay here."
  
  The dogs stopped, wagged their tails, and caught the pieces of meat that Wang Yi threw at them as they flew. Nick followed Bootie outside.
  
  In the Singer, Nick looked at van Preez. "Apologize if it was ruined by everyone's tea."
  
  Em thought he saw a flicker of joy in Ego's shrewd eyes. "No harm done. It seemed to clear the air. Perhaps we all know better now where we are. I don't think the boys will really trust you until they know what you meant by keeping quiet." Suddenly, Wang Yi straightened up, raised his hand, and shouted: "No way! Wallo. It's all right."
  
  Nick crouched down, feeling Wilhelmina with his fingers. At the foot of a low green-brown tree two hundred yards away, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a man in a prone position. He narrowed his surprisingly shrewd eyes and decided that Vallo was the dark-skinned man around the kitchen staff who served ih and fled when Nick invaded the kitchen.
  
  Nick squinted, focusing his 20/15 vision sharply. The rifle had a telescopic sight. He said: "Well, Peter, the situation has changed again. Your people are determined.
  
  "We all jump to conclusions sometimes, "said Wang W." Especially if we have preconditions. No one around my people has ever run very far. Odin around them gave his life for me years ago in the jungle. Maybe I feel like I owe them something for it. It's hard to untangle our personal affairs. motivation and social actions ".
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What is your conclusion of giving me the equipment?" Nick asked curiously and because it would be a valuable note to use in the future.
  
  "Are you wondering if I can shoot you on the way to the highway?"
  
  "Of course not. A moment ago, you might have let Vallo catch me. Her confidence that he was hunting big enough game to impress me."
  
  Vanya nodded. "You're right. Her, I believe that your word is as good as mine. You have genuine courage, and usually that means honesty. It's an earthquake, dodging fear through no fault of his own, sometimes twice - stabbing people in the back or shooting them wildly. Or... bombs women and children."
  
  Nick shook his head unsmiling. "You're taking me back to politics. This is not my dish. I just want to spend this tour group without a hitch ..."
  
  The bell rang, sharply, intensely. "Wait," said Van V. " This is the gate you passed through mimmo. You don't want to run into a cattle truck on this road." He ran up the wide steps, his stride as light and springy as a teenager's, and pulled the phone out of the gray metal box. "Peter's here ..." He listened. "Actually," he snapped, his ego completely changed. "Stay out of sight."
  
  He hung up the phone and shouted into the house. "Maxwell!"
  
  There was an answering shout. "Yes?"
  
  "An army patrol is arriving. Pick up the M5 phone. Make it short. Code four."
  
  "Code four". Maxwell's head appeared briefly in the porch window, and then he was gone. Vanya rushed to the car.
  
  "The army and police. Probably just checking."
  
  "How do they get through your gate?" Nick asked. "Break up ih?"
  
  “no. They require duplicate keys from all of us." Vanya looked worried, tension drawing extra lines across his weathered face for the first time since Nick had met Ego as a ferret.
  
  "I think every minute counts now," Nick said softly. "Your code four should be between here and jungle valley, and whoever they are, they can't move fast. Give you a few more minutes. Dobby-let's go."
  
  Bootie looked at van Preez. "Do as he says," the old man snapped. He reached through the window. "Thank you, Grant. You must be a mountaineer."
  
  Bootie pulled the car into the driveway. They reached the first peak, and the ranch disappeared behind them. "Push it!" Nick said.
  
  "What do you plan to do?"
  
  "Give Peter and the others some time."
  
  "Why would you do that?" Dobby picked up speed, rocking the car through the gravel pits.
  
  "I'm indebted to them for an interesting day." The pumping station came into view. It was just as Nick remembered it - the pipes went under the road and came to the surface on both sides; there was only room for one car. "Stop candid between these pipes - at the pumping station."
  
  Bootie flew a few hundred yards, then stopped in a shower of dust and dry earth. Nick jumped out, unscrewed the valve on the right rear tire, and the air blew out. Replace the stem.
  
  He went to the spare one, removed the valve stem from it, and twisted the ego in his fingers until the core bent. He leaned against Bootie's window. "The voice of our history when the army arrives. We had air out around the tire. There was no air sampling in the spare room. I think it was a clogged shaft stem. All we need now is a pump."
  
  "Voice they're coming."
  
  Dust rose against a cloudless sky, so clear and blue that it seemed to glow, retouched in bright ink. Dust formed a dirty panel, rising and spreading. Ee departure point is a road, a notch in the bundu. A Jeep sped through the notch, a small red-and-yellow pennant flying through the antennae, as if an ancient spearman had lost his spear and flag to the age of machines. The jeep was followed by three armored personnel carriers, giant battleships with heavy machine guns for muzzles. Behind them were two six-by-six trucks, the last one towed around a small tank that was engaged in dancing on the rough road, as if to say ` ' I may be the smallest and last, but not least is the water that is engaged you'll need when you're thirsty ...
  
  Gunga Din with rubber tires.
  
  The Jeep stopped ten feet away from the Singer. The officer in the right-hand seat accidentally got out around the car and approached Nick. Nen was wearing British-style tropical gear with shorts, retaining the garrison cap instead of the sun melt. Emu couldn't have been more than thirty, and he had the tense expression of a man who takes his job seriously and is dissatisfied because he's not sure he has the right job. The curse of modern military service has eaten away at the ego; they tell you it's your duty, but they make the mistake of teaching you to reason so you can handle modern equipment. You get your hands on the history of the Nuremberg Trials and the Geneva Conferences and realize that everyone is confused, which means that someone has to lie to you. You pick up Marx's book to see what they're all arguing about, and suddenly you feel like you're sitting on a rickety fence, listening to bad advice being shouted out.
  
  Problems? The officer asked and carefully examined the surrounding bushes.
  
  Nick noted that the machine gun sight in the foreground of the armored personnel carrier remained on nen, and the officer did not get inside the line of fire.
  
  
  
  
  The steel snouts in the next two armored cars came out, one to the left, one to the right. The soldier got down from the first truck and quickly inspected the small pumping station.
  
  "A flat tire," Nick said. He held out the valve. "Bad valve. It's been replaced by ego, but we don't have a pump."
  
  "We can have one," the officer replied, not looking at Nick. He continued to calmly scan the road ahead, the bundu, the nearby trees with the avid interest of an ordinary tourist, I want to see everything, but without worrying about what he missed. Nick knew he hadn't missed anything. Finally, he looked at Nick and the car. "It's a strange place where you're staying."
  
  "Why not?"
  
  "Completely blocks the road."
  
  "It's about where the air came out through the tires. I think we stopped here because the pumping station is a web-visible part of civilizations."
  
  "Hmm." Oh, yeah. Are you an American?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Can I see your documents? We don't usually do this, but these are unusual times. It will make things easier if I don't have to question you."
  
  "What if I don't have any identification? We were not told that this country is like Europe or some places with an iron curtain, where there should be a reset string around the neck."
  
  "Then please tell me who you are and where you've been." The officer casually checked all the tires , even kicking one of them.
  
  Nick handed Em his passport. As a reward, he was rewarded with a look that said: "You could have just done it in the first place."
  
  The officer was reading carefully, making notes in a notebook. As if to himself, he said: "You could have put in a spare tire."
  
  "It was impossible," Nick lied. "I used the valve stem from it. You know, these rental cars."
  
  He handed Nick Edman Eagle's passport and ID card. "I'm Lieutenant Sandeman, Mr. Grant. Have you met anyone in Salisbury?"
  
  "Ian Masters is our tour contractor."
  
  "I've never heard of the grand setting of Edman's tours. Are they similar to American Express?"
  
  “yeah. There are dozens of small travel companies that specialize. You can say that not everyone needs a Chevrolet. Our group consists of young women from all over the rich families. An expensive walk."
  
  "What a great job you have." Sandeman turned and called for the Jeep. "Kapralov, please bring the tire pump."
  
  Sandeman chatted with Bootie and looked at her papers while a short, gruff soldier pumped up a flat tire. Then the officer turned back to Nick. "What were you doing here?"
  
  "We were visiting Mr. van Preez," Bootie said smoothly. "He's my pen pal."
  
  "How nice of him," Sandeman said pleasantly. "You came together?"
  
  "You know we didn't do that," Nick said. "You saw my BMW parked near the highway. Miss Delong left early, and I followed her later. She forgot that I didn't have a key to the gate and couldn't be damaged by iht. So I went in. I didn't know how far it was. This part of your country is similar to our West."
  
  Sandeman's tense, young face remained expressionless. "Your tire is inflated. Please stop and let us pass."
  
  He saluted them and got into a passing mimmo jeep. The column disappeared in its own dust.
  
  Bootie drove the car to the main road. After Nick opened the barrier with the key she'd given the emu and locked the ego behind them, she said: "Before you get in the car, I want to tell you, Andy, that was nice of you. I do not know why you did it, but I know that every minute of delay has helped Van Preez."
  
  "And some others. I like him. And the rest of these people, I think, are good people when they are at home, and they live quietly there."
  
  She stopped the car next to the BMW and thought for a moment. "I don't understand. Did you like Johnson and Tembo too?"
  
  "Of course. And Vallo. Even if I've barely seen her, ego, I like a person who does a good job."
  
  Bootie sighed and shook her head. Nick thought she was really beautiful in the dim light. Her bright blonde hair was disheveled, and her features showed fatigue, but her pert chin was upturned, and her delicate jawline was firm. He felt a great interest in her - why would such a beautiful girl, who probably could have had everything in the world, participate in international politics? It was more than just a relief from boredom or a way to feel important. When this girl gave herself, it was a serious commitment.
  
  "You look tired, Bootie," he said softly. "Can we stop somewhere to cheer up, as they say here?"
  
  She threw her head back, put her legs out in front of her, and sighed. “yeah. I think I'm tired of all these surprises. Yes, let's stop somewhere."
  
  "We'll do better than that." He got out and walked around the car. "Move on."
  
  "What about your car?" "What is it?" she asked, obeying.
  
  "I'll pick her up later. I think I can use my ego on my account as a personal service for a special client."
  
  He eased the car into Salisbury. Bootie glanced at him, then rested her head on the back of the seat and studied this man who was becoming more and more of a mystery to Nah, and more and more attracted to her. She decided that he was beautiful, and one step ahead.
  
  
  
  
  
  First opinion, when she thought ego was beautiful and empty, like so many others she met. There was an actor's flexibility in his ego traits. She had seen them look as raw as granite, but she decided that there was always a kindness in their eyes that never changed.
  
  In the strength of the ego, and in the firm intention there was no doubt, but it was restrained - by mercy? It wasn't quite right, but it should be. He was probably some kind of government agent, though he could have been a private investigator hired by-Edman Tours-her father? She remembered how Van Preez had failed to get an exact match out of him. She sighed, allowed her head to rest on his shoulder, and placed one hand on his leg, not a sensual touch, just because it was the natural position in which she fell. He patted her hand, and she felt warmth in her chest and stomach. This gentle gesture caused Nah more than an erotic caress. Lots of men. It was probably a pleasant experience for the emu, although it didn't necessarily have to follow. She was pretty sure he'd slept with Ruth, and the next morning Ruth looked happy and dreamy-eyed, so maybe ...
  
  She was asleep.
  
  Nick found her Alenka pleasant, she smelled good and felt good. He hugged her. She purred and relaxed even more against him. He drove the car automatically, and built several fantasies in which Bootie was involved in various interesting situations. As he pulled up to the Meikles Hotel, he muttered: "Booty ..."
  
  Emu liked to watch her wake up. "Thank you for letting me sleep." She became completely alert, not half-conscious like many women, as if they hated to face the outdoor pool again.
  
  On the day of her room, he stopped until she said, " Oh, let's have a drink. I do not know where the others are now, do you?"
  
  "Clean"'
  
  "Do you want to get dressed and go out for lunch?"
  
  "No way."
  
  "I hate eating alone ..."
  
  He didn't usually do this, but he "was surprised to realize that tonight it was true. He didn't want to leave her and face the loneliness of his room or the only table in the dining room." Bad room service order. "
  
  "Please bring ice and a couple of soda bottles first."
  
  He ordered settings and menus, then called Selfridge to pick up the Singer and Masters to pick up the BMW. The girl on the phone at Masters said: "This is a little unusual, Mr. Grant. There will be a surcharge."
  
  "Check with Ian Masters," he said. "I'm accompanying the tour."
  
  "Oh, then there can be no extra charge."
  
  "Thank you." He hung up. They quickly learned the tourist business. He wondered if Goose Boyd had received a cash payment from Masters. It wasn't ego's business, and the emu didn't care, you just wanted to know exactly where everyone was standing and how tall they were.
  
  They enjoyed two drinks, an excellent dinner with a good bottle of rose wine, and pulled back the bed to watch the city lights with coffee and brandy. Bootie turned off the holy light, except for the lamp, where she hung a towel. "It's calming," she explained.
  
  "Intimate," Nick said.
  
  "Dangerous."
  
  "Sensually."
  
  She was laughing. "A few years ago, a virtuous girl wouldn't have fallen into such a situation,. Alone in her bedroom. The door is closed."
  
  "I locked her up," Nick said cheerfully. "Even when virtue was a reward in itself, it was boredom. Or are you reminding me that you are virtuous?"
  
  "Me ... I do not know." She stretched out in the living room, giving Emu an inspiring view of her long, nylon-clad legs in the gloom. They were beautiful in daylight; in the soft mystery of near-darkness, they became two patterns of spectacular curves. She knew he was looking at them dreamily over the rim of his brandy glass. Let them - she knew they were good. In fact, she knew they were excellent - she'd often compared ih to supposedly perfect in Sunday York Times magazine ads. Sleek models became the standard of excellence in Texas, even though most knowledgeable women hid their Times and pretended to read only local newspapers loyally.
  
  She looked at him sideways. He gave you an awfully warm feeling. Convenient, she decided. It was very comfortable with him. She remembered ihk on the plane that first night. Ugh! All men. She was so sure that he was no good, that she had played him wrong-that was why he had left with Ruth after that first dinner. She had rejected him, now he was back, and he was worth it. She had seen several men in one or the other at nen, an adviser, a confidant. She glanced at her father, her lover. You knew you could rely on him. Peter van V made this clear. She felt a surge of pride at the impression he had made. The glow spread up her neck and down to the base of her spine.
  
  She felt ego's hand on her chest, and suddenly he was tugging at the right spot, and she had to catch her breath to keep from jumping. He was so gentle. Does this mean a lot of practice? No, he was naturally gifted with subtle touches, and at times he moved like a trained dancer. She sighed and touched ego's lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  She flew delightfully in space, but she can fly when she wants, just by stretching out her arm like a wing. She closed her eyes tightly and made a slow loop that stirred the warmth in her stomach slightly, like the loop-winding machine in Parque Santone. Ego's mouth was so pliable - could you say that the man had surprisingly beautiful lips?
  
  Her blouse was removed and her skirt was unbuttoned. She lifted her hips to make it easier for him, and finished unbuttoning ego's shirt. She lifted the ego T-shirt and found the soft fuzz on his chest with her fingers, smoothing the ego " so and not like you're tending a dog's tufts. He smelled charmingly like a man. Her ego nipples responded to her tongue, and she giggled inwardly, pleased that she wasn't the only one aroused by the right touch. Once ego's spine arched and he made a contented humming sound. She slowly sucked in the hardened cones of flesh, instantly capturing ih again as they erupted around her lips, rejoicing in the way ego's shoulders straightened, with reflexive pleasure at each loss and return. Her bra was gone. Let him find that she is better portrayed than Ruth.
  
  She felt a burning sensation of delight, not pain. Clean, does not burn, vibration. A warm vibration, as if one around these massage machines rippled all over her body at once.
  
  She felt ego's lips move down to her breast, kissing her in narrow circles of moist warmth. Oh, a very good person. She felt him loosen her garter belt and undo the buttonholes of one of her stockings. Then ih rolled down and left. She stretched out her long legs, feeling the tension leave her muscles and give way to a delicious relaxed warmth. "Yes," she thought, "at a penny a pound" - is that what they say in Rhodesia?
  
  The back of her hand brushed against the buckle of ego's belt, and almost without thinking, she turned her hand and undid it. A soft thud - she assumed it was ego's pants and shorts falling to the floor. She opened her eyes to the dimness. Truth. But... She swallowed and felt deliciously smothered as he kissed her and rubbed her back and ass.
  
  She snuggled up to him and tried to lengthen her breath, but it was so short and choppy that it was awkward. He would have known that she was really breathing hard in his face. Ego fingers stroked her thighs, and she gasped, and her self-criticism vanished. Her spine was a pillar of warm, sweet warmth, and her meaning was a cauldron of agreement. After all, when two people really enjoyed and cared ...
  
  She kissed the ego's body, responding to the forward push and thrust of her libido that broke her last ropes of conditional restraint. It's okay, I don't need it, it's true ... Good. The perfect contact made her tense. She froze for a moment, then relaxed like a blooming flower in a slow-motion nature movie. Uh-oh. A column of warm oil almost boiled in her stomach, bubbling and pulsing deliciously around her heart, flowing through her flexing lungs until they felt hot. She swallowed again. Quivering rods, like glowing balls of neon, descended from the small of her back to her skull. She imagined her golden hair sticking up and up, drenched in static electricity. Of course, it wasn't like that, it just seemed that way.
  
  He left it for a moment and turned it around. She remained perfectly pliant, only the rapid rise and fall of her generous chest and rapid breathing showed that she was alive. He'll take me, she thought, properly. A girl ultimately likes to be taken. Uh-oh. Sigh and sigh. Take a long breath and whisper, " Oh, yes."
  
  She felt that she was being received deliciously, not just once, but over and over again. Layer by layer, the warm depth spreads and is welcomed, then recedes and makes room for the next advance. It felt like it was built like an artichoke with delicate leaves inside, and everyone was possessed and taken. She writhed and worked with him to speed up the harvest. Her cue stick was wet, and she thought that tears were flowing from the shocking delight, but they didn't matter. She didn't realize that her nails were digging into his flesh like the flexing claws of an ecstatic cat. He pushed his loins forward until his hipbones clenched as hard as a clenched fist, feeling her hungrily stretch her body for an ego-driven lunge.
  
  "Honey," he murmured, " you're so damn beautiful, you scare me. Her hotel told you earlier ..."
  
  "Tell me ... to me... now, " she breathed.
  
  
  * * *
  
  Judas, before he called himself Mike Bohr, found Stash Foster in Bombay, where Foster was a peddler of the many vicious deals that arise when countless, unwanted, huge ego masses appear. Judas was attracted by Bohr to hire three small wholesalers. While aboard the Portuguese motor sailboat Judas, Foster got candid in the middle of one around Judas ' little problems. Judah wanted them to have good quality cocaine, and he didn't want to pay for it, especially since he wanted to get two men and a woman out of the way, because ih activities fit well with the ego-driven organization.
  
  
  
  
  
  They were tied up as soon as the ship was out of sight of land, plowing through the hot Arabian Sea, heading south for Colombo. In his sumptuously furnished cabin, Judas spoke thoughtfully to Heinrich Muller, and listened to the Receptionists.: "The best place for them is overboard."
  
  "Yes," Muller agreed.
  
  The receptionists decided that the ego was being tested. He passed the test because Bombay was a lousy place for a Pole to earn a living, even if he was always six jumps ahead of the local gangsters. The language problem was too big, and you were so damn obvious. This Judas was building a big business and mistletoe made real money.
  
  He said, " Do you want ih to throw it away?"
  
  "Please," Judas purred.
  
  The receptionists lifted ih onto the deck with his hands tied, one by one, the woman first. He cut their throats, completely cut off their heads from their bodies, and butchered the corpses before throwing the bodies into the muddy-looking sea. He made a weighted knot around his clothes and dropped it. When he finished, a yard-wide pool of blood was left on the deck, forming a red liquid pool.
  
  The receptionists hurriedly tossed their heads one by one.
  
  Judas, who was standing with Muller at the wheel, nodded approvingly. "Pour this around the hose," he ordered Muller. "Receptionists, let's talk."
  
  This was the man Judas had ordered to keep an eye on Nick, and in doing so, he made a mistake, although this could turn out to be a plus. Foster had the greed of a pig, the manners of a weasel, and the judgment of a baboon. An adult baboon is smarter than most dogs, with the exception of the female Rhodesian Ridgeback, but the baboon thinks in strange little circles, and the ego was surpassed by men who had time to fashion weapons around the available sticks and stones.
  
  Judas said to Foster: "Look, Andrew Grant is dangerous, stay out of his sight. We'll take care of nen."
  
  Foster's baboon brain immediately concluded that it would gain recognition by "taking care" of Grant. If he had succeeded, he would probably have gained recognition; Judas saw himself as an opportunist. He came very close.
  
  It was the man who had seen Nick leave Macleas that morning. He was a small, neatly dressed man with powerful shoulders that stooped like a baboon's. So unobtrusive are the environments, the people on the sidewalks, that Nick Ego didn't notice.
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Nick woke up before dawn and ordered coffee as soon as room service was up and running. He kissed Bootie as he woke up, pleased to see that her mood matched his ego; the lovemaking had been great, and there was no time for a new one now. Make your goodbyes perfect, and your wait for the next kiss will make a lot of difficult moments easier for you. She had coffee, then a long goodbye hug, and slipped away after he checked the hallway when everything was clear.
  
  As Nick was cleaning his sports jacket, Goose Boyd appeared, bright and alert. He sniffed the air in the room. Nick frowned inwardly, not wanting to forget all of Bootie's perfume. The goose said, " Ah, friendship. Wonderful Cooking et mutabilis semper femina".
  
  Nick had to chuckle. The guy was observant and well versed in Latin. How would you translate this? Is a woman always random?
  
  "I prefer happy customers," Nick said. "How's Janet doing?"
  
  Goose poured himself a cup of coffee. "She's a sweet cake. There's lipstick on one of these cups. You leave clues everywhere."
  
  "No, no," Nick didn't glance at the sideboard. "She didn't wear anything before leaving. All the other girls... Err, are you happy with Edman's efforts?"
  
  "They absolutely love this place. We don't need a damn complaint, which, as you know, is unusual. Last time, there was a free night out so they could explore restaurants if they wanted to. Everyone around them had a date with one around these colonial days, and they accepted it ."
  
  "Did Ian Masters put his boys up to this?"
  
  Gus shrugged. "Maybe. I encourage it. And if Masters puts a few checks on the bill over dinner, I never mind as long as the tour goes well."
  
  "We're still leaving for Salisbury today, no way when?"
  
  “yeah. We'll fly there to Bulawayo and catch the morning train to the reserve."
  
  "Can you do without me?" Nick turned off the light and opened the balcony door. Bright sun and fresh air flooded the room. He gave Gus a cigarette and lit it himself. "I'll join you in Wankie. I want to take a closer look at the gold situation. We still beat these bastards. They have a source, and they don't want to let us use it."
  
  Gus shrugged. "It's all regular. Masters has an office in Bulawayo that handles money transfers there." In fact, even though Em liked Nick, it was nice for Em to lose his ego-for a long time or a short time. He preferred to pass out tips without comment - you can get a good percentage on a long trip without losing waiters and porters, and there was a fine store in Bulawayo where women usually lost all thrift and spent dollars like cops. They bought Sandawana emeralds, copper utensils, and products made all over the antelope and zebra skins in such quantities that emu always had to arrange for a separate baggage dispatch.
  
  
  
  
  
  He had a commission with the store. Last time, the ego share was $ 240. Not bad for a one-hour stop. "Be careful, Nick. The way Wilson spoke this time was very different from when he had done business with him before. Dude, what the hell are you talking about?" He shook his head at the memory. "He's Stahl ... Dangerous, I think."
  
  "So that's your impression, too?" Nick shivered, feeling his sore ribs. That fall from Van Prez's roof didn't help anyone. "This guy could be a black assassin. You mean you haven't noticed this before? When did you buy gold for thirty dollars an ounce?"
  
  Gus blushed. "I thought - take the tailor, I do not know what I understood. The thing started to sway. She would have been dropped by ee right away, I guess if you think we're going to get really stuck if something goes wrong. Its, Its, willing to take the risk, but I like to watch the odds."
  
  "Wilson absurdly sounds like he meant it when he told us to forget about the gold mail business. But we do know that he must have found a damn good market with them ferret like you were last here.. Then he doesn't have any money for us. He found a pipeline or ego associates. Let's know what it is if we can. "
  
  "You still believe that there are Golden Tusks. Andy?"
  
  "No." It was a fairly simple corkscrew into which Nick gave a straight rheumatism shot. The goose can find out if it works with a realist. They could buy a few and paint them gold. Hollow fangs around gold to circumvent sanctions and help get this cargo to India or somewhere else. Even in London. But now I think your friend in India is right. There's a lot of good four-hundred-ounce bullion going around Rhodesia. Mind you, he didn't say kilograms, grams, jockey bands, or any of the slang terms used by smugglers. Nice, large standard bars. Yummy stuff. It's so nice to feel ih at the bottom of a travel suitcase-after passing through customs."
  
  Gus grinned, chasing a fantasy. "Yes - and a half-dozen ihs shipped with our travel luggage would be even better!"
  
  Nick clapped Ego on the shoulder and they went down the hall. He left Gus in the dining hall and went out into the sunlit street. The receptionists followed the ego trail.
  
  Stash Foster had a great ending, a description of Nick and photos, but once he did a counter-march at the Shepherds ' so he could see Nick's face. He was confident in his man. What he didn't realize was that Nick had amazing photographic eyes and a memory, especially when concentrating. At Duke, during a controlled trial, Nick once recalled sixty-seven photos of strangers and was able to match ih with ih names.
  
  What he didn't know was that Nick had caught Ego's direct eye as he passed Nick's mimmo among a group of shoppers and entered Ego baboon in the catalog. Other people were animals, objects, emotions, any related details that helped the ego's memory. I got the exact description.
  
  Nick enjoyed Ego's quick walk - Salisbury Sturt, Garden Avenue, Baker Avenue-he walked when there was a crowd, and when there weren't enough people, he walked twice. Ego strange walks angered Stash Foster, who thought: "What a lunatic! There's no getting around it, there's nothing you can do: stupid bodybuilder. It would be nice to let the blood out around that big, healthy body; to see that straight spine, and those broad shoulders fall, twist, crumple. He frowned, his wide lips brushing the skin of his skull until he looked more ape-like than ever.
  
  He was wrong, I say that Nick is not going anywhere, will not do anything. Every moment AXman's meaning was absorbed, reflected, recorded, studied. When he finished his long walk, he knew next to nothing about the main Salisbury area, and the sociologist would have been happy to get an ego impression.
  
  Nick was saddened by his findings. He knew the pattern. When you've been to most of the world, it's your ability to evaluate groups that expands like a wide-angle lens. A narrow look will reveal hard-working, sincere martens who have torn civilization away from nature by bravery and hard work. The blacks were lazy. What did they do about it? Aren't they now - thanks to European ingenuity and generosity - better than ever?
  
  You could easily sell this painting. Egos have been bought and framed many times by the defeated Union of the South in the United States, Hitler supporters, grim Americans from Boston to Los Angeles, especially many around police departments and sheriffs ' offices. The likes of ANNA and Birchers have made careers digesting egos and serving under new names.
  
  The skin doesn't have to be black. Stories were woven about red, yellow, brown, and white. Nick knew that this situation was easy to create, because all men carry two main explosives - fear and guilt. Fear is the easiest thing to see. You have an unreliable blue-or white-collar job, your bills, your worries, taxes, overwork, boredom, or disdain for the future.
  
  
  
  
  
  They are competitors, tax-eaters who crowd the employment offices, crowd the schools, roam the streets ready for violence, rob you in the alley. They probably don't know God any more than you do.
  
  Guilt is more insidious. Every man has once or a thousand times rolled through his brain with perversion, masturbation, rape, murder, theft, incest, corruption, cruelty, fraud, debauchery, and taking a third martini, cheating a little on his tax report, or telling a cop that em was only fifty-five when em was in his seventies.
  
  You know you can't do that. You're all right. But they are! Oh my God! (They're not really different on the dell'ego, either.) Oni is a different ih all the time, and-well, anyway, some through them at every turn.
  
  Nick stopped at the corner, looking at the people. A couple of girls in soft cotton dresses and sun hats smiled at Emu. He smiled at rheumatism and left it on, leaving a plain girl walking behind them. She beamed and blushed. He took a taxi to the Rhodesian Railways office.
  
  The receptionist followed him, leading his driver, watching Nick's taxi. "I just see the city. Please turn straight ahead ... now go there."
  
  Oddly enough, the third taxi was in a strange procession, and the ego of the passenger did not try to surprise his driver. He told the emu, " Follow number 268 and don't lose your ego." He was watching Nick.
  
  Since the ride was short and Stash's pack was moving unevenly, rather than constantly on Nick's tail, the person in the third pack didn't notice this. At the railway office, I dismissed my taxi. The third man got out of his car, paid the driver, and followed Nick Candid into the building. He caught up with Nick as AXman strode down the long, cool covered hallway. "Mr. Grant?"
  
  Nick turned and recognized the lawyer. Sometimes it seemed to Emu that professional criminals were right when they said they could "smell a plainclothes man." There was an aura, a subtle radiance. This one was tall, slender, athletic. Serious guy, about forty.
  
  "Actually," Nick said.
  
  Emu held up a leather case with an ID card and badge. "George Barnes. Rhodesian Security Forces."
  
  Nick chuckled. "Whatever it was that he didn't do it."
  
  The joke failed because the yahoo account was left open by mistake yesterday. Barnes said: "Lieutenant Sandeman asked me to talk to you. He gave me your description, and he saw you in Garden Avenue."
  
  Nick wondered how long Barnes had been following him. "It was nice of Sandeman. Did he think I'd get lost?"
  
  Barnes still wasn't smiling, his ego clean face still serious. He had a northern English accent, but he spoke clearly and clearly. "Do you remember seeing Lieutenant Sandeman and the ego group?"
  
  "Yes, indeed. He helped me when I had a puncture."
  
  Apparently, Sandeman didn't have time to fill in all the details. "Well - obviously, after he helped you, he ran into a problem. Ego Patrol was in the bush about ten miles from Van Preez's farm when they came under fire. Four ego people were killed."
  
  Nick shook off the half-smile. "I'm really sorry. Such news is never pleasant."
  
  "Can you tell me exactly who you saw at Van Preez's?"
  
  Nick rubbed his broad chin. "Let's see," Peter van Pree was there. A well-groomed old man, similar to one around our western ranchers. A real one who worked on it. About sixty, hers, I guess. He was wearing ..."
  
  "We know van Preez," Barnes said. "Who else?"
  
  "Well, there were a couple of white men and a white woman, and I think about four or five black men. Although I could see the same black men coming and going because they kind of look alike, you know."
  
  Nick, gazing thoughtfully at a spot above Barnes ' head, saw suspicion flicker across the man's face, linger, and then disappear, replaced by resignation.
  
  "You don't remember any names?"
  
  “no. It wasn't such a formal dinner."
  
  Nick waited for him to pick up the corkscrew on Bootie. He didn't do it. Perhaps Sandeman forgot her name, dismissed her as unimportant, or Barnes held back for his own reasons or questioned her separately.
  
  Barnes changed his approach. "How do you like Rhodesia?"
  
  "Charming. Vote only for her surprised ambush on patrol. Bandits?"
  
  "Pure politics, as I believe you are well aware. But thank you for sparing my feelings. How did you know it was an ambush?"
  
  "I didn't know. It's pretty obvious, or perhaps it's related to your mention in the bushes."
  
  They went to a row of telephones. Nick said: "Will you excuse me? I want to call her."
  
  "Of course. Who do you want to see in these buildings?"
  
  "Roger Tillborn."
  
  "Roggie? I know her ego well. Call me and I'll show you the ego office."
  
  Nick called Makeles, and Dobby was called in. If the Rhodesian police had been able to listen to the call so quickly, they would have been ahead of HIM, which he doubted. When she answered, he briefly told her about George Barnes ' questions and explained that he had only admitted that he had met van Presse. Bootie thanked him, adding, " See you at Victoria Falls, honey."
  
  "I hope so, honey. It's good to get up in the first one and play calmly."
  
  If Barnes suspected the call, he wouldn't show it to Stahl.
  
  
  
  
  They found Roger Tillborn, chief operating officer of Rhodesian Railways, in a high-ceilinged office that looked like the set for a Jay Gould movie. There was a lot of beautiful oiled wood that smelled of wax, heavy furniture, and three gorgeous model locomotives, each on its own table about a meter long.
  
  Barnes introduced Nick to Tillborn, a short, lean, fast man in a black suit who looked like he'd had an amazing day at work.
  
  "I got your name around the Railroad Age Library in New York, "Nick said. "I'm going to write an article to complement the photos that will meet your railways. Especially your Beyer-Garratt locomotives."
  
  Nick didn't miss the look Barnes and Tillbourne exchanged. It seemed like he was saying: "Maybe, maybe not" - it seems like every unwanted scoundrel thinks they can hide anything by posing as a journalist around them.
  
  "I'm flattered," Tillborn said, but he didn't say, "What can I do for you?"
  
  "Oh, I don't want you to do anything, just tell me where I can take a picture of odin around German Union class 2-2-2 plus 2-6-2 steam locomotives with a swinging front water tank. We don't have anything, you know how they are in the States, and I don't think you'll be using ih for long."
  
  A satisfied, slightly glazed look spread across Tillborn's serious features. “yeah. Very interesting engine." He opened the drawer of his giant chair and took out a photograph. "This is a photo we took. Hands-on photos of the car. No life, but beautiful details."
  
  Nick examined the ego and nodded admiringly. "A beautiful beast. This is a beautiful picture ..."
  
  "You can get an ego. We made some prints. If you use ego, then rely on the Rhodesian Railways. Did you notice the model on that foreground table?"
  
  "Yes." Nick turned to look at the gleaming little locomotive and put love in his eyes. "Another Garratt. GM class with four cylinders. The most powerful engine in the world, powered by a sixty-pound ramp."
  
  "Actually! What would you say if it told you that it still works?"
  
  "No way!"
  
  "Yes!"
  
  Tillbourne beamed. Nick looked surprised and pleased. He desperately tried to remember how many unique locomotives were listed there. He couldn't.
  
  George Barnes sighed and handed Nick the card. "I see you two will get along. Mr. Grant, if you remember anything from your trip to Van Preez that might help me or Lieutenant Sandeman, will you let me know?"
  
  "I'll definitely call you." You know, I won't remember anything, Nick thought, you're hoping I'll run into something and I'll have to call you and you'll work on it from there. "Nice to meet you."
  
  Tillbourne didn't even notice the ego of leaving. He said: "You will certainly have the best photo opportunities around Bulawayo. Have you seen the pictures of David Morgan in Trains?"
  
  “yeah. Excellent"
  
  "How are your train passengers doing in the United States? I was wondering ..."
  
  Nick really enjoyed the half-hour conversations about railways, and is grateful for the detailed research on Rhodesian Railways, and for his unusual memory. Tillborn, a real fan who was in love with her work, showed Em photos related to the country's transport history, which would be invaluable for a real journalist, and asked for tea.
  
  When the conversation turned to air and truck competitions, Nick made his move. "Single trains and new types of large, specialized freight cars are saving us in the United States," he said. "Although thousands of small freight access roads are abandoned. I assume you have the same problem as in England."
  
  Tillborn walked over to the giant map with groans. "See the blue bookmarks? Unused access roads".
  
  Nick joined him, shaking his head. "It reminds me of our western roads. Fortunately, several new driveways are designed for new businesses. A giant plant or a new mine that provides a large tonnage. However, I believe that with sanctions, you will not be able to build large factories now. the construction site has been postponed ."
  
  Tillbourne sighed. "You're so right. But the day will come ..."
  
  Nick nodded confidentially. "Of course, the world knows about your interline movement. From Portuguese and South African routes to Zambia and so on. But if the Chinese build this road, they threaten ..."
  
  They can. They have teams working on surveys."
  
  Nick pointed to a red marker on the railway line near the border on the way to Lorenco Marquez. "I bet this is a new platform for transporting off-road oil and stuff. Do you have enough capacity to do this?"
  
  Tillbourne looked pleased. "You're right. We're using all the power we have, so Bayer-Garratts is still running. We just don't have enough diesel engines yet."
  
  "I hope you'll never have enough. Although her, I believe that as an acting official you like ihc..."
  
  "I'm not entirely sure." "But progress cannot be stopped. Diesels are lighter on rails, but steam locomotives are economical. We have an order for diesel engines."
  
  "I won't ask you for what country."
  
  "Please, not forever. I don't have to tell you."
  
  Nick pointed to another red mark. "Voting is another new one, not far from Shamva, Decent tonnage"
  
  
  
  "
  
  "Actually. A few cars a week, but this will increase."
  
  Nick followed the tracks on the map, apparently with casual curiosity. "Another voice. It looks solid."
  
  "Oh, yes. The Taylor Hill-Boreman Shipyard. They give us orders for several cars a day. Her, I understand that they made an amazing binding. I hope it holds up."
  
  "That's great. A few wagons a day?"
  
  "Ah, yes. The syndicate hit him. Foreign connections and all that sort of stuff are pretty hushed up these days, but how can you be reserved when we build cars from there, never when?" Her hotel gave them a small carrier , but we didn't have any extra ones, so they ordered their own."
  
  "I assume it's from the same country where you ordered the diesels." Nick laughed and held up his hand. "Don't tell me where!"
  
  Ego master joined in the chuckle. "I won't."
  
  "Do you think I should take some photos of ih new yards? Or it will... uh, undiplomatic. Don't make a fuss about it."
  
  "I wouldn't be Stahl. There are so many other good scenes. They are extremely secretive steamers. I mean, they act in isolation and all that. Road security. They even get indignant when our train crews enter, but they can't do anything about it. it's up to them to ferret until they get their own. There was little talk of them abusing the help of Negroes. Rumor has it, I believe, that no sensible salesman treats his workers badly. It can't set up production in this way, and the labor council will have something to say about it."
  
  Nick left with a warm handshake and a good feeling. He decided to send Roger Tillborn a copy of Alexander's Iron Horses: American Locomotives. The clerk is a well-deserved one. Multiple cars a day on Taylor Hill-Boremana!
  
  In the rotunda of the sprawling complex of buildings, Nick paused to look at a photograph of Cecil Rhodes next to an early Rhodesian train. Ego's always wary eyes saw a man walk down the hallway he'd just left and slow down when he saw Nick ... or some other reason. He was eighty feet away. He looked vaguely familiar. Nick recorded the fact. He decided not to go out openly, but to walk along the long gallery, which was clean, cool, and dim, with the sun shining through the oval arches like rows of narrow yellow spears.
  
  Despite Tillborne's enthusiasm, one could see that the Rhodesian Railways were in the same position as the rest of the world. Fewer passengers, larger and longer loads, fewer staff, and fewer rooms. Half of the gallery's offices were closed, and some of the darkened doors still bore nostalgic signs: Salisbury Baggage Manager. Accessories for sleeping cars. Assistant to the ticket salesman wizard.
  
  Behind Nick, the Waiting Room Staff reached the rotunda and peered over the column at AXman's retreating back. As Nick turned straight down another passageway that led to the tracks and marshalling yards, I moved quickly on my rubber boots and stopped just around the corner to watch Nick step out into the paved yard. Stash was thirty feet away from that broad back. He chose this particular spot, open under the shoulder and to the left of the spine, where the knife's ego should enter-hard, deep, and horizontal, so that he could choose the cut between the ribs.
  
  Nick felt oddly uneasy. It is unlikely that ego's keen hearing picked up the suspicious glide of Stash's almost silent foot, or that the smell of the man left in the rotunda when he entered the building, behind Nick, had awakened some primitive warning gland in Nick's nostrils and warned ego. to warn the ego brain. However, this was a fact that Nick resented, and Nick didn't know that no horse or dog would approach Stash Foster and stand next to him without rebelling, making a sound, and wanting to attack or run away.
  
  The courtyard had once been a busy place where engines and vehicles stopped to take orders, and crews stopped to confer with officials or gather supplies. It was clean and deserted now. Diesel was passing, pulling a long van. Nick raised a hand to the driver and watched them disappear into view. Cars rumbled and rattled.
  
  He closed his fingers around the knife he carried in the scabbard attached to his ego belt. He could reach it by sniffing the air like this. It hung low, the leather hanger bent as he sat down. He liked to talk to people and think smugly, " If only you knew! I have a sword in my lap. It could be in your stomach in a second."
  
  Stash's blade was double-edged, with a chunky handle, a short version of Hugo Nick's own. Ego The five-inch blade didn't have Hugo's superior quality, but it retained the sharp edges on both sides. Em liked to stroke ego with a small whetstone that he carried in his watch pocket. Stick the ego in the right side - move it through the sides to the side - take it out! And you can insert the ego again before your victim recovers from the shock.
  
  The sun glinted on steel as Stash held ee lowly and firmly, like an assassin, would strike and slash and leap forward. He stared at the spot on Nick's back where the tip would enter.
  
  Minibuses sped by mimmo on the road
  
  
  
  
  
  "Nick didn't hear anything. However, they tell the story of a French fighter pilot named Castellux, who allegedly sensed the attackers on his tail. One day, three Fokkers - one-two-three-swooped down on him. Castellux dodged them, one-two-three.
  
  Perhaps it was a solar flare that flashed around space in the blade of the nearest window, or a piece of metal that glinted briefly to catch Nick's eye and disturb his alert senses. He never knew - but he suddenly turned his head to check his way back, and saw the baboon's face darting toward him at a distance of less than eight feet, saw the blade ...
  
  Nick fell to the right, kicking off with his left foot, twisting his body. I paid the price for my concentration and lack of flexibility. He tried to follow that spot on Nick's back, but his ego's own momentum took him too far, too fast. He braked, turned, slowed, and threw the knife blade down.
  
  The AX manual of hand-to-hand combat suggests: When faced with a man holding a knife correctly, first consider a quick kick to the testicles or running.
  
  There's a lot more here, about finding weapons and so on, but even now Nick has realized that their first two defenses don't work. He was down and too twisted to kick, and as for running ...
  
  The blade hit the emu firmly and sincerely in the chest. He writhed in his back and felt a shiver of pain as the blade sank under his right nipple and made a dull clanging sound. Above him, the Child was pressed up, carried forward by the ego's own powerful spring. Nick gripped his deadly right wrist with his left hand, his reflexes as quick and precise as a swordsman's when deflecting an apprentice's attack. He bent his knees and tried to move away, feeling a sudden sense of unease at the crushing force of his grip, behind which the two-ton Alenka seemed to lie, and the force enough to break the bones in his ego arm.
  
  He wasn't a novice. He turned the knife hand toward Nick's special finger , an impossible-to-resist breakaway maneuver, a tactic that any active woman can use to break free of the most powerful man. Nick felt the ego, the power, slip away as the arm spun; the blade prevented the emu from reaching Wilhelmina. He braced himself and pushed with all his muscular strength, throwing Stash four or five feet back just before the death grip on the knife arm was broken.
  
  He regained his balance, ready to strike again, but paused for a moment when he saw a surprising thing: Nick ripped open the left sleeve of his doublet and shirt sleeve to get Hugo out unhindered. He saw the second flickering blade flash again and again, its blade a yard away from his own.
  
  He lunged. The opposite blade dived, parried ego's blow with a miniature left turn and an upward thrust of an ante. He could feel the superb muscles carrying the ego knife and arm up, and he felt horribly naked and helpless as he tried to regain control, pull back his blade and arm, and cut again. He pressed his hand to his chest again as that horribly fast piece of steel he'd collided with rose up, crossed the ego blade, and caught the emu in the throat. He gasped, slammed forward at the man who was being lifted off the ground, and felt horrified as his left arm rose like a granite block against the ego of his right wrist. He tried to turn back, to throw a punch to the side.
  
  That dreadful blade swung down to the right as Nick feinted, and Nick stupidly moved his arm to parry. Nick felt the pressure on his blocking wrist and pressed down on Stash's hands lightly and sincerely.
  
  I knew it was coming. He knew it was with them ferrets, as that first glittering moment headed for ego's throat, but for a moment he thought he had saved himself and would win. He felt terrified and terrified. I didn't expect a victim with my hands tied ...
  
  Ego, the brain was still anxiously shouting commands to the overplayed body, when panic seized it - simultaneously with Nick's blade, which entered next to ego Adam's apple and completely passed through ego's throat and spinal cord, the blade protruded like a dragon with a metallic tongue under the hairline. . Stahl day is red and black with golden flashes. The last blazing colors I've ever seen are here.
  
  When he fell, Nick pulled Hugo away and walked away. They didn't always die right away.
  
  He was lying in a wide pool of blood. Ego wriggled in semicircles of red patterns. He hit his head in the fall. The slit throat turned what might have been a scream into an unearthly whine and creak.
  
  Nick pushed Stash's knife away and searched the fallen man, staying away from the blood and nibbling at his pockets like a gull pecking at a corpse. He picked up his wallet and card case. He wiped Hugo on the man's jacket, high on his shoulder where it might have been human blood, dodging the hand that was now groping for ego in its death throes.
  
  Nick went back to the entrance of the building, and Stahl waited, watching. Stash's convulsions were diminishing, like a wind-up toy running downhill. Mimmo passed the last van, and Nick was glad that our sites weren't at the end of it, in our cabs. The courtyard was quiet. He went through the gallery, found a little-used door in the street, and walked away.
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  Nick went back to Macleas. It's useless to call a taxi and give the police another time. Barnes will decide that the ego should be asked about the death in the railway building, and a long walk is a flexible unit of time.
  
  
  
  
  He bought a newspaper as he passed through the lobby. In his room, he undressed, poured cold water over the two-inch patch on his chest, and examined the card case and wallet he had taken from the man. They told him there wasn't much besides Stash's name and an address in Bulawayo. Would Alan Wilson send an ego? When defending millions, you get rough, but he couldn't believe that backstabbing was Wilson's style.
  
  That left Judas - or "Mike Bohr" or someone else in THB. Never dropping Gus Boyd, Ian Masters, and even Peter van Preese, Johnson, Howe, Maxwell ... Nick sighed. He put a wad of bills in his wallet along with his own money, not counting ih, cut up the wallet, burned everything he could in an ashtray, and flushed the rest down the toilet.
  
  He carefully examined the fabric of his coat, shirt, and tank top. Web blood was from ego's own knife scratch. He rinsed his tank top and shirt in cold water and tore ih to shreds, removing the labels from the collars. As he unwrapped the clean shirt, he looked down at Hugo, who was tied to his bare forearm, tenderly and regretfully. Then he called the Masters office and ordered a car.
  
  Don't give up the doublet; Barnes is right to ask. He found a tailor shop far away from the hotel and asked for it to be repaired. He drove a few miles towards Selous, admiring the countryside, and turned back towards the city. The vast groves of fruit trees looked exactly like parts of California, with long irrigation lines and giant sprayers pulled by tractors. One day he saw a horse-drawn spray cart and stopped to watch it being driven by Negroes. It belongs to them that the ih trade is doomed, just like the cotton pickers in Dixie. Ego's attention was drawn to a strange tree, and he used his own guidebook to find out who-ego-was a candelabra or a giant milkweed.
  
  Barnes was waiting in the hotel lobby. The interrogation was thorough, but it came to nothing. Did he know Stash Foster? How did he get back from Tillbourne's office to his hotel? "What time did he arrive?" Did he know anyone who belonged to Zimbabwe's political parties?
  
  Nick was surprised, because the only completely honest rheumatism test he gave was in the last spin. "No, I don't think so. Now tell me - why the questions?"
  
  "Today, a man was stabbed to death at the railway station. For example, while you were there."
  
  Nick looked startled. "Not-Roger? Oh no ..."
  
  "No, no. The person who asked her if you knew. Reception areas".
  
  "Do you want to describe the ego?"
  
  Barnes did. Nick shrugged. Barnes left. But Nick didn't let himself get excited. He was a smart man.
  
  He returned the car to Masters and flew the DC-3 through Caribou to the main camp at Wanki National Park. He was glad to find a fully modern resort in the main camp. The manager accepted Ego as one of the escorts of Edman's tour, which was due to arrive in the morning, and put Ego up in a comfortable two-bedroom chalet - " make it free on the first visit. night."
  
  Nick began to appreciate the escort business.
  
  Although Nick had read about the National parque de Vanki, he was amazed. He knew that five thousand square miles were home to seven thousand elephants, huge herds of buffalo, as well as rhinos, zebras, giraffes, leopards, antelopes in endless variety, and dozens of other species that he didn't even bother to remember. Still, Main Camp was as comfortable as possible thanks to the products of civilization, with an airstrip where CAA DC-3s were met by late-model cars and countless minibuses striped black and white like mechanical zebras.
  
  As he walked back to the main cabin, he saw Bruce Todd, Ian Masters ' "soccer star" man, standing at the entrance.
  
  He said hello to Nick: "Hi, I heard her, you arrived. Do you like it?"
  
  "Great. We're both early ..."
  
  "I'm a kind of advanced scout. Checking out rooms, cars, and all that. Feeling like a sunset?"
  
  They walked into the cocktail lounge, two tanned young men who attracted women's eyes.
  
  For the whiskey and soda, Nick's body relaxed, but his ego was still active. It made sense for Masters to send a " front-runner." It was also possible, and even likely, that the Salisbury athlete Todd was connected to George Barnes and the Rhodesian Security Forces. Of course, Barnes would have considered putting a tail on the Andrew Grant for a while; he was the prime suspect in Foster's bizarre death.
  
  He thought of the train cars that left the THB mine complex every day. There will be no point in using invoices. Perhaps chromium or nickel ore with gold is hidden in any wagon they choose? That would be smart and practical. But the wagons? They must be dripping with this stuff! He tried to remember the shipping address of Alenka asbestos. He doubted he'd read about them, because he couldn't remember them.
  
  Penalties-ha! He didn't have a definite opinion on what was right and wrong around them, or on related political issues, but he applied the old bitter fact: where there are enough involved, self-interested people, the rest of the rules don't apply.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wilson, Masters, Todd, and others probably knew exactly what THB was doing and approved of it. They may even have been paid. One thing was certain: in this situation, he could only rely on himself completely. All the others were suspects.
  
  And the assassins that Judas was to send, the effective forces of assassins that he could send all over Africa? It matched the man. This meant that there was more money in the ego pocket, and it helped the emu get rid of a lot of unwanted enemies. Ego mercenaries will be even more useful someday. Someday... Yeah, with the new Nazis.
  
  Then he thought of Bootie, Johnson, and van Prez. They didn't fit the template. You can't imagine them moving just for money. Nazism? It really wasn't like that. And Mrs. Ryerson?" A woman like her could enjoy the good life in Charlottesville-driving cars, doing community service, being admired, invited everywhere. However, like several other AX agents he had met, she had isolated herself here. When it came down to it, what was her own motivation? AH offered hey, twenty grand a year to oversee ih security operations, but he roamed the outdoor pool for less money. All you could tell yourself is that you want your vesa ounce to be on the right side of the scale. Okay, but who says which side is right? A man could ...
  
  "...two watering holes nearby - Nyamandhlovu and Guvulala Pans, " Todd said. Nick listened intently. "You can sit high up and watch the animals come to drink in the evening. We'll go there tomorrow. Girls will love steenbock. They look like Disney's Bambi."
  
  "Show ih to Teddy Northway," Nick said, and Ego was amused by the pink coloring of Todd's tanned neck. "Is there a spare car that I can use?"
  
  "Not really. We have our own two sedans, and we use guided minibuses for guests. You know you can't drive here after dusk. And don't let guests out around the cars. This can get a little dangerous with some livestock. Lions sometimes appear in prides of fifteen or so ."
  
  Nick hid his disappointment. They were less than a hundred miles away from the THB property. The road on this side didn't quite reach him, but he guessed that there might be unmarked trails where he could park his car or, if necessary, take a walk. He had a small compass, a mosquito net, and a plastic poncho so small they could all fit in his pocket. The ego of the little card was five years old, but it will do.
  
  They went to the cafeteria and ate the canna steaks, which Nick found excellent. Later, they danced with some very nice girls, and Nick apologized shortly before eleven. Regardless of whether or not he was able to explore THB from now on, he lit enough fuses that one around unknown explosive forces might very soon be released. It was a good time to stay in shape.
  
  * * *
  
  He joined Bruce Todd for an early breakfast, and they drove the fourteen miles to Dett station. The long, shiny train was disgorging a crowd of people, including five or six tour groups in addition to ihc. Two groups had to wait for a car. Masters was wise to put his man in his place. They had two sedans, a minivan and a Volvo station wagon.
  
  The girls were bright and radiant, chatting about their adventures. Nick helped Gus with his luggage. "A smooth journey?" he asked the senior escort.
  
  "They are happy. This is a special train." The goose chuckled with the heavy bag. "It's not that ordinary non-valuable legs are better than Penn Central!"
  
  After a hearty "early tea", they drove in the same cars along the stormy Bund. Management-Wankie was driving a small striped bus, and at the manager's request, since he didn't have any people, Goose and Bruce took the sedans, and Nick, got behind the wheel of a Volvo van. They stopped at Kaushe Pan, the Mtoa dam, and stopped several times on the narrow road to watch the game herds.
  
  Nick admitted that it was amazing. As soon as you left the Main Camp, you entered another world, harsh, primitive, menacing and beautiful. He chose Bootie, Ruth Crossman, and Janet Olsson for his car, and Em liked the company. The girls used hundreds of feet of film footage on ostriches, baboons, and fallow deer. They groaned sympathetically when they saw the lions tearing apart the carcass of a dead zebra.
  
  Near the Chompani dam, a helicopter flew overhead, looking out of place. It had to be a pterodactyl. Soon after, the small caravan gathered together, sharing a cold ale that Bruce had prepared from the portable refrigerator, and then, like tour groups, they dispersed. The van stopped to inspect a large herd of buffalo, and the sedan's passengers were taking photos of wildebeest and, at the urging of the girls, wildebeest. Nick rolled the cart along a long, winding loop of road that engages, can pass through the Arizona hills during a dry sprint.
  
  Ahead, at the bottom of the hill, he saw a truck stop at an intersection where the roads, if he remembered the map, branched off to Wanki, Matetsi, and back to the Main Camp by a different route. The truck was marked with large letters Wankie Research Project.
  
  
  
  
  As they drove away, he saw that the panel van had stopped two hundred feet along the northeast road. They disguised themselves in the same way. It was strange that he hadn't noticed the park administration putting his name on everything. They liked to leave an impression of naturalness. Strange.
  
  He slowed down. A stocky man came out of the truck and waved a red flag. Nick thought back to the new Russian construction projects he'd seen in Salisbury - there were warning flags, but at the moment he couldn't remember seeing red. Strange again.
  
  He snorted, his nostrils flaring like those of the beasts surrounding ih at the smell of something unusual that could mean danger. He slowed down, squinted, and looked at the flagship, which someone denied the reports that appeared in the media. What? Raise a baboon! There was no exact resemblance to the face, except for the high skull, but the ego walk was ape-like, arrogant and yet a certain straightness with the flag. The workers treat them casually, not like the pennants on Swiss banners.
  
  Nick took off his bullying foot and stepped on the gas pedal.
  
  Bootie, who was sitting next to him, yelled, " Hey, Andy, do you see the flag?"
  
  The road wasn't big enough to let a person pass, the low drop ended on one side, and the truck blocked the narrow passage. Nick took aim at him and blew the horn. The man waved the flag crazily, then jumped out of the way as the cart flew by mimicking where he was standing. In the backseat, the girls gasped. Bootie said in a high pitched voice: "Hey, Andy!"
  
  Nick was looking at the cab of the truck as the mimmo passed by. The driver was a stocky, surly man. If you had chosen the norm for a Rhodesian, he would not have been one. Pale white skin, hostility to humans. Nick caught a glimpse of the man sitting next to him, surprised that the Volvo had sped up instead of stopping. Chinese! And while the only out-of-focus image in the AX files was a bad shot, it could have been Her Kalgan.
  
  As they passed a mimmo delivered sedan, the back door opened and a man began to climb out of the nah, dragging something that could be a weapon. The Volvo passed mimmo before he could identify the object, but also in the hand that came out in front was a large automatic rifle. Undoubtedly.
  
  Nick's heart went cold. It was a quarter of a mile down the winding road to the first turn and safety. Girls! Do they shoot?
  
  "Lie down, girls. On the floor. Now!"
  
  Shots fired! Oni-the message says.
  
  Shots fired! He boasted a Volvo carburetor, he sucked out the gas and loosed the power without hesitation. He thought one of those shots hit the car, but it could be selfishness or a road bump. He guessed that the man on the small truck had fired twice, and then got out to take aim. Nick fervently hoped he wasn't a good shot.
  
  Shots fired!
  
  There was a slightly wider roadbed, and Nick used it to save the car. They were really racing now.
  
  Shots fired! Weaker, but you can't escape the bullets. Shots fired!
  
  Maybe the bastard used his last bullet. A shot!
  
  The Volvo flew over the gap like a boy racing into a lake for his first spring jump.
  
  Ruba-a-du-du-du. Nick gasped. Man in the back of an abandoned sedan mistletoe submachine gun. He must have felt the ego from the execution permission flag. They were over the hill.
  
  Ahead was a long, winding descent with a warning sign at the bottom. He sped up halfway, then clicked on mockery. They must be doing seventy-five, but he didn't change the focus of his eyes to look at the meter. How fast will this truck roll? If it was good or upgraded, they'd be sitting ducks in the Volvo if it caught up. The big truck wasn't a threat yet.
  
  Sure, the big truck wasn't a threat, but Nick didn't know that. It was Judas's own design, with waist-deep armor, a 460-horsepower engine, and heavy machine guns fore and aft with full 180-degree sectors of fire through ports usually hidden by panels.
  
  Ego racks held submachine guns, grenades, and rifles with sniper scopes. But like the tanks that Hitler first sent to Russia, it was damn good for the job. It was difficult to maneuver, and on narrow roads the speed did not exceed 50 mph, because the turns slowed down the speed. The Volvo was out of sight before the "tank" could move.
  
  Another thing is the speed of the sedan. It was steep, and the driver, growling half-maliciously at the Krol next to him as they rolled, was a hot guy with horsepower. The windscreen, as it was listed in local spare parts catalogs, was expertly broken and hinged so that the right half could be folded up for a clear view ahead or used as a shooting window. Krol crouched down and opened it, holding his Submachine Gun, slung it temporarily over his shoulder, then lifted ego to the opening. He fired a few shots at the heavier Skoda, but switched to 7.92 in close quarters. Whatever it was, he prided himself on his skill with submachine guns.
  
  With a roar, they flew over the hummock onto the road and descended the slope on springs. All they saw in the Volvo was a cloud of dust and a disappearing shape. "Go," Krol snapped. "I'll hold the fire until we get the ih done."
  
  The driver was a tough city Croat who called himself Bloch after joining the Germans when Emu was sixteen.
  
  
  
  
  
  Young or not, he had such a brutal reputation for persecuting his own people that he retreated with his Wehrmacht friends all the way to Berlin. Smart, he survived. He was a good driver and was adept at driving a fast-paced car. They flew down the slope, turned a smooth corner, and passed the Volvo in a long, straight line that gradually led to a line of jagged hills.
  
  "We'll catch ih," said Flea confidently. "We have speed."
  
  Nick had the same idea-they'd catch us. He followed the sedan's feed for a long time in the rearview mirror as it slid out around a bend, turned slightly, straightened up, and picked up speed like a big gawk. There was an experienced driver and a very good engine - " against a Volvo with an experienced driver and a good standard engine. The result was predictable. He used all his skills and courage to maintain every inch that separated the two cars, which was now less than a quarter of a mile.
  
  The road ran through a brown-sand, mixed-green landscape, skirting cliffs, skirting dry watercourses, crossing or winding hills. This is no longer a modern road, although it is well maintained and serviceable. For a moment, Nick thought he'd been here before, and then he realized why. The terrain and position were a replica of the chase scenes that Emu had enjoyed as a child in the TV series. Ih was usually done in California, on the vote so, in rural areas.
  
  He was feeling fine now. He swung it over the stone bridge and made a light sliding sign to the right, which used all sections of the road to avoid losing speed more than necessary. For example, on the next turn, he passed one of the minibuses. He hoped the sedan would meet Ego on the bridge and delay him.
  
  Bootie, Nick noticed and appreciated, had kept the girls quiet, but now that they were out of sight of their pursuers, Janet Olsson opened up. "Mr. Grant! What happened? Did they really shoot at us?"
  
  For a moment, Nick considered telling them that it was all part of the amusement park experience, like fake stagecoach and train robberies on Border Town rides, but then he changed his mind. They need to know it's serious so they can duck or run away.
  
  "Bandits," he said, which was close enough.
  
  "Well, damn her," Ruth Crossman said without a tremor in her even voice. Only the curse word, which normally she would never have used, betrayed her excitement. Tough girl, Nick thought.
  
  "Can this be part of the revolution?" Bootie asked.
  
  "Sure," Nick said. "Sooner or later, it will appear everywhere, but I feel sorry for us if it happens sooner."
  
  "It was like this... It's planned, " Buti said.
  
  "Well planned, just a few holes. Fortunately, we found some."
  
  "How did you know they were fakes?"
  
  "These trucks were too decorated. Large signs. Flag. Everything is so methodical and logical. And did you notice how this guy handled the flag? It was like he was leading a parade instead of working on a hot day."
  
  Janet said from behind,"Well, not in sight."
  
  "This bus could have slowed down ih at the bridge," Nick replied. "You'll see ih next time. There's about fifty miles of this road ahead, and I'm not looking for much help. Goose and Bruce were too far away to understand what had happened."
  
  He sped past a mimmo jeep, which was rolling peacefully in the ih direction in which the elderly couple was. They broke through a narrow gorge and found themselves on a wide, barren plain surrounded by hills. The bottom of the small valley was smeared with abandoned coal mines, similar to the bleak areas of Colorado mines before the foliage grew again.
  
  "What ... what are we going to do?" Janet asked timidly. "Shut up, let him drive and think," Bootie ordered.
  
  Nick was grateful for that. He had a Wilhelmina and fourteen rounds of ammunition. He had plastic and fuses under his belt, but it took time and space, and he couldn't count on anything.
  
  A few old side roads made it possible to go around and attack, but with a pistol against submachine guns and girls in the car, this was not the case. The truck wasn't out of the valley yet; ih must have pulled up on the bridge. He unbuckled his belt and zipped up his fly.
  
  That's - " Bootie quipped, with a slight tremor in her words: "Let's talk about the time and place!"
  
  Nick chuckled. He pulled on a flat khaki belt, unbuckled the ego, and pulled it out. "Take this. Dobby. Look in the pockets next to the buckle. Find a flat black object that looks like plastic."
  
  "I have one. What is it?"
  
  "Explosive. We may not have the chance to use the ego, but let's be prepared. Now go to the pocket that doesn't have the black block. You will find several pipe cleaners. Give ih to me."
  
  She obeyed. His fingers found the "tube" without the control knob at the end that distinguished electric thermal detonators from fuses.
  
  
  
  
  
  He chose the safety catch. "Pawn the rest back." She did. "Take this one and feel the edges of the block with your fingers to find a small wax drop. If you look closely, it covers the hole."
  
  "Got it"
  
  "Stick a thread of this wire in the hole. Penetrate the wax. Be careful not to bend the wire, otherwise you may damage it."
  
  He couldn't look; the road wound through old mine dumps. She said, " I see. It's been almost an inch."
  
  "Actually. There's a lid. The wax was supposed to prevent sparks from entering. Don't smoke, girls."
  
  They all assured him that nicotine was ih's last thought right now.
  
  Nick cursed the fact that they were driving too fast to stop as they flew past mimmo dilapidated buildings that matched the ego goals. They were different in size and shape, had windows and were accessible by several gravel roads. Then they fell into a small depression with a bend and roll of springs, passed an ominous pool of yellow-green water, and flew up into another part of the old mine slag.
  
  There were more buildings ahead. Nick said, " We have to take the risk. Her, I approach the building. When I tell her to go, go! Do you understand?"
  
  He guessed that these strained choking sounds meant " yes." Reckless speed and implementations have reached ih imagination. After fifty miles, the horror will develop. He saw the truck drive into the valley and the beetle crash into the barren and arid landscape. It was about half a mile away. He's teased, jab-jab-press ...
  
  A wide side road, probably a truck exit, led to the next group of buildings. He slammed into it and drove two hundred yards toward the buildings. It will not be difficult for the truck to follow the ih cloud of dust.
  
  The first buildings were warehouses, offices and shops.
  
  He assumed that in the old days this village should have been autonomous - ih was about twenty. He braked again on what looked like an abandoned ghost town street with lots of buildings, and stopped at what might be a store. He shouted,"Come on!"
  
  He ran to the side of the building, found a window, and hit the glass hard, scraping the shards off the frame as best he could.
  
  "Inside!" He lifted Ruth Crossman through the opening, then the other two. "Stay out of ih eyes. Hide if you find a place."
  
  He ran back to the Volvo and drove through the village, slowing down as he passed row after row of monotonous cottages that had undoubtedly once been white working-class neighborhoods. The natives would have a plot in a thicket of thatched huts. As the road began to turn, he stopped and looked back. The truck had turned off the main road and was picking up speed in ego's direction.
  
  He's been waiting, I want him to have something to strengthen the back seat - and it's time to do it. Even a few bales of cotton or hay will reduce the itch in your back. Once he was sure they'd noticed him, he followed the road that led up a winding slope to what must have been the works; it looked like an artificial hill with a small pond and a mine at the top.
  
  A broken line of rusty narrow-gauge tracks ran parallel to the road, crossing it several times. He reached the top of the artificial hill and chuckled. The only way down was the way he had come. That was a good thing, it would make ih overconfident. They decided that they had it, but it would fall with its shield or on nen. He grinned, or thought that the ego grimace was a smirk. Such thoughts kept you from shivering, imagining what might happen, or feeling a chill in your stomach.
  
  He roared in a semicircle around the buildings and found what he was looking for, a solid little oblong building near the water's edge. It looked lonely and ruined, but solid and solid, a windowless oblong structure about thirty feet long. He hoped the ego roof was as solid as the walls. It was made by galvanized irons.
  
  The Volvo pulled up on two wheels as he turned ego around a gray wall; out of ih's line of sight, it stopped. He jumped out, looking at the roof of the car and the roof of the building, moving with a low silhouette like a dragon. Now, if only these two were true to their training! And if ih was at most two ... Perhaps there was another man lurking behind him, but he doubted it.
  
  He was lying in Rivne. You've never broken the horizon in a place like this, and you haven't made it through it. He heard the truck pull out onto the plateau and slowly. They will be looking at the cloud of dust that ended at the last sharp turn of the Volvo. He heard the truck approaching and slowed down. He took out a pack of matches, held the plastic at the ready, the safety catch horizontal. I felt better when I put my hand on Wilhelmina.
  
  They stopped. He guessed they were two hundred feet away from the cabin. He heard the door open. "Down," came a veiled voice.
  
  Yes, Nick thought, follow your pattern.
  
  Another door opened, but none of them closed. These boys were precise workers. He heard footsteps on gravel, a growl that sounded like " Flanken."
  
  The fuses were twelve-second wicks, Light or subtract two depending on how carefully you lit the thread.
  
  
  
  
  
  The creak of a match is absurdly, terribly loud. Nick lit the wick-now it would burn even in a storm or under water-and knelt down.
  
  The ego of adding up the dollar has fallen. Ego's ears gave out ego, the truck was at least three hundred feet away. Two men were getting out of it to walk around the building from both sides. They were focused on the corners ahead, but not so much that they weren't looking at the horizon. He saw " the submachine gun held by the man to his left go up. Nick changed his mind, tossed the plastic into the gun carrier, and fell with a snarl and a bitter crash like cloth being torn. He heard a scream. Nine-ten-eleven-twelve-boom!
  
  He had no illusions. The small bomb was powerful, but with any luck, it would work. As he made his way across the roof to a point far away from where he had just appeared, he peered over the edge.
  
  The man carrying the MP 44 fell, writhing and groaning, the massive weapon five feet ahead of him. Apparently, he was trying to run to the right, and the bomb exploded behind him. It didn't look badly damaged. Nick hoped he was shaken enough to remain dazed for a few minutes; now it was the other man who was bothering him. Ego was nowhere to be seen.
  
  Nick crawled forward, but saw nothing. The other one must have gone over to the side of the new buildings. You can wait or you can move. Nick moved as quickly and quietly as he could. He plopped down on the next rim, on the side where the gunslinger was heading. As he'd expected, nothing. He ran to the back of the roof, putting Wilhelmina against it at the same time as his head. Black scarred all over the hotel, and it was empty.
  
  Dangerous! By this point, this person will be crawling on moans, possibly turning into a far corner. He went to the front corner and looked out. He was wrong.
  
  When Flea saw the shape of the head on the roof and the exploding grenade flying towards him and Krol, he rushed forward. Correct tactics; go away, get under the water and sit down-if you can't drop your helmet on the bomb. The explosion was surprisingly powerful, even at eighty feet. It shook the ego to its teeth.
  
  Instead of walking along the wall, he squatted in the center of it, looking up from left to right. Left-right-up. He looked up as Nick looked at him , and for a moment each man was looking into a face he would never forget.
  
  Bloch had a mauser balanced in his right hand and handled it well, but he was still a little dazed, and even if he wasn't, the result couldn't be doubtful. Nick fired with the instant reflexes of an athlete and the skills of tens of thousands of shots, burning slow, rapid-fire and in any position, including hanging over roofs. He picked out the blade on Flea's upturned nose where Gawk would land, and the nine-millimeter gawk missed by a quarter of an inch. This opened the back of the ego's head.
  
  Even with the blow, Flea fell forward, as men usually do, and Nick saw the gaping wound. It was an unpleasant sight. He jumped off the roof and ran around the corner of the building - cautiously-and found Krol in shock, but reached for his weapon. Nick ran over and picked it up. Krol stared at him, his mouth working, blood running around the corner of his mouth and one eye.
  
  "Who are you?" Nick asked. Sometimes they talk in shock. Krol didn't do it.
  
  Nick quickly searched it, finding no other weapon. There was nothing but money in the purse around the alligator skin. He quickly returned to the dead man. He only had a driver's license issued to John Blake. Nick said to the corpse: "You don't look like John Blake."
  
  Carrying the Mauser, he walked over to the truck. It doesn't seem to have been affected by the explosion. He opened the hood, unfastened the distributor cap, and pawned the ego in a minute. In the back, he found another submachine gun and a metal crate with eight magazines, and at least two hundred extra rounds of ammunition. He took two magazines, wondering why there weren't more guns in there. Judas was known for his love of superior firepower.
  
  He put the guns on the back of the Volvo and rolled down the hill. Emu had to knock twice before the girls appeared at the window. "We heard gunshots," Bootie said in a high-pitched voice. She swallowed and lowered her voice.
  
  "Of course." He helped them. "Our friends in the small truck won't bother us again. Let's get out of here before the big one shows up."
  
  Janet Olsson had a small scratch on her arm from a broken glass. "Keep this clean until we get something around the meds," Nick ordered. "You can catch anything here."
  
  Ego's attention was drawn to a humming babble in the sky. From the southeast, where they had come from, a helicopter appeared, floating along the road like a scout bee. Nick thought about it: "Oh no! Not exactly-and fifty miles away with all those girls!
  
  The whirlwind spotted ih, flew over, and continued to hover near the truck, which was standing silently on the plateau. "Let's go!" said Nick.
  
  When they reached the main road, a large truck drove out through the ravines at the end of the valley.
  
  
  
  
  Nick could imagine a two-way conversation on the radio as the helicopter described the scene, pausing to peer at the body of " John Blake." As soon as you decide ...
  
  Nick raced northeast toward the Volvo. They decided. A truck shot at them from a long distance. It looked like a fifty-gauge, but the truck must have been a European heavyweight.
  
  With a sigh of relief, Nick spun the Volvo around the bend leading up to the bank. The big track did not show speed - only firepower.
  
  On the other hand, the passenger car gave them all the speed they needed!
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  The Volvo raced to the top of the first mountain like a mouse in a maze with food at the end. On the way, they passed a tourist caravan around four cars. Nick hoped it would sort of cool the guys in the helicopter down temporarily, especially if they were carrying combat weapons. It was a small two-seat bird made in France, but there weren't many good modern weapons.
  
  At the top of the slope, the road winds at the end of a cliff with an observation deck for parking. It was empty. Nick pulled up to the edge. The truck ground hard to the hills just by passing the tour cars. To Nick's surprise, the helicopter disappeared to the east.
  
  He considered the question. They needed fuel; they were going to get a distributor cap to get the truck and body out of there; they were circling around and setting up a roadblock in front of it, putting an ego between it and the big truck. Or all these reasons? One thing was certain: he was now against Judas. He took on an entire organization.
  
  The girls became calm, and that meant asking questions. He answered them exactly as they thought, and drove quickly to the west exit of the giant forest reserve. Please don't let any building blocks get in the way!
  
  "Do you think the whole country is in trouble?" Janet asked. "I mean, like Vietnam and all these African countries? A real revolution?"
  
  "The country is in trouble," Nick replied, " but I think we are confused about our special share. Maybe bandits. Maybe revolutionaries. Maybe they know that you and your parents have money and want to kidnap you."
  
  "Ha!" Bootie snorted and looked at him skeptically, but she didn't interfere.
  
  "Share your ideas," Nick said affectionately.
  
  "I'm not sure. But when the tour guide carries a gun, and maybe it was a bomb that you already had there, we've heard-good!"
  
  "Almost as bad as one of your girls carrying money or messages to the rebels, eh?"
  
  Bootie shut up.
  
  Ruth Crossman calmly said ," I think it's wonderful, exciting."
  
  Nick drove for more than an hour. They passed Zimpa Pan, Mount Suntichi, and the Chonba Dam. Cars and minibuses passed mimmo by them from time to time, but Nick knew that if he didn't meet an army or police patrol, he had to keep civilians out of the mess. And if he meets the wrong patrol and they are politically or financially connected to the THB mafia, it can be fatal. There was another problem - Judas was inclined to equip small detachments in the form of local authorities. He once organized an entire Brazilian police post for a robbery that went smoothly. Nick didn't see himself walking into the arms of any armed group without a thorough background check.
  
  The road led up, leaving behind a strange, half-barren, half-jungle valley of the reserve, and they climbed a ridge along which ran the railroad and the highway between Bulawayo and Victoria Falls. Nick stopped at a gas station in a small village, pulling the Volvo under the ramada-like roof above the gas station.
  
  Several white men scowled at the road. They looked nervous.
  
  The girls entered the building, and a tall, tanned attendant murmured to Nick,"Are you going back to the main camp?"
  
  "Yes," Nick said. He was taken aback by the confidential manner of the usually open and warm-hearted Rhodesians.
  
  "Don't worry the ladies, but we expect a little trouble. Some guerrillas operated south of Sebungwe. I suppose they're hoping to cut the railroad." They killed four soldiers a few miles from Lubimby. it would be nice to go back to the main camp now."
  
  "Thank you," Nick said. "I didn't know the rebels were getting this far. Last I heard, your boys and the South Africans who helped them kept the situation under control. I understand they killed a hundred rebels."
  
  The man finished filling up the tank and shook his head. "We have problems that we don't talk about. In six months, we had four thousand people south of the Zambezi. They find underground camps and stuff. We don't have enough gas for constant air patrols. He patted the Volvo. "We are still pumping up ih for the tourism business, but I do not know how long they will continue to do this. Yankee, isn't it?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "You know. You have your own activities in Mississippi and-let's see-Georgia, don't you?" He winked with sad intimacy. "You're doing a lot of good things, but where will it lead?"
  
  Nick paid emu. "Where, indeed. What's the shortest route to the Main Camp?"
  
  "Six miles, there on the highway. Turn straight.
  
  
  
  About forty miles on the signs. Then two more people at home. They can't miss it. "
  
  The girls returned, and Nick followed the man's instructions.
  
  Ih the refueling stop took about eight minutes. He didn't see any sign of the big truck for an hour. If he was still following them, he was far behind. He wondered why the helicopter hadn't returned to scout ih. They cover six miles and reach a wide paved road. They had gone about two miles when they began to pass an army convoy heading west. Nick estimated it as a battalion of heavy equipment left at home. It was honed for jungle warfare. He was thinking. Good luck, you'll need it.
  
  Bootie said: "Why don't you stop the officer and tell em what happened to us?"
  
  Nick explained his reasons, without adding that he hoped Judas had removed the remnants of " John Blake." A lengthy explanation of what happened would be inconvenient.
  
  "It's nice to see soldiers go through mimmo," Janet said. "It's hard to remember that some around them might be against us."
  
  "Not really against us," Nick corrected. "Not with us."
  
  "She really looks at these beautiful men," Ruth said. " Some around them are nice. Look - there's only a picture of Charlton Heston."
  
  Nick wasn't looking. He was busy watching a speck in the sky following a small column. Of course, as soon as the last armored personnel carrier flew by, the speck grew in size. After a few minutes, he was close enough for ego to be recognized. Ih is old yet, by a helicopter with two people that left ih in the valley.
  
  "It's oni again," Ruth said almost happily.
  
  "Oh, that's great, man," Bootie agreed, but you knew she didn't mean it as mistletoe.
  
  Nick said, " They're too cute up there. Can we shake up ih?"
  
  "Come on," Ruth said.
  
  "You're giving them hell!" snapped Janet.
  
  "How do you shake ih up?" Bootie asked.
  
  "You'll see the voice," Nick promised. "If they ask for it."
  
  They asked for it. As the Volvo passed through an open, deserted stretch of muddy, dry bunga, a whirlwind hit the driver's side of the car. They wanted a closer look or a close-up. Nick let the helicopter settle, then pressed the bullying button and shouted, " Get out, and get down on the right side!"
  
  The girls were getting used to it. They scrambled and pressed into the ground like a battle team. Nick flung open the back door, grabbed the submachine gun, cut the safety catch, and sent a jet of lead after the helicopter, which shot away at full power. The range was long, but you might get lucky.
  
  "Again," he said. "Let's go, team!"
  
  "Teach me how to use one of these things," Ruth said.
  
  "If we get the chance," Nick agreed.
  
  The helicopter flew ahead of them, in the hot road, like a waiting vulture. Nick drove about twenty miles, ready to stop and shoot the plane if it got any closer. It wasn't like that. They passed several side roads, but he didn't dare follow one of them. A dead end with a truck coming in behind them would be fatal. Far ahead, he saw a black spot on the side of the road, and his ego sank. When he could see it more clearly, he silently swore to himself. A large parked car. It stopped, started to turn in the opposite direction, and stopped. A man jumped into a parked car, and it moved toward them. He fired at the Volvo. Two miles ago, when a strange car was speeding behind them, he had reached the side road he had marked and entered Nah. The car followed him.
  
  Bootie said, " They're winning."
  
  "Watch them," Nick ordered.
  
  The chase covered six or seven miles. The big sedan was in no hurry to approach. That ego was bothering me. They drove ih into a dead end or into the bushes. The country has become more hilly, with narrow bridges over dry watercourses. He chose one carefully and stopped on a single-lane bridge when the pursuers were out of sight.
  
  "Up and down the creek bed," he said. They were very good at it now. He Stahl waited in the ravine, using the ego as a trench. The driver of the sedan saw the Volvo stop and stopped out of reach, then moved very slowly forward. Nick waited, peering through the tuft of grass.
  
  The moment has come! He fired short, small bursts, saw the tire come down. Three men tumbled out around the car, two of them armed with long guns. They fell to the ground. Well-aimed bullets hit the Volvo. That was enough for Nick. He picked up, little by little, and fired at them from a long distance in short bursts.
  
  They found the ego position. A large-caliber gawk ripped through the gravel five feet to his right. Good shots, powerful weapons. It faded out of sight and changed stores. Lead thumped and rattled on the ridge overhead. The girls sat naked beneath it. He moved twenty feet to the left and looked over the edge again. It's great that they were exposed at this angle. The helicopter rattled in bursts of six shots, sending sand flying through cars and people. It wasn't an ego day. The glass shattered, but the three of them ran back down the road, hiding from them.
  
  "Come on," he said. "Follow me."
  
  He quickly led the girls along the dry stream.
  
  
  
  
  
  They ran like forever, they scattered, crawling along the sides of the Volvo. They'll be wasting half an hour.
  
  When his small patrol was well away from the bridge, Nick led ih around the ravine and into the bushes parallel to the road.
  
  He was grateful that all the girls were wearing sensible shoes. They'll need them. He had a Wilhelmina with thirteen rounds. No luck? One submachine gun, extra magazine, compass, all sorts of stuff and hopes.
  
  There was less hope as the sun set in the west, but he didn't let the girls know they were hungry and thirsty, he knew. He saved ih's strength with frequent rest and hilarious comments, but the air was hot and harsh. They came to a deep crevice, and the emu had to follow it back to the road. It was deserted. He said, " We'll go. If anyone hears a car or plane, speak up."
  
  "Where are we going?" Janet asked. She looked scared and tired.
  
  "According to my map, if I remember it correctly, this road leads us to Binji. A decent-sized city." He didn't add that Bingy was about eighty miles away in the jungle valley.
  
  They passed a shallow, muddy pool. Ruth said, " If only this could be drunk."
  
  "We can't take any chances." Nick said. "I'll bet you money if you drink it, you're dead.
  
  Shortly before dark, he took ih off the road, cleared a rough patch of land, and said: "Make yourself comfortable. Get enough sleep if you can. We can't travel at night."
  
  He spoke tiredly, but there were no complaints. He was proud of them.
  
  "Let's figure out the clock," Bootie said. "You need to get some sleep, Andy."
  
  Nearby, an animal gave a strange rumbling roar. Nick said: "Pull yourself together. You'll get your wish, Ruth."
  
  In the dying light, he showed them how to remove the safety catch on a submachine gun. "Shoot like a gun, but don't pull the trigger."
  
  "I don't understand," Janet said. "Don't hold the trigger?"
  
  “no. You must constantly adjust your goal. I can't demonstrate it, so you present it. A vote..." He opened the magazine and pulled out a round. He demonstrated by touching the trigger and making sounds like short bursts. "Brrr-money. Brrr-one."
  
  Each of their software tried. He said, " Great, you've all been promoted to petty officer."
  
  To ego's surprise, he got three or four hours of easy vaults between Ruth and Janet during Bootie's shifts. It proved that he trusted ay. In the foreground, in the dim gray light, he led ih down the road.
  
  Moving from a mile to ten minutes, they travel a long way to the time when Nick's watch showed ten o'clock. But they were tiring. He could have continued this all day, but the girls were almost done without much rest. He let them take turns carrying the submachine gun. They took their work seriously. He told them, though he didn't trust them, that all they had to do was stay out of the hands of the "bandits" until the Edman company raised the alarm to Gus Boyd's face. The legitimate army and police will be looking for ih, and the publicity will make attacking them too risky for"bandits". He listened well.
  
  The terrain led downhill, and as they rounded the signposts on the rough terrain, they came upon a native napping under a thatched awning by the roadside. He pretended not to speak English. Nick drove his ego with him. He was on his guard. Half a mile down the winding trail, they came upon a small complex of thatched huts filled with the usual fields of flour and tobacco, kraals, and cattle dipping pens. The village was well located. The hillside location was difficult, the fields were uneven, and the fences around the kraal were harder to maintain, but all the rainstorms ended up in the ponds through a network of ditches that ran up the slope like sinews.
  
  As they approached, several people working under cover tried to hide the car under a tarp. Nick said to his captive, " Where's the boss? Muhle Itikos?"
  
  The man shook his head stubbornly. One of them looked around, proud of his English, and said: "Boss, over there." He spoke flawlessly, pointing to a nearby hut with a wide ramadan.
  
  A short, muscular man came out around the hut and looked at them questioningly. When he saw Nick's Luger being held carelessly in front of him, he frowned.
  
  "Take this car out to the seraglio. I want to take a look at nah."
  
  Several of the black men gathered began to mutter. Nick took the submachine gun from Janet and handed it suspiciously to Ego. The muscular man said ," My name is Ross. Could you introduce yourself?"
  
  Ego's diction was even better than a little girl's. Nick gave ih the correct names and concluded, " ... he's on his way to the car."
  
  When the tarp was removed, Nick blinked. An almost new Jeep was hidden in the nen. He examined it, watching the village men, who now numbered nine. He wondered if that was all. At the back of the open seraglio, he found four extra cans of gasoline.
  
  He said to Ross: "Please bring us some water and something to eat. Then go away. Don't hurt anyone. I'll pay you well and you'll get your Jeep."
  
  Odin around the men said that she was Rossu in her native language.
  
  
  
  
  Ross answered curtly. Nick felt uneasy. These people were too cool. They did as they were told, but as if they were curious, not intimidating. Ross asked: "Would you be affiliated with Mapolis or the Rhodesian forces?"
  
  "Nobody."
  
  Nick understood the first word, "white people," and the rest were menacing.
  
  "Where's your weapon?" "What is it?" he asked Ross.
  
  "The government took everything."
  
  Nick didn't trust it. The government might get something, but this group was overconfident. He felt more and more anxious. If they pounced on him, and he had a hunch they might, he wouldn't be able to knock ih down, no matter how hard he tried to act. Killmaster didn't mean a mass murderer.
  
  Suddenly, Bootie walked up to Ross and spoke softly. Nick lost some of it as he moved toward them, but he heard, " ... Peter van Pree and Mr. Garfield Todd. John Johnson, too. Zimbabwe seventy-three."
  
  Nick knows the name of Todd, the former Prime Minister of Rhodesia, who tried to reduce the contradictions between whites and blacks. A group of whites exiled ego ego ranch ego liberal views.
  
  Ross looked at Nick, and AXman realized how right he was. It wasn't the look of the person you pushed. He had the idea that Ross would join the rebellion if circumstances called for it. Ross said: "Miss Delong knows my friends. You get education and water, and I'll take you to Binji. You can be a spy for the police. I don't know. I don't think so. But I don't want to shoot here."
  
  "There are people watching us," Nick said. Think cool people around the THB gang. And at any moment overhead there will be a helicopter all over the same gang. Then you'll know I'm not a police spy. But you'd better save your firepower if you have it."
  
  Ross's calm face glinted with appreciation. "We destroyed one on the pavement you crossed. It will take them a very long time to get here. "why was our sentry so careless..." He glanced at the man. The watchman lowered his head.
  
  "We surprised ego," Nick suggested.
  
  "That's very kind of you," Ross replied. "I hope this is the first lie you've told me."
  
  Twenty minutes later, they were driving the Jeep northeast, Nick at the wheel, Ross beside him, the three girls in the back, Ruth holding a machine gun. She was turning into a real partisan. After about two hours of walking along what was now Wyoming 1905, they reached a slightly better road, where a sign pointing left said "Binji"in faded letters. Nick glanced at the compass and turned straight ahead.
  
  "What's the idea?" Ross asked.
  
  "Binji doesn't suit us," Nick explained. "We have to cross the country. Then to Zambia, where Buti's ties are apparently strong. And hers, I believe yours are. If you can guide me on my way to the THB mining facilities, so much the better. You should hate ih. . I hear they work your people like slaves."
  
  "You don't understand what you're suggesting. After the roads stop, you have to cross a hundred miles of jungle. And if you don't know it, there's a small war going on between the guerrillas and the Security Army."
  
  "If there's a war going on, the roads are bad, right?"
  
  "Oh, a few paths here and there. But you won't survive."
  
  "Yes, we'll get through, "Nick replied with more confidence than he felt,"With your help."
  
  From the backseat, Bootie said, " Oh, Andy, you have to. Listen to the ego."
  
  "Yes," Nick said. "He knows that what I do will help his ego gear as well. What we tell you about THB will shake the world, and the government here will fall into disgrace. Ross will be a hero."
  
  "You're angry," Ross said disgustedly. "The chances of it working are fifty to one, as you say. I should have beaten you in the village."
  
  "You had a gun, didn't you?"
  
  "The whole time you were there, a rifle was pointed at you. Its too soft. This is the problem of idealists."
  
  Nick offered Em a cigarette. "If it made you feel better, it wouldn't be Stahl shooting her either."
  
  Ross lit a cigarette and they looked at each other briefly. Nick realized that with the exception of the shadow, Ross's expression was very similar to the one he'd seen in his mirror before. Confidence and spin.
  
  They had driven the Jeep for another sixty miles before a helicopter flew over, but now they were in a jungle country, and the helicopter pilots had trouble finding thousands of miles of road. They parked under vegetation as thick as woven straw and let the helicopter pass mimmo. Nick explained to the girls why they shouldn't look up, saying, "Now you know why guerrilla warfare works in Vietnam. You can easily hide."
  
  Once, when Nick's compass indicated that they should go; weak, Ross said to their right, " No, keep to the main road. It curves open to the following line of hills. This path is a dead end in a false slope. miles."
  
  Beyond the line of hills, Nick sensed that Ross was telling the truth. Not when they got to a small village, and Ross got water, Medvedev with flour, and biltong to keep his small supply.
  
  
  
  
  Nick had no choice but to let it go in math and talk to the natives in a language he didn't understand.
  
  As they left, Nick saw a horse-drawn cart being prepared. "Where are they going?"
  
  "They'll come back the way we came, dragging branches. This will erase our tracks, not that it's easy for us to track in this dry weather, but a good tracker can do it."
  
  There was no longer any pavement, just fords over streams that still had a trickle of water. Most of the buildings around them were dry. As the sun was setting, they passed a mimmo herd of elephants. The big beasts were active, clumsily clinging to each other, turning to look at the jeep.
  
  "Go on," Ross said softly. "Well, they gave me a drink of fermented fruit juice. Sometimes they feel bad."
  
  "Elephant hangover?" Nick asked: "I've never heard of it."
  
  "It's true. You don't want to date one when they're high and feeling bad, or when they have a bad hangover."
  
  "Do they really make alcohol? How?"
  
  "In ih stomachs".
  
  They waded into a wider stream, and Janet said,"Can't we get our feet wet and wash?"
  
  "Later, "Ross advised," there are crocodiles and bad worms."
  
  At nightfall, they reached an empty lot - four neat huts with a courtyard enclosed by a wall and gate, and a corral. Nick looked around the huts approvingly. They had clean hides and simple furniture. "This is where you said we were going to sleep?"
  
  “yeah. It used to be the last patrol post when they came on horseback. Until now, the ferret is used. A village five miles away is watching him. That's one problem with my people. So damn law-abiding and loyal to the government."
  
  "These are supposed to be virtues," Nick said as he unloaded a box of food.
  
  "Not for the revolution," Ross said bitterly. "You must remain rude and mean until your rulers become civilized. When you're older and they're still barbarians - with all their tiled bathtubs and mechanical toys-you're screwed. My people are swarming with spies because they think it's the right thing to do . Run and tell the policeman. They don't understand that ih is robbing. They have Kaffir beer and ghettos."
  
  "If you were that mature," Nick said, " you wouldn't be in the ghetto."
  
  Ross paused and looked puzzled. "Why not?"
  
  "You wouldn't breed like bedbugs. Four hundred thousand to four million, isn't it? You could win the game with your brain and birth control."
  
  "It's not -" Ross stopped. He knew that there was a flaw somewhere in this idea, but it wasn't noticed in the ego-revolutionary reading.
  
  It was quiet when night fell. They hid the Jeep, took over and divided up the available space. They gratefully took a dip in the laundry room. Ross said the water was clear.
  
  The next morning they drove thirty miles, and the road ended in an abandoned village, unlike the village. It was falling apart. "They were suspicious because they wanted to stay independent, "Ross said bitterly.
  
  Nick looked out at the jungle. "Do you know the trails? From here , we'll go."
  
  Ross nodded. "I could do it alone."
  
  "Then let's go together. The legs were made before Jeeps."
  
  Perhaps because of the dry weather, when the animals were drawn to the remaining reservoirs, the path was dry, not a wet horror. Nick had set up headlines for everyone around them, even though Ross claimed he could do without nah. The first night they camped on a hill that showed signs of recent settlement. There were thatched sheds and fire pits. "Partisans?" Nick asked.
  
  "Usually hunters."
  
  The sounds of the night were the sounds of animals roaring and birds calling; thunder in the woods nearby. Ross assured ih that most of the animals had learned from the deadly experience to avoid the camp, but this was not the case. Just after midnight Nick is the only soft voice transmission wafting through the ego hut's day. "Andy?"
  
  "Yes," he whispered.
  
  "I can't sleep." The voice of Ruth Crossman.
  
  "Scared?"
  
  "Its not... I think so."
  
  "The voice..." He found her warm hand and pulled her to the bed by the stretch of her pelt. "You're lonely." He gave her a comforting kiss. "You need a little cuddle after all the excitement."
  
  "I tell myself I like it." She snuggled up to him.
  
  On the third day, they came to a narrow road. They were back in the bundu bushland, and the path was laid out quite frankly. Ross said: "This marks the end of TNW's ownership. They patrol four times a day - or more."
  
  Nick said: "Can you guide me to a place where I can get a good look at her position?"
  
  "I can, but it would be easier to go around and get out of here. We will go to Zambia or towards Salisbury. You can't do anything against THB alone."
  
  "I want to see iht. I want to know what's going on, instead of getting all my information second-hand. Then maybe I can put some real pressure on them."
  
  "Bootie didn't tell me that, Grant. She said you helped Peter van Preez. Who are you? Why are you the enemy of THB? Do you know Mama Bora?"
  
  "I think I know her Mama-Bora. If I know her, and he is the person I think he is, then he is a tyrant-killer."
  
  "I could tell you that. He's got a lot of my people in the concentration camps that he's working on.
  
  calls them settlements. Are you an international police officer? The UN? "
  
  “no. And Ross - I do not know where you are."
  
  "I am a patriot"
  
  "How are Peter and Johnson?"
  
  Ross said sadly, " We look at things differently. There are many points of view in every revolution."
  
  "Believe me, I'll knock out THB when I can?"
  
  "Let's go."
  
  A few hours later, they climbed to the top of the miniature escarpment, and Nick held his breath. He was looking at the mining empire. As far as he could see, there were workings, camps, parking lots, storage complexes. A railway line and a road entered from the southeast. Many businesses were enclosed by strong fences. The huts seemed to stretch endlessly in the bright sunlight, with high fences, watchtowers, and guarded gatehouses.
  
  Nick said: "Why not hand over the weapons to your people in the formations and take ih over?"
  
  "This is one of the points where my band is at odds with Peter's," Ross said sadly. "It might not work anyway. You may find it hard to believe, but the colonial rule here over the years has made my people very law-abiding. They bow their heads, kiss their whips, and polish their smashes."
  
  "Only rulers can break the law," Nick muttered.
  
  "That's right."
  
  "Where does the Pine Tree and the headquarters ego live?"
  
  "Over the hill, behind the last mine. It has a beautiful location. Fenced and guarded. You can't enter."
  
  "I don't have to. I just want to see it to report what I personally saw, ego private kingdom. Who lives with him? The servants must have been talking."
  
  "A few Germans. I think you might be interested in Heinrich Muller. Your Kalgan, Chinese. And a few people of different nationalities, but they're all criminals, so I guess He's sending our ore and asbestos all over the outdoor pool. "
  
  Nick looked at the rough black features and didn't smile. Ross knew a lot more from the start than he was letting on. He shook a strong hand. "Will you take the girls to Salisbury? Or do ih to some part of the civilizations?"
  
  "And you?"
  
  "I'll be fine. Its gonna get the full picture and leave. I have a compass."
  
  "Why risk your life?"
  
  "I have to pay for it. Its got to do its job right"
  
  "I'll get the girls out tonight." Ross sighed. "I think you're taking too much of a risk. Good luck, Grant, if that's your name."
  
  Ross slid back down the hill into the hidden valley where they'd left the girls. They're gone. The footprints told a story. Ih was overpowered by the men in boots. White. THB staff, of course. A truck and a passenger car took ih along the patrol road. Ross backed away from his own jungle path and swore. The price of self-confidence. Unsurprisingly, the pursuers in the truck and sedan seemed slow. They called the pathfinders and followed them all the time, probably contacted THB on the radio.
  
  He looked sadly at the distant hills where the Andrew Grant was now probably part of the mining kingdom; falling into a trap with beautiful bait.
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  Ross would have been surprised to see Nick at this point. The mouse crawled so quietly into the trap that no one knew about it-yet. Nick joined a group of white men in the cafeteria locker room. When they were gone, he pulled on a blue jacket and a yellow helmet. He strolled around the bustling trucks of the facility as if he had worked there all his life.
  
  He spent the day in giant smelting furnaces, making his way through mimmo narrow-gauge ore trains, purposefully entering and exiting through warehouses and office buildings. The natives didn't dare look at him, we didn't dare question ego - the whites weren't used to it. THB worked like a precision machine - there were no unauthorized persons inside.
  
  Judas ' step helped. When the girls were brought to the villa, he growled, " Where are the two men?"
  
  The patrol team that was made to the girls on the radio said that they thought they were at the jungle team. Herman Dusen, the leader of the Jungle Chaser Volunteers, turned pale. He was exhausted; he brought his group for food and rest. He thought the patrol had picked up all the loot!
  
  Judah cursed, then sent his entire security team around the jungle camp to patrol the roads. Inside, Nick did everything. He saw trucks and railroad cars loaded with chrome and asbestos, and he saw wooden crates being moved from gold smelters to be hidden under other loads while supervisors kept careful records.
  
  He was talking to one around them, getting along with his German because the man was an Austrian. He asked. "Is this the one for the Far Eastern ship?"
  
  The man obediently checked his clipboard and invoices. Genoa. The Lebeau escort." He turned away, businesslike and busy.
  
  Nick found the communications center , a room full of rattling teletypes and gravel-tinted radios. He got a blanc, an operator, and wrote a telegram to Roger Tillborn, Rhodesian Railways. The blanc was numbered in the style of the German Army. No one would dare ...
  
  The operator read the message: "Ninety ore wagons will be needed in the next thirty days." Move only to the Beyer-Garratt authority under the direction of Engineer Barnes. Signature, Grant.
  
  
  
  
  
  The operator was also busy. He asked, " Railway wire. Do it for free?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  Nick was at the truck stop when the sirens went off like an explosion alarm. He got into the back of a giant dump truck. Peeping through the roof, he watched the search go on all day, and eventually came to the conclusion that they were looking for him, although he did not know about the abduction of the girls.
  
  He found out about it after dark, propping up the electrified fence around Judas ' villa with sticks and crawling to the lighted courtyard. Mike Bohr, Muller, and Kalgan were sitting in the closed room closest to the house. Bootie, Ruth, and Janet were in the back of the enclosure, with the pool in the center. They were tied to a wire fence, naked. A large male baboon ignored them, chewing on a green stalk.
  
  Nick started, picked up Wilhelmina, and stopped when he saw Bohr. Sergey was strange. Then he realized that the three men were inside a glass enclosure - a bulletproof box with air conditioning! Nick stepped back quickly. What a trap! A few minutes later, he saw two men moving silently through the bushes toward where he was standing. Herman Dusen was patrolling, determined to correct his mistake.
  
  They walked around the house in a circle. Nick followed them, tying Odin around the waist with pieces of plastic cord that wouldn't let anyone know he was Nessus. They were pliable, with a tensile strength of over a ton.
  
  Herman - though Nick didn't know his name - went first. He paused to inspect the outer electrical fence. He died without making a sound to us, from a short push of his arms and leg, which subsided in sixty seconds. Ego satellite is back on the dark path. The ego thread came just as soon. Nick leaned in and felt a little queasy for a few seconds, a reaction he'd never shared even with Hawke.
  
  Nick went back to his patch of shrubbery that overlooked the glass chest and looked at it with a sense of helplessness. The three men were laughing. Mike Bohr pointed to the pool in the zoo's enclosure, where naked girls hung like pathetic figurines. The baboon retreated to a tree. Something crawled out around the water. Nick started. Crocodile. Probably hungry. Janet Olsson screamed.
  
  Nick ran to the fence, Pine, Muller, and Kulgan stood up, Kulgan holding a long rifle. Well - at this point, he couldn't hit ih, and they couldn't hit him. They depended on the two men he had just eliminated. He put Wilhelmina's bullets right in the eyes of every crocodile from forty feet away.
  
  Mike Bora's heavily accented English bellowed around the speaker. "Drop the gun, AXman. You are surrounded."
  
  Nick ran back to the gardeners ' row and crouched down. He had never felt so helpless. Bohr was right. Muller used the phone. They'll have a lot of reinforcements here in a few minutes. The three men laughed in ego's direction. Far down the hill, an engine came to life. Midler's lips didn't move. Nick ran away, for the first time in his career. He walked away from the road and the house, letting them see him run away, hoping they would forget the girls for a moment because the victim didn't see the bait.
  
  In the comfortably cool enclosure, Bohr chuckled. "Look at him running! This is an American. They're cowards when they know you have the power. Muller-send men to the north."
  
  Muller barked into the phone. Then he said, " Marzon is out there with the squad right now. Tailor take it ih. And there are thirty people approaching from the outer road. Herman and the internal patrols will soon be behind him."
  
  Not quite. Herman and Ego the squad leader were cooling off under a baobab tree. Nick slipped past the mimmo of a three-man patrol and stopped when he saw the road. There were eight or nine people walking along the walls. One of them was holding a dog on a leash. The man standing by the combat vehicle was using a walkie-talkie. Nick sighed and inserted the safety catch into the plastic plate. Three around them and nine bullets, and he'll start using rocks against the army. A portable searchlight explored the area.
  
  A small column of trucks came up the slope from the north. The man with the radio turned around and held it as if confused. Nick's eyes narrowed. The man clinging to the side of the first truck was Ross! He fell to the ground as Nick watched. The truck pulled up to the commander's car, and people got out along the egos of the back. They were black! The commander's car's lights went out.
  
  The white man for the radio operator picked up a submachine gun. Nick fired a bullet into the emu's center. On the shot , the action exploded.
  
  It was like a small war. Orange tracers cut through the night. Nick watched the blacks charge, flank, crawl, shoot. They moved like soldiers with a purpose in mind. Hard to stop. The whites broke, retreated, and some were shot in the back. Nick shouted to Ross, and a burly black ran up to him. Ross Ness automatic shotgun. He said: "I thought you were already dead."
  
  "Close to it."
  
  They moved into the glare of the truck lights and were joined by Peter van V. The old man looked like a victorious general.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at Nick without emotion. "You provoked something. The Rhodesian squad that had been following us went around to join another that had come from outside. Why not?"
  
  "I sent a message to George Barnes. Tina's anti-human trafficking team is a group of international criminals. I don't think they can buy it, but they will meet your politicians."
  
  Wang W switched on the radio. "Local workers are leaving their settlements. The charges against TL will shake things up. But we have to get out of here before the guards arrive."
  
  "Give me the truck," Nick said. "They have girls on the hill."
  
  "Trucks cost money," Wang said thoughtfully. He looked at Ross. "Do we dare?"
  
  "I'll buy you a new one or send you the price through Johnson," Nick exclaimed.
  
  "Give the emu back," Ross said. He handed Nick the shotgun. "Send us the price of one around them."
  
  "It's a promise."
  
  Nick sped past the wrecked cars and bodies, pulled out onto the side road leading to the villa, and climbed as fast as the roar of the engine could carry him. There were clusters of lights all over the valley, but they were very close to the fires breaking out everywhere. In the distance, at the main gate, tracer bullets clicked and flickered, and the sound of gunfire was heavy. It was as if Mike Pines and Co. had lost their political connections - or failed to reach out to them quickly enough. Ego security must have tried to stop the army column, and it was done.
  
  I rolled out onto the plateau, skirted the house. He saw three men in the courtyard. They weren't laughing now. He went straight to them.
  
  The heavy International was rolling with good momentum as it crashed into a wide-netted fence. The barrier was carried along with the truck in a ripping mix of shredding wire, falling poles, and screeching metal. Deckchairs and sun beds were flying toys until the fence and car hit. Just before Nick slammed into the bulletproof glass box that sheltered Bohr, Muller, and Kalgan, the V-shaped section of railing that had pushed forward like a metal soundboard onto the nose of the truck broke up with a loud clang.
  
  Pine Tree sprinted toward the house, and Nick watched as Muller controlled himself. The old man had the guts, or he was petrified. Kalgan's oriental features were a mask of angry hatred as he yanked on Muller, and then the truck slammed into the window, and everything disappeared in the slam of metal against glass. Nick braced himself against the steering wheel and the firewall. Muller and Kalgan disappeared, suddenly obscured by the screen around the shattered, shattered glass. The material bent, gave way, and became opaque with a network of breaks.
  
  A cloud of steam erupted around the truck's cracked radiator. Nick struggled with the jammed door, and I know that Muller and Kulgan went through the exit door of the glass shelter and followed Bohr into the main house. Finally, he threw the shotgun out the window and climbed out after it.
  
  The door to the house swung open as he ran around the shelter and approached it - the truck and the fence to his right were a barrier. He fired one shotgun blast at the center of the ego, and it opened up. No one was waiting for the ego.
  
  Over the hiss of the truck's smoking radiator, a girl's startled cry rang out. He turned, surprised that Sergei had stayed on - he'd knocked out a few street lights - and hoping they'd go out. He would have been a good target if Muller and the others had gone to the upper windows.
  
  Rushing to the fence that separated the courtyard from the courtyard, he found the gate and passed through it. The baboon cowered in the corner, the crocodile's corpse trembling. He broke Bootie's bond with Hugo. "What's wrong here?" "No," he snapped.
  
  "I do not know," she sobbed. "Janet screamed."
  
  He set her free, said, "Set Ruth free," and went to Janet. "Are you okay?"
  
  "Yes,"she shivered," there's a terrible big bug crawling up my leg."
  
  Nick untied hey's hands. "You have the guts."
  
  "A hell of a tour."
  
  He raised the shotgun. "Untie your legs." He ran to the patio and to the door of the house. He was searching the latter through many rooms when George Barnes found him. The Rhodesian policeman said, " Hello. Is it a little exciting? Her, understood from Tilborn. Smart ones."
  
  "Thank you. The pine tree and the ego of the team are gone."
  
  "We'll get ih. I really want to hear your story."
  
  "I haven't thought of everything yet. Let's get out of here. This place could explode at any moment." He was delivering blankets to the girls.
  
  Nick was wrong. The villa glowed brightly as they walked down the hill. Barnes said: "All right, Grant. What happened?"
  
  "Mike Pines or BATH must have thought her business was a rival or something. I had a lot of surprises. People attacked me, tried to kidnap me. Annoyed my tails customers. They chased us all over the country. They were very violent, so mimmo drove through it in their truck."
  
  Barnes laughed heartily. "Let's talk about the achievements of this decade. As I understand it, you instigated a native uprising. They stopped the battle between our army and the partisans. And you have exposed enough smuggling and treachery on the part of THB to put a part of our government on its ears.
  
  
  
  The radio was howling so much around the headquarters that I left it."
  
  "Gee," Nick said innocently, " isn't it? Just a random chain of events. But you're lucky, aren't you? THB abused workers, cheated your customs, and helped your enemies - they sold to everyone, you know. get good praise for it ."
  
  "If we ever fix it."
  
  Of course, repairs. Nick noticed how easy it is when you're dealing with a large amount of gold that has tremendous power and no patriotism. The free world felt better when the yellow metal bumped into the hands that the egos valued. They followed Judas to Lorenzo Marquez, and then ego disappeared. Nick could guess where-up the Mozambique Channel to the Indian Ocean in one of the big ocean boats that Emu liked. He didn't say anything as his ego's goal was met and he was still Andrew Grant accompanying the trip with a tour group.
  
  Indeed, the Assistant Chief Constable of Rhodesia presented Emu with a certificate of appreciation at a small dinner. The publication helped em decide not to accept Hawke's coded cable offer to leave the tour under any pretext and return to Washington. He decided to end the trip with Vladimir-decency.
  
  After all, Gus was good company, as were Bootie and Ruth and Janet and Teddy and ...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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